“So you made it out well with the lady,”
he began.
“Yes,” I answered, flushing. “Not
so badly for the time that offered.”
“A remarkable woman,” he said. “Most
remarkable!” Then he went on: “Now
as to your own intended, I congratulate you. But
I suggest that you keep Miss Elisabeth Churchill and
the Baroness von Ritz pretty well separated, if that
be possible.”
“Sir,” I stammered; “that certainly
is my personal intent. But now, may I ask—”
“You start to Canada to-night,” said Calhoun
sharply—all softness gone from his voice.
“I can not well do that,” I began.
His hand tapped with decision.
“I have no time to choose another messenger,”
he said. “Time will not wait. You
must not fail me. You will take the railway train
at eight. You will be joined by Doctor Samuel
Ward, who will give you a sealed paper, which will
contain your instructions, and the proper moneys.
He goes as far as Baltimore.”
“You would be the better agent,” he added
presently, “if this love silliness were out
of your head. It is not myself you are serving,
and not my party. It is this country you are
serving.”
“But, sir—” I began.
His long thin hand was imperative. “Go
on, then, with your wedding, if you will, and if you
can; but see that you do not miss the train at eight!”
Half in a daze, I left him; nor did I see him again
that day, nor for many after.
WHO GIVETH THIS WOMAN
Woman is a miracle of
divine contradictions.—Jules Michelet.
On my return to my quarters at Brown’s I looked
at the top of my bureau. It was empty. My
friend Dandridge had proved faithful. The slipper
of the baroness was gone! So now, hurriedly,
I began my toilet for that occasion which to any gentleman
should be the one most exacting, the most important
of his life’s events.
Elisabeth deserved better than this unseemly haste.
Her sweetness and dignity, her adherence to the forms
of life, her acquaintance with the elegancies, the
dignities and conventions of the best of our society,
bespoke for her ceremony more suited to her class and
mine. Nothing could excuse these hurly burly
ways save only my love, our uncertainty regarding
my future presence, and the imperious quality of my
duties.
I told none about my quarters anything of my plans,
but arranged for my portmanteaus to be sent to the
railway station for that evening’s train north.
We had not many outgoing and incoming trains in those
days in Washington. I hurried to Bond’s
jewelry place and secured a ring—two rings,
indeed; for, in our haste, betrothal and wedding ring
needed their first use at the same day and hour.
I found a waiting carriage which served my purpose,
and into it I flung, urging the driver to carry me
at top speed into Elmhurst road. Having now time
for breath, I sat back and consulted my watch.
There were a few moments left for me to compose myself.
If all went well, I should be in time.
