CHAPTER II
A COMMISSION FROM THE PRESIDENT

The door giving entrance to the hall was opened unceremoniously by the rotund and privileged Martha. She came at an opportune time, relieving the tension between the mother and son. Wilfred was not insensible to his mother’s feelings, but he was determined to go to the front. He was glad of the interruption and rather shamefacedly took advantage of it by leaving the room.

“Well, Martha, what is it?” asked Mrs. Varney, striving to regain her composure.

“Deys one ob de men fum de hossiple heah, ma’am.”

“Another one?”

“Ah ’clah to goodness, ma’am, dey jes’ keeps a-comin’ an’ a-comin’. ’Peahs like we cain’t keep no close fo’ ourse’f; de sheets an’ tablecloths an’ napkins an’ eben de young misstess’ petticoats, dey all hab to go.”

“And we have just sent all the bandages we have,” said Mrs. Varney, smiling.

“Den we got to git some mo’. Dey says dey’s all used up, an’ two mo’ trains jes’ come in crowded full o’ wounded sojahs – an’ mos’ all ob ’em dreffeul bad!”

“Is Miss Kittridge here yet, Martha?”

“Yas’m, Ah jes’ seed her goin’ thu de hall into de libr’y.”

“Ask her if they have anything to send. Even if it’s only a little let them have it. What they need most is bandages. There are some in Howard’s room, too. Give them half of what you find there. I think what we have left will last long enough to – to – ”

“Yas’m,” said old Martha, sniffing. “Ah’m a-gwine. Does you want to see de man?”

“Yes, send him in,” said Mrs. Varney.

There was a light tap on the door after Martha went out.

“Come in,” said the mistress of the house, and there entered to her a battered and dilapidated specimen of young humanity, his arm in a sling. “My poor man!” exclaimed Mrs. Varney. “Sit down.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Martha,” she called to the old woman, who paused at the door on her way to the stairs, “can’t you get something to eat and drink for this gentleman?”

“Well, the pantry ain’t obahflowin’, as you know, Mrs. Varney. But Ah reckon Ah might fin’ a glass o’ milk ef Ah jes’ had to.”

“All our wine has gone long ago,” said Mrs. Varney to the soldier, “but if a glass of milk – ”

“I haven’t seen a glass of milk for three years, ma’am,” answered the man, smiling; “it would taste like nectar.”

“Martha will set it for you in the dining-room while you are waiting. What hospital did you come from, by the way?”

“The Winder, ma’am.”

“And is it full?”

“They are laying them on blankets on the floor. You can hardly step for wounded men.”

“I suppose you need everything?”

“Everything, but especially bandages.”

“Have you been over to St. Paul’s Church? The ladies are working there to-night.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve been over there, but they’re not working for the hospital; they’re making sand-bags for fortifications.”

“And where are you from?”

“I’m a Louisiana Tiger, ma’am,” answered the man proudly.

“You don’t look much like it now,” said the woman, smiling.

“No, I guess the lamb is more like me now, but just wait until I get well enough to go to the front again,” admitted the soldier cheerfully.

At this moment one of the ladies who had been working in the other room came in carrying a small packet of bandages done up in a coarse brown paper.

“Oh, Miss Kittridge,” said Mrs. Varney, “here is the gentleman who – ”

Miss Kittridge was a very business-like person.

“This is every scrap we have,” she said, handing the soldier the parcel with a little bow. “If you will come back in an hour or two, perhaps we shall have more for you.”

“Thank you, ladies, and God bless you. I don’t know what our poor fellows in the hospitals would do if it weren’t for you.”

“Don’t forget your milk in the dining-room,” said Mrs. Varney.

“I’m not likely to, ma’am,” returned the soldier, as, in spite of his wounded arm, he bowed gracefully to the women.

In the hall Martha’s voice could be heard exclaiming:

“Come right dis way, you po’ chile, an’ see what Ah’s got fo’ you in de dinin’-room.”

“You must be tired to death,” said Mrs. Varney to Miss Kittridge, looking at the white face of the other woman. Her brother had been killed a few days before, but the clods had scarcely rattled down upon his coffin before she was energetically at work again – for other women’s brothers.

“No, no,” she said bravely; “and our tiredness is nothing compared to the weariness of our men. We are going to stay late to-night, Mrs. Varney, if you will let us. There’s so many more wounded come in it won’t do to stop now. We have found some old linen that will make splendid bandages, and – ”

“My dear girl,” said the matron, “stay as long as you possibly can. I will see if Martha can’t serve you something to eat after a while. I don’t believe there is any tea left in the house.”

“Bread and butter will be a feast,” said Miss Kittridge.

“And I don’t believe there is much butter either,” smiled the older woman.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said the other. “Is – is your son – is there any change?”

“Not for the better,” was the reply. “I am afraid his fever is increasing.”

“And has the surgeon seen him this evening?”

“Not to-night.”

“Why not!” exclaimed Miss Kittridge in great surprise. “Surely his condition is sufficiently critical to demand more than one brief visit in the morning.”

“I can’t ask him to come twice with so many waiting for him,” said Mrs. Varney.

“But they would not refuse you, Mrs. Varney,” said Miss Kittridge quickly. “There’s that man going back to the hospital, he’s in the dining-room yet. I’ll call him and send word that – ”

She started impulsively toward the door, but Mrs. Varney caught her by the arm.

“No,” she said firmly; “I can’t let you.”

“Not for your own son?”

“I am thinking of the sons of other mothers. The surgeon has done all that he can for him. And think how many other sons would have to be neglected if he visited mine twice. He will come again to-morrow.”

The second woman stood looking at her in mingled sympathy and amazement, and there was a touch of pride in her glance, too. She was proud of her sex, and she had a right to be there in Richmond that spring, if ever.

“I understand,” said Miss Kittridge at last. “I suppose you are right.”

They stared at each other, white-faced, a moment, when there entered to them youth and beauty incarnate. There was enough resemblance between the pale, white-haired mother and the girlish figure in the doorway to proclaim their relationship. The girl’s cheek had lost some of its bloom and some of its roundness. There was too much that was appalling and fearful in and about Richmond then not to leave its mark even upon the most youthful and the most buoyant, yet things did not come home to the young as they did to those older. She was still a lovely picture, especially in the soft radiance of the candles. She carried her hat in her hand. The flowers upon it were assuredly those of yester-year, it would not have passed muster as the mode anywhere except in besieged Richmond; and her dress, although it fitted her perfectly, was worn and faded and had been turned and patched and altered until it was quite beyond further change, yet she wore it as airily as if it had been tissue of silver or cloth of gold.

The mother’s face brightened.

“Edith dear,” she exclaimed, “how late you are! It is after eight o’clock. You must be tired out.”

“I am not tired at all,” answered the girl cheerily. “I have not been at the hospital all afternoon; this is my day off. How is Howard?”

“I wish I could say just the same, but he seems a little worse.”

The girl’s face went suddenly grave. She stepped over to her mother, took her hand and patted it softly.

“Is there nothing you can do?”

“My dear,” said her mother, “Howard – we – are all in God’s hands.”

She drew a long breath and lifted her head bravely.

“Miss Kittridge,” said the girl, “I have something very important to tell mother, and – ”

Miss Kittridge smiled back at her.

“I am going right away, honey. There is lots of work for us to do and – ”

“You don’t mind, I hope,” said Edith Varney, calling after her as she went into the hall.

“No, indeed,” was the reply.

Mrs. Varney sat down wearily by the table, and Edith pulled up a low stool and sat at her feet.

“Well, my dear?”

“Mamma – what do you think? What do you think?”

“I think a great many things,” said Mrs. Varney, “but – ”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t ever think of this.”

“Certainly I shall not, unless you tell me.”

“Well, I have been to see the President.”

“The President – Mr. Davis!”

“Yes.”

“And what did you go to see the President for?”

“I asked him for an appointment for Captain Thorne.”

“For Captain Thorne! My dear – ”

“Yes, mother, for the War Department Telegraph Service. And he gave it to me, a special commission. He gave it to me for father’s sake and for Captain Thorne’s sake, – he has met him and likes him, – and for my own.”

“What sort of an appointment?”

“Appointing him to duty here in Richmond, a very important position. He won’t be sent to the front, and he will be doing his duty just the same.”

“But, Edith, you don’t – you can’t – ”

“Yes, it will, mother. The President, – I just love him, – told me they needed a man who understood telegraphing and who was of high enough rank to take charge of the service. As you know, most of the telegraph operators are privates, and Captain Thorne is an expert. Since he’s been here in Richmond he’s helped them in the telegraph office often. Lieutenant Foray told me so.”

Mrs. Varney rose and moved away. Edith followed her.

“Now, mamma!” she exclaimed; “I feel you are going to scold me, and you must not, because it’s all fixed and the commission will be sent over here in a few minutes – just as soon as it can be made out – and when it comes I am going to give it to him myself.”

Mrs. Varney moved over toward the table and lifted a piece of paper, evidently a note.

“He is coming this evening,” she said.

“How do you know?” asked her daughter.

“Well, for one thing,” said her mother, “I can remember very few evenings when he hasn’t been here since he was able to walk out of the hospital.”

“Mamma!”

“And for another thing, this note came about half an hour ago.”

“Is it for me?”

“For me, my dear, else I shouldn’t have opened it. You can read it, if you like.”

“Has it been here all this time?” exclaimed Edith jealously.

“All this time. You will see what he says. This will be his last call; he has his orders to leave.”

“Why, it’s too ridiculous!” said the girl; “just as if the commission from the President wouldn’t supersede everything else. It puts him at the head of the Telegraph Service. He will be in command of the Department. He says it is a good-bye call, does he?” She looked at the note again and laughed, “All the better, it will be that much more of a surprise. Now, mamma, don’t you breathe a word about it, I want to tell him myself.”

“But, Edith dear – I am sorry to criticise you – but I don’t at all approve of your going to the President about this. It doesn’t seem quite the proper thing for a young lady to interest herself so far – ”

“But listen, mamma,” and as she spoke the light went out of Miss Edith’s face at her mother’s grave and somewhat reproving aspect. “I couldn’t go to the War Department people. Mr. Arrelsford is there in one of the offices, and ever since I – I refused him, you know how he has treated me! If I had applied for anything there, it would have been refused at once, and he would have got them to order Captain Thorne away right off. I know he would – why, that is where his orders came from!”

“But, my dear – ”

“That is where they came from. Isn’t it lucky I got that commission to-day. There’s the bell; I wonder who it can be?” She stopped and listened while the door opened and Jonas, the butler, entered. “Is it Captain Thorne?” asked Edith eagerly.

“No, ma’am.”

“Oh!”

“It’s another offisuh, ma’am. He says he’s fum de President an’ he’s got to see Miss Edith pussonally.”

Jonas extended a card which, as he spoke, Edith took and glanced at indifferently.

“Lieutenant Maxwell,” she read.

“Ask the gentleman in, Jonas,” said Mrs. Varney.

“It’s come,” whispered Edith to her mother.

“Do you know who he is?”

“No – but he’s from the President – it must be that commission.”

At this moment old Jonas ushered into the drawing-room a very dashing young officer, handsome in face, gallant in bearing, and dressed in a showy and perfectly fitting uniform, which was quite a contrast to the worn habiliments of the men at the front. Mrs. Varney stepped forward a little, and Lieutenant Maxwell bowed low before her.

“Good-evening, ma’am. Have I the honour of addressing Miss Varney?”

“I am Mrs. Varney, sir.”

“Madam,” said the Lieutenant, “I am very much afraid this looks like an intrusion on my part, but I come from the President, and he desires me to see Miss Varney personally.”

“Any one from the President could not be otherwise than welcome, sir. This is my daughter. Edith, let me present Lieutenant Maxwell.”

The young Lieutenant, greatly impressed, bowed profoundly before her, and taking a large brown envelope from his belt, handed it to her.

“Miss Varney,” he said, “the President directed me to deliver this into your hands, with his compliments. He is glad to be able to do this, he says, not only at your request, but because of your father and for the merits of the gentleman in question.”

“Oh, thank you,” cried the girl, taking the envelope.

“Won’t you be seated, Lieutenant Maxwell?” said Mrs. Varney.

“Yes, do,” urged the girl, holding the envelope pressed very tightly to her side.

“Nothing would please me so much, ladies,” answered the Lieutenant, “but I must go back to the President’s house right away. I’m on duty this evening. Would you mind writing me off a line or two, Miss Varney, just to say you have received the communication?”

“Why, certainly, you want a receipt. I’ll go upstairs to my desk; it won’t take a moment. And could I put in how much I thank him for his kindness?”

“I am sure he would be more than, pleased,” smiled Lieutenant Maxwell, as Edith left the room and hastened up the stairs.

“We haven’t heard so much cannonading to-day, Lieutenant,” said Mrs. Varney. “Do you know what it means?”

“I don’t think they are quite positive, ma’am, but they can’t help looking for a violent attack to follow.”

“I don’t see why it should quiet down before an assault.”

“Well, there is always a calm before a storm,” said the Lieutenant. “It might be some signal, or it might be they are moving their batteries to open on some special point of attack. They are trying every way to break through our defences, you know.”

“It’s very discouraging. We can’t seem to drive them back this time.”

“We’re holding them where they are, though,” said Maxwell proudly. “They’ll never get in unless they do it by some scurvy trick; that’s where the danger lies. We are always looking out for it, and – ”

At this moment Edith Varney reëntered the room. She had left her hat upstairs with the official-looking envelope, and had taken time to glance at a mirror and then to thrust a red rose in her dark hair. The impressionable young Lieutenant thought she looked prettier than ever.

“Lieutenant Maxwell,” she said, extending a folded paper, “here is your receipt – ”

The butler’s words to some one in the hall interrupted her further speech.

“Will you jes’ kin’ly step dis way, suh!” she heard Jonas say, and as Edith turned she found herself face to face with Captain Thorne!