Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 193: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

184 THE ARGOSY. IT was fired on when I thought all danger was past—ten miles from where I was imprisoned. Great heavens, it was a mad gallop, a sort of go as you please race, over ditches, vaulting fences, across the fields, up the hill at a run and down it atatear.” Suddenly he paused and laughed—a little mirth- lessly, “ Forgive me,” he said, “ I for- got it could not possibly interest you.” “It was somewhat risky your stop- ping here,” she said, ignoring his last words. “ Yes, I admit that.” The woman turned her eyes to the long, low stretch of meadow that lay in the dim distance against the azure sky. “That is, twenty four hours ago it might have been a dangerous thing to do; now ”—her lips trembled ever so little—“‘ it does not matter now,’ she said, “ General Lee has surrendered.” There was a long silence. A wanton breeze stole through the arbor vita; far off a whippoorwill called to its mate. Behind them some one stole into the little graveyard and stood there trans- fixed ; but they did not heed. They were looking into each other’s eyes. Ravenscroft did not nfove. The girl held out her arms appealingly ; then they dropped to her side. She caught her breath in something like a sob. ‘“‘ Peyton,” she said, “ see! the war is over—this terrible war—are we not go- ing to have peace?” “ Yes,” he said, but he did not at- tempt to come nearer. “ Do you remember when we were children how we used to quarrel and then ‘make up’? Do you remember the bit of lad’s love and maiden’s pride we tied together one summer day so long ago? See, I have it here ”—she drew a tiny envelope from her bbsom— it was soiled and worn—“ I have car- ried it near me all these years—these years that have taught me how cruel life can be—and yet—how dear!” Ravenscroft took a step forward; his lip was trembling, but he did not move. “ Ah! Peyton, why do you not help me? Must I humble myself yet more? Have I not atoned by my past suffering a hundredfold for my cruel words to your See,” she stretched out to him a small foot, tncased in what once had been a shoe; she touched the dress she wore ; it was old and worn; “ see what -you have brought us to—and yet ” “Yes?” he said. His voice was full of repressed passion. “ But Peyton, there is one thing‘ ‘stronger than a woman’s pride—it is a woman’s love! ”’ She went up to him like a pleading, contrite child. Dear,” she said, “I come to you today, stripped of the old time wealth; the old time pride. I come to you, humbly, devotedly, loyally, with all my heart and soul. Will you take me? I come to you as a woman comes to the man she loves.” There in the safe shelter of his em- brace she stood, knowing that the strong arm which had fought a thou- sand men in the past would henceforth strike in her defense alone. * * x * Behind them stood a silent figure— he was looking at the old time graves at his feet. “Sir Peyton Ravenscroft, Bart,” he read on one and the carved crest shone in the sunlight. “ Lady Jean Ravens- croft,” he read on and marveled that history should so repeat itself. There was another slab—a slab a lit- tle apart from the rest, but he lingered there the longest. “Sir Richard Vaughan ” he read, and he stood there thinking while the sun sank in the west. “They say you never married. I won- der why,” he mused; “ I wonder why.” He parted the bushes and _ looked toward the two in the garden. With a sudden snap, the lad’s love and the maiden’s pride sprang together, hiding from his sight the Jean and Peyton of the present, the Jean and Peyton of the past. A soft gray mist rose from the near EOMRIC OOOkKS CO