CHAPTER XXIII.

ERMINIE’S GREAT SORROW.

When Albert Goldsborough was turned out of the library by his indignant little ladylove, he did not go out of the house as she had commanded him to do. He passed cavalierly by the staring and stupefied servant who had been ordered to attend him, and saying that he should go to Colonel Eastworth’s rooms and wait for his return, ascended the stairs.

Catharine slipped after him, opened Colonel Eastworth’s door, and showed the visitor in. And then, thinking that she had literally obeyed orders in “attending” the gentleman, she returned to her duties in the lower regions of the house.

Meanwhile, Albert Goldsborough threw himself into a chair before the fire to wait for Colonel Eastworth.

Three long hours he had to wait. The time hung heavily on his hands. He read a little from the newspapers that lay scattered over the table; he walked restlessly, looking into all the cupboards and out of the windows; then he sat down at the round table to improve the time by writing letters that lay heavily on his conscience. One letter he wrote to his mother, another to some coconspirator in Virginia, and a third he wrote to Elfie—this last full of complaining love and tender reproaches. He was still engaged in writing this letter, which threatened to be as interminable as love letters usually are, when the door was suddenly flung open, and Colonel Eastworth strode into the room.

“You here?” he exclaimed, on seeing his visitor.

“Yes, colonel,” said Albert, rising and hastily rolling up his love letter and thrusting it into his pocket.

“Have you brought anything?” he inquired, coming up to the table, and speaking in a low voice.

“These, colonel,” replied the young man, delivering his dispatches.

Colonel Eastworth dropped into his chair, tore open the packet and read the papers, commenting on their contents as he went on.

“So,” he murmured, “L. will do nothing until the Legislature has acted. E. also holds back until the ordinance of secession is formally passed. J. is waiting for more light, and making the affair a matter of prayer. But M., S. and W. are ready to take the field now, each with a following of more than a thousand men! Good! I predict that when Washington is ours, those faint-hearted, purblind fellows who cannot make up their minds, but must needs wait for ‘more light,’ will be braced up a little, and be able to see their duty, or their interest, which, with such laggards, means the same thing.”

The remainder of the document was read in silence and with a lowering brow. Then he drew a quire of paper before him, took a pen, and rapidly indited a letter, which he folded, sealed, and put into the hands of the young man, saying:

“I am sorry to send you off again in such a hurry, before you have even had time to rest, Goldsborough; but it is absolutely necessary that this should be in the hands of S. before to-morrow morning. There is to be a meeting at Witch Elms to-morrow evening, and he must be present; for the final arrangements as to the precise time and mode of the assault will be discussed and decided upon.”

Albert Goldsborough received the packet, but instead of starting immediately on his mission, he hesitated and dropped his eyes upon the floor.

“Well, what now? You have something to tell me!” exclaimed Eastworth.

“Yes, colonel, I have! You are no longer safe in this house! A little, prying imp, in the form of a young girl, has discovered our plot, and means to denounce us to the authorities and to our host!”

“The demon! this cannot be true!” exclaimed Colonel Eastworth, in consternation.

“It is as true as truth, colonel! She has threatened to denounce us all! And she will surely carry out her threats!”

“What girl is this?”

“Little Elfrida Fielding!”

“Ah, the little serpent! And to think that such a little, insignificant creature should be able to do so much harm!”

“Ah, colonel! a worm may burrow a hole that shall sink a ship of the line!” said Albert Goldsborough.

“Yes, yes! Now I must hasten my departure. It is very fortunate for my plans that old Rosenthal has gone off to Baltimore to see his brothers thus far on their way to New York. And that he will not be home until late to-night. I can leave a letter of adieu to him. But, Albert, how did this girl manage to discover so much?”

“Who can tell?” replied young Goldsborough, evasively, for not for the world would he have confessed to his colonel his own indiscretion in betraying his secrets to Elfrida before he could be sure of her sentiments on the subject of secession.

“I suppose the little witch has been eavesdropping. There are too many doors to this apartment to make it a safe consultation room,” said Colonel Eastworth, moodily.

“There are,” admitted Albert, with a sigh.

“Well, in any case, in a very few days I should be obliged by expediency to withdraw from the house, and this discovery has at most but accelerated my action. It is fortunate that old Rosenthal is out of the way!—Well, good-day, Albert. I must really send you off at once,” said Colonel Eastworth, holding out his hand.

“And I must really go off at once,” agreed young Goldsborough, respectfully saluting his “superior officer” as he left the room.

Colonel Eastworth, left alone, sank down into his chair and fell into the moody meditation so frequent with him of late. Born of an old historical family, whose names were identified with the chronicles of the country; whose men were all brave, whose women were all pure; nurtured in the highest principles of truth and justice; tried and proved in the legislative halls of his native State and on the battle plains of Mexico, up to within a few months past Colonel Eastworth was a man of stainless honor and glorious fame. But he believed in the absolute sovereignty of each single State in our Federal Union; in the absolute right of each State to secede at will from the Union, and in his own allegiance due solely to his native State. Thus, warped by the doctrine of States’ Rights and tempted by the fiend Ambition, he had been won over to the cause of the Southern Confederacy. Not, however, without a severe struggle did he win his own consent to abandon the old flag that had been the idol of his boyish worship, for which in his bright and blameless youth he had shed his blood and risked his life, under which he had gained a nation’s gratitude and a hero’s crown. This struggle over, all the rest was easy enough—easy as “the descent to hell” is said to be. The doctrine of States’ Rights admitted, the other doctrines of Expediency naturally followed as an excuse for all manner of dishonorable action. This Expediency led him to lend the powerful aid of his astute intellect and military experience to the bands who were planning the capture of the city and the seizure of the President-elect.

After some minutes of moody thought Colonel Eastworth arose, went downstairs to seek Erminie. He found her in the drawing-room, toning down the gas which had just been lighted, and putting those last delicate finishing touches on the artistic arrangement of the room of which only the young mistress’ hand seemed capable.

“I am happy to find you alone, sweet love,” he said, gliding to her side.

“And I am very happy to be alone to receive you,” answered his betrothed, with confiding frankness. “I love my friends very dearly; but, oh! indeed I am not so very sorry that the company is gone for the present. We could not have a word apart while they were here, could we, Eastworth?”

“No, sweetest girl, we could not! we could not. And did you miss our _tête-à-têtes_ so much, mine own?” he asked, seating himself in a large resting-chair, and drawing her toward him, much, very much, as a father might draw a daughter to sit upon his knees.

But the Lutheran minister’s child was very delicately shy, and that beautiful shyness was one of her most bewitching charms. Softly and gently, and without offence, she evaded his motion, and passed in behind his chair and bent playfully over him.

“Oh, yes, yes! I missed our _tête-à-têtes_ so much! I missed you every day and every hour in the day!”

“Did you, my dearest one! did you, indeed, miss me—such a gray, wrinkled, careworn wretch as I am?” he said.

She bent over him with caressing tenderness.

It was true! Six months before this time there had not been one silver thread in the raven tresses, or one line on the ivory forehead of Colonel Eastworth; but now care had streaked his hair with gray, and the constant habit of frowning had planted deep wrinkles between his brows.

Erminie leaned over him with caressing tenderness, and pressed her lips to that spot on the top of his head where the thin hair indicated swiftly approaching baldness.

“I love you more for every white hair and every deep wrinkle; they are indices of thought and of suffering; and how can I but love you more for them?” murmured Erminie, laying her soft cheek upon his head.

“Come around here, my own! my own! I am your husband, or soon to be so! Sit where I can see your sweet face!” he pleaded, reaching behind him and getting hold of her hand and trying to draw her around.

“I will sit here and look up into your face—ever the most beloved face in the universe to me!” murmured Erminie, softly, as she drew a footstool to his feet and seated herself upon it, and placed her hand in his.

“Erminie,” he said, bending over her and gazing and speaking with an earnestness approaching solemnity, “Erminie, do you really, really love me?”

She looked up at him with a frightened aspect, and answered slowly:

“Oh, you know I do! You cannot doubt me! What made you ask such a question?”

“Because, my beloved, I am about to put your love to a terrible test!” he replied, with an agitation that powerfully appealed to her sympathies.

“That is just what I wish you to do! what I pray you to do! Put my love to any test—any! so that I may prove to you how truly I love you—how much I would do for you!” she answered, in a low, fervent, faltering voice; and blushing intensely at her own temerity, even while feeling so anxious to reassure her lover.

“Erminie, the test by which I shall prove your love will be the severest test by which the love of a nature like yours could possibly be tried.”

“It will not be too severe for mine! I invoke the trial! I invoke it!”

“Erminie, do you love me enough to henceforth cast your lot with mine, for good and evil, for time and eternity?”

“Ah, yes, yes, yes! But that is not the test, for surely every woman loves her betrothed as much as that! But I love you, oh, so much more!” she murmured, hiding her face in his caressing hands.

“You love me enough to forsake all and follow me?”

“Oh, yes, yes! Did I not promise that on the blessed day when my dear father placed my hand in yours in solemn betrothal?”

“You will cleave to me, to me only, forever and ever, through good report and through evil report?”

“As my soul lives, I will!” fervently exclaimed the Lutheran minister’s daughter, uttering the rashest vow that was ever spoken by trusting lips.

She did not even add the saving clause: “In all cases not inconsistent with my duty.” She did not dream of doing so. Her pledge to her lover was unconditional because her faith in him was unbounded.

Nor was hers the mere blind faith of a loving heart. It seemed to be justifiable, for Colonel Eastworth was a man highly honored by the world, both for his private character and his public services. How could she ever imagine that he would call upon her to forsake her father and her country?

Yet this he was about to do. This was the test to which he meant to put her devoted love. And now he believed that the time was ripe for the disclosure of his plans. Now he felt assured that she was truly and unreservedly his own—so bound to him, body and soul, that she was not only ready to suffer with him, but willing to sin for him, if he should wish her to do so.

“Erminie,” he said, looking down into her loving, trustful, fervent face, “Erminie, you have pledged your faith to me by a very solemn oath—‘As my soul lives.’”

“Yes! And I repeat it. ‘As my soul lives!’ And if there could be an oath more solemn and binding than that, without being profane, I would pledge you my faith by it!”

“Erminie,” he stooped and whispered, “you are already almost my wife!”

“Oh, yes; I consider myself so. With us, you know, betrothal is as sacred as marriage,” she murmured.

“Then, my beloved, what I wish you to do is to become my wife in reality and immediately,” he whispered.

“But my father, dear Eastworth! My father would not consent. And besides, he is not here, and will not be here until late to-night,” she answered, when at last she was able to reply.

“No, my beloved, your father would not consent. It would be quite useless to ask him even if he were here; and he is not here. We must act, Erminie, without consulting your father!”

“Oh, Eastworth, not without my dear father’s consent. I could not—I could not strike such a blow at my father’s heart,” she pleaded, plaintively, not as if she could persistently resist his wishes, but as if she were imploring him to spare her the trial. He saw that and took an ungenerous advantage of it.

“You do not love me,” he said, coldly and bitterly.

He had never spoken to her so roughly before. She looked up at him in surprise and affright.

“No, you do not love me, or you would not answer me so,” he repeated, with cruel emphasis.

“Oh, I do, I do! Heaven knows how truly and how much!” she said, clasping her hands in the fervor of her feelings.

“Erminie,” he said, changing his tone from bitter severity to tender earnestness, “Erminie, I would not ask you to do this were there not the gravest reasons for it. Shall I tell you what these reasons are, my beloved girl?”

She dropped her head upon her bosom. Her gesture might have meant assent or despondency. He took it as an assent and he continued:

“Erminie, I am obliged to leave, not only this house, but this city, to-night—to leave, not only in haste, but in danger!”

“In danger!” she echoed, growing very pale.

“Yes, in danger—and as a fugitive!”

“As a fugitive! Oh, Heaven of Heavens! what has happened?” she gasped, in deadly terror for his safety.

“I have been betrayed.”

“Betrayed!”

“You do nothing but echo my words, sweet love!”

“Oh, forgive me! How can I help it? They are so strange and so alarming—your words. And I am all in a maze of bewilderment,” she faltered, trembling excessively.

“Do you not surmise what all this means, Erminie?”

“Oh, no, no, no! I dare not—I dare not! I only know whatever the mystery is, you are blameless in it.”

“Thanks, sweet love, for your boundless faith. But I am something higher and better than blameless, my Erminie, or I should not deserve your faith and love. I go out of this city in haste, in danger, and as a fugitive; but I return to it, Erminie, at the head of an army, with beating drums and waving banners!”

She gazed at him in amazement. His words were as unintelligible to her as if he had spoken in Sanscrit.

“Now do you understand?” he inquired, smiling.

Reassured by his manner, she also smiled, as she shook her head and replied:

“I understand that my betrothed husband is all that is good, noble, honorable; but I do not understand his words.”

“My beloved Erminie, listen: I am a Secessionist! One of the leaders in this second coming war of independence, which is to be more glorious than the first; one of the builders of this second young republic, whose splendor is destined to eclipse the first! And when I ask you to go away with me to-night, it is to share the fate of one who would lift you up beside him to, perhaps, the highest position in the gift of the young Confederacy!—Why, what is the matter with you, love?” he suddenly broke off and inquired, as she turned from him and dropped her head upon her bosom. “What is the matter with you, Erminie?”

“My heart is broken!” she murmured, in an almost dying voice.

“Nonsense, my darling girl! I know what your professed principles are. I often hear you express yourself strongly in favor of this absurd ‘Union.’ But I also know that, daughter-like, you take your opinions from your father, and, parrot-like, repeat the words he uses, without attaching much meaning to them. Henceforth, Erminie, you must take your opinions, not from your father, but from your husband. What do you say, my love?”

“I do not think that I took those opinions from my father. I do not remember the time when I did not know that treason——”

“Erminie!” he exclaimed, in a voice so stern as to make her start.

“Oh, pardon me,” she said. “I did not mean to speak so rudely. And I did not wish to offend you. And oh! perhaps I misunderstood you. Heaven grant that I may have done so. Oh, indeed, I must have done so! I am so stupid and bewildered. You are true to your country, are you not? Oh, tell me that you are, and I will ask your pardon on my knees for my momentary doubt of you!” she pleaded, clasping her hands, and gazing at him with imploring eyes.

“Yes, Erminie, I am true to my country; but not in the sense, I fear, you mean. I am true to my country. I am pledged for the support of the Southern Confederacy, which is the only country I acknowledge!”

“Then, oh, my heart! all is over between us!” she cried, sinking down at his feet, utterly overwhelmed by this blow he had dealt her.

He stooped and raised her tenderly, and drew her to his bosom, murmuring:

“Erminie, my love, my love!”

She turned suddenly and threw her arms around his neck and clasped him tightly, as though she would have held him with all her girl’s strength back from the Malebolge of ruin into which he was about to plunge.

“Oh, Eastworth, I would give my life to find you indeed right! I would rather be wrong a thousand times than you should be wrong once! But I see this all too clearly to deceive myself. I have loved this Union so much! I have thought of her as the Promised Land, the New Jerusalem, the refuge of all the oppressed, the hope of the world! And would you aim a deathblow at her? Oh, think how weak she would be if broken up and divided! Think how the old despotic monarchies of the East would rejoice over her downfall, which would prove self-government a failure among nations. Oh, my dearest, let me hold you back! I would give my life—almost my soul—to save you from this vortex!”

“Erminie, love, you speak from prejudice and from feeling, and not from reason and judgment. Dear love, I will not reproach you, though you have called my devotion to my native State and her confederates treason, but I will say that when a man is charged with treason he has the right to defend himself. Will you hear my defence?”

“Eastworth, if I have said anything offensive to you, I do earnestly beg your forgiveness. But I did not mean to offend.”

“Will you hear my defence?”

“Oh, yes, yes!”

Colonel Eastworth began to plead the cause of Secession with all the arguments by which astute leaders influence the opinions of people. These arguments are too familiar to all to need repetition here. But they made no impression on the mind of Erminie Rosenthal. She was not to be deceived by sophistry or persuaded by eloquence, or even won over by love. “Her eye was single, and her whole soul was full of light.”

Hour after hour slipped away while he argued, persuaded and implored Erminie to unite her fate with his own, and accompany him to Virginia. And Erminie suffered, wept, but remained steadfast to her principles.

At length, as the time approached for his departure and found her unmoved, he became angry, and gave way to cruel reproaches.

“You have deceived me, Miss Rosenthal. You have played the part of a heartless coquette. You do not love me and you have never done so.”

“Oh, Eastworth, I love you more than life! Heaven truly knows I do!” she said, through her sobs.

“Words, words, words! You can talk of love glibly enough. No doubt you could write what school misses would call ‘sweet verses’ on the theme; but you cannot feel it, Erminie.”

“Oh, Eastworth, I would sacrifice my life to save you if I could. Heaven truly knows that I would!”

“Words, words, words again! All that is easily said. You would sacrifice your life to save me. It is very safe to promise that, since no such sacrifice can possibly be required of you. You will sacrifice your life, which nobody asks you to do, but you will not go with me when I leave this place a fugitive—you will not go with me, though I implore you to do it.”

“It is because it would be wrong for me to do so, and I dare not do wrong.”

“Words, words, words!” he said again, with bitter scorn. “Farewell, Miss Rosenthal.”

And he got up and strode toward the door.

Quick as light she flew before him, intercepted him and clasped him in her arms.

“Oh, don’t—don’t go! Spare yourself! Oh, Eastworth! oh, my love, spare yourself!” she cried, almost beside herself.

“Will you go with me?” he stooped and whispered.

“No, never! I dare not do wrong!”

“Then let me go alone, false-hearted girl!” he cried, tearing off her clasping arms and flinging her from him with such force that she fell upon the floor.

He rushed up into his room, rang for his servant, sent out and ordered a carriage, and while waiting for it hastily packed up his most valuable effects, and as soon as it came to the door he entered it and drove to the station in time to catch the train for Alexandria and Orange.

Some minutes after the carriage had rolled away, Elfrida chanced to come down to the drawing-room, and there she found Erminie lying upon the floor in a swoon.

In great alarm she rang for assistance, and then flew to the side of her friend and raised her up.

Erminie opened her eyes, and, recognizing Elfrida, burst into tears and sobbed passionately.

“Don’t cry—they are not worth tears,” said Elfie.

“Oh, Elfrida! oh, Elfrida! If you knew—if you knew!” sobbed Erminie.

“I know all about it. I saw Colonel Eastworth drive away in a cab, with all his luggage packed in and around it. And I know that your lover has gone to help my lover to plot against the safety of the city. But, thank goodness, I have been beforehand with them.”

At this moment Catharine opened the door and came in.

“Did you ring, miss?” she inquired.

“Yes—more coal,” said Elfie, with great presence of mind.

And when the girl had gone, Elfie whispered to her friend:

“Keep a stiff upper lip; never say die; don’t let the servants see us fret.”

“I must not let my dear father see me grieve. To prevent that must be my first care. But if it were not for him I should pray—oh, I should pray for death!” sobbed Erminie.

“Can’t see it in that light at all! Long life to all true patriots, both men and women, because, you see, the country needs them all! And now, Minie, you are hardly able to stand. Do let me help you up into your room before that sharp-eyed girl comes back,” said Elfie.

Erminie yielded, and Elfie took her upstairs and persuaded her to lie down on her bed.

“Now, the governor will not be home until the late train gets in; that will not be until eleven o’clock to-night. I will sit up for him and have his oysters and lager beer ready for him; and I will tell him that you are very tired and have gone to bed.”

“Thanks, dear Elfie! And by to-morrow morning I hope to be able to meet my father with some composure,” said Erminie.

“And now what else can I do for you?”

“Nothing, dear girl, but to leave me alone with God.”

Elfrida stooped over her and kissed her, and then softly left the room and closed the door.

The six o’clock dinner that was prepared that day went away from the table untasted. There was no one to partake of it.

Elfie sent out and got some fresh oysters and lager beer for her kind host, and had a neat little table set in the library ready for him when he should come home.

He came in at eleven o’clock.

Elfie opened the library door and drew him in there, and helped him off with his wrappings and with his overcoat, and placed the easy-chair near the fire, and brought him his bootjack and slippers, and performed all the affectionate little services that Erminie was accustomed to render her father.

“Where is my Minie?” inquired the old man, extending his hands over the warm fire, when he had made himself comfortable.

“Gone to bed very tired, leaving me to be your daughter for this once.”

“And a nice little daughter you are, my dear. I wish Justin had taken a fancy to you instead of to that Tammany Hall reformer.”

“So do I! But he hadn’t the good taste to do so, you see,” said Elfie, saucily.

“And my Minie was tired. No wonder, poor dear! She has had a great many cares lately, with so much company staying in the house. I am not alluding to you, my dear, for you are a help and a Godsend! And Eastworth?”

“Oh, he has retired too (from the establishment),” added Elfie, in a mental reservation.

“Ah, yes, well. I must have some supper now, my dear, since you are my daughter.”

Elfie rang, and supper was served; and then the old man and the young girl separated and retired to their respective rooms.

And dear, unselfish Elfie, now that her fortitude could be of use to no one under the sun, broke down and wept all night, soaking her pillow with her tears.

In the morning, when Dr. Rosenthal came downstairs, the first thing that met him was a letter that Colonel Eastworth had left in charge of Catherine to be delivered to him.

To his unbounded astonishment, that letter revealed to him that his late guest and promised son-in-law was pledged to the support of the Southern Confederacy and had gone away to enter upon his new service.

“Heaven have mercy on my poor child!” was the first thought of the father.

Erminie came down to breakfast as pale as death and almost as still.

“I see that you know all, my dearest child,” said the old man as soon as he saw her.

“Oh, my father, pray for him—pray that he may be led back to us!”

“I will, my Minie!—I will, my angel child! God bless you!” said the doctor.

Erminie seated herself at the head of the table, and went through the duties of the breakfast service quietly; and after breakfast she went about her household affairs as usual. Later in the day Elfrida communicated to Dr. Rosenthal Albert Goldsborough’s visit and revelation to herself, and also her own visit to the War Department and its results.

“And, ha! that was what hurried Eastworth away. But for Erminie’s sake I will not call him ill names, however well he may deserve them. Heavens! to think I should have been so blind!” said the old man, whose astonishment at the conduct of his late guest increased with every hour of thought upon the subject.

In the course of that day a rumor spread through the city which created a great excitement. It was to the effect that the War Department had received certain information of a large and well organized plot to seize the capital and prevent the inauguration of the President-elect.

And everywhere citizens were enrolling themselves in military companies for the defence of Washington; and among the first names that went down upon that immortal roll was the name of Ernest Rosenthal.