The Flower of the Chapdelaines | Page 9

the waking cup of coffee which it was Sidney's wont to
bring. I started from the pillow. "Oh! what--who--wh'--where's Sidney?
Why--how long has it been raining?"
"It began at break of day," she replied, adding pensively, "thank God."
"Oh! were we in such bad need of rain?"
"They were--precisely when it came. Rain never came straighter from
heaven."
"They?"--I stared.
"Yes; Silas and Hester--and Sidney--and Mingo. They must have
started soon after moonrise, and had the whole bright night, with its
black shadows, for going."
"For going where, auntie; going where?"
"Then the rain came in God's own hour," she continued, as if wholly to
herself, "and washed out their trail."
I sprang from the bed. "Aunt 'Liza!"
"Yes, Maud, they've run away, and if only they may get away. God be
praised!"
Of course, I cried like an infant. I threw myself upon her bosom. "Oh,
auntie, auntie, I'm afraid it's my fault! But when I tell you how far I was
from meaning it----"
"Don't tell me a word, my child; I wish it were my fault; I'd like to be in
your shoes. And, I don't care how right slavery is, I'll never own a
darky again!"
One day some two months after, at home again with father. Just as I
was leaving the house on some errand, Sidney--ragged, wet, and
bedraggled as a lost dog--sprang into my arms. When I had got her
reclothed and fed I eagerly heard her story. Three of the four had come
safely through; poor Mingo had failed; if I ever tell of him it must be at
some other time. In the course of her tale I asked about the compass.
"Dat little trick?" she said fondly. "Oh, yass'm, it wah de salvation o' de
Lawd 'pon cloudy nights; but time an' ag'in us had to sepa'ate, 'llowin'
fo' to rejine togetheh on de bank o' de nex' creek, an' which, de Lawd
a-he'pin' of us, h-it al'ays come to pass; an' so, afteh all, Miss Maud, de
one thing what stan' us de bes' frien' night 'pon night, next to Gawd
hisse'f, dat wah his clock in de ske-eye."

VI

"Landry," Chester said next day, bringing back the magazine barely
half an hour after the book-shop had reopened, "that's a true story!"
"Ah, something inside tells you?"
"No need! You remember this, near the end? '_Poor Mingo had failed
[to escape]; if I ever tell of him it must be at another time_.' Landry, it's
so absurd that I hardly have the face to say it; I've got--ha-ha-ha!--I've
got a manuscript! and it fills that gap!" The speaker whipped out the
"Memorandum"; "Here's the story, by my own uncle, of how the three
got over the border and how Mingo failed. I'd totally forgotten I had it.
I disliked its beginning far more than I did 'Maud's' yesterday. For I
hate masks and costumes as much as Mr. Castanado loves them; and a
practical joke--which is what the story begins with, in costume, though
it soon leaves it behind--nauseates me. Comical situation it makes for
me, this 'Memorandum,' doesn't it--turning up this way?"
Ovide replied meditatively: "To lend it, even to me, would seem as
though you sought----"
"It would put me in a false light! I don't like false lights."
"It would mask and costume you."
"Why, not so badly as if I were really in society; as, you know, I'm not!
The only place where any man, but especially a society man, can
properly seek a girl's society is in society. The more he's worthy to
meet her, the more hopelessly--I needn't say hopelessly, but
completely--he's cut off from meeting her any other way. Isn't that a
gay situation? Ha-ha-ha!"
"You would probably move much in society, even Creole society,
without meeting mademoiselle; she has less time for it than you."
"Is that so?"
Cupid, the evening before, had carried a flat, square parcel like a shop's
account-books to be written up under the home lamp. Staring at Landry,
Chester rather dropped the words than spoke them: "Think of it! The
awful pity! For the like of her! Of her! Why, how on earth--? No, don't
tell! I know what I'd think of any other man following in her wake and
asking questions while hard fortune writes her history. A girl like her,
Landry, has no business with a history!"
"Mr. Chester."
"Yes?"
"Has that 'Memorandum' never been printed? I can find out for you, in

_Poole's Index_."
"Do it! It's good enough, and it's named as if to be printed. See? 'The
Angel of----'"
"Then why not have Mr. Castanado, while selecting a publisher for
mademoiselle's manuscript, select for both?"
Chester shone: "Why--why, happy thought! I'll consider that, indeed I
will! Well, good mor'----"
"Mr. Chester."
"Well?"