"But why did you not come here before?"

"I could not tell exactly where the ship had stranded, and did not hear
of the wreck on Hemlock Bluff rocks until about three weeks ago. Then I
determined to make an investigation. I have now visited the wreck and
have learned positively that it is that of the ship upon which myself,
my wife, and our little son took passage."

"Yourself, your wife, and your little son," repeated Mrs. Ruthven, and
then of a sudden her breast began to heave. "Your wife and son were with
you?"

"Yes, madam."

"Wha--what was your little son's name?" she faltered, hardly able to go
on.

"Jack."

"By golly, he must be our Jack's fadder!" burst out Old Ben. "Now don't
dat beat de nation!"

"Jack! No! no! You--you cannot be our Jack's father!" cried Mrs.
Ruthven.

"I understand you are very much attached to the boy," went on Dr. Mackey
smoothly. "It is a pity. Yes, he is truly my son."

The tears came into Mrs. Ruthven's eyes, but she hastily brushed them
away. "Jack does not look much like you," she declared.

"That is true, but he bears a strong resemblance to my dead brother
Walter, and that is what made me certain he is my son. I saw him in town
a day or two ago, although he did not see me."

"This is very strange." The lady hardly knew how to go on. The thought
that she might have to give up Jack was a bitter one. "Have you spoken
to Jack yet?"

"No. Isn't he here?"

"No, he went for a boat race, against his cousin, St. John Ruthven--I
mean my nephew," she stammered.

"Do you expect him back soon?"

"I do not believe he will be gone more than an hour or so."

"Then I will wait."

"Of course, Dr. Mackey. Will you come into the house?"

The surgeon was willing, and the lady led the way. But presently she
turned back to beckon to Old Ben.

"Go after Jack at once," she said. "Tell him it is important, but do not
say anything more to anybody." Ben nodded, and without further delay
strode off.

"I have heard something of how the wreck struck here and how my poor
wife was cast ashore with Jack in her arms," said the doctor, as he
threw himself into an easy-chair. "I should be very much gratified to
receive the particulars from your lips. Did my wife have anything to
say?"

"Nothing much, sir. She was delirious up to the moment of her death."

"Poor, dear Julia!" murmured the surgeon, and bringing out his
handkerchief, he wiped his eyes with much affectation.

"Was her name Julia?" asked Mrs. Ruthven curiously.

"Yes, madam." The doctor looked up suddenly. "What makes you ask?"

"It ran in my mind that before your wife died she murmured something
about her name being Laura."

"Poor dear! she was truly out of her mind," replied the surgeon. "But it
is not to be wondered at--considering what happened to me." And he
proceeded to make use of his handkerchief again.

Mrs. Ruthven sank into a chair and gave herself up to bitter reflection.
What if this man should take Jack from her? The plantation would seem
very lonely without him.

Voices were now heard in the garden, and looking out of the window the
lady of the house saw Jack approaching, accompanied by Marion and Old
Ben. St. John had taken himself off, in order to get home and exchange
his wet clothing for dry garments.

"Oh, Jack! what does this mean?" cried Mrs. Ruthven when she saw that
our hero was dripping wet.

"He saved St. John's life, mamma," exclaimed Marion.

"Saved St. John's life?"

"Yes. St. John's boat struck on the rocks, and he went overboard. The
current was strong, and he would have been swept away only Jack leaped
overboard and went to his assistance."

"You noble boy!" murmured Mrs. Ruthven, and as he came in, by way of one
of the long veranda windows, she caught him by both hands.

"Old Ben said you wished to see me," replied Jack, and then he caught
sight of Dr. Mackey and his face fell. "The man I had the row with," he
thought.

"Jack, this is Dr. Mackey," said Mrs. Ruthven, in strained tones.
"He--he came here to see you." She could get no further.

"To see me? What for?"

"My boy, I am pleased to meet you," said the doctor, rising and
extending his hand. And he then added in a lower voice, "How like
Walter! How very like Walter!"

"I--I don't understand you," stammered Jack. "What do you want of me?"

"My boy, you are thinking of that encounter we had on the bridge. Let us
both forget it. I came here on a most important mission. Jack, I am your
father!"

"My father?" And our hero leaped back in astonishment.

"Yes, my son, I am your father." Dr. Mackey caught our hero by the hand.
"No doubt the news seems strange to you. Nevertheless, it is true."

Jack hardly heard the latter words, for his head was in a swim. This
crafty-looking, overbearing individual his parent? The shock was an
awful one. He turned to his foster mother.

"Mother, is this true--is this man my real father?" he cried
beseechingly.

"So he claims," returned Mrs. Ruthven.

"My dear, dear son, I trust you do not disbelieve me," said the doctor,
in an apparently hurt tone of voice.

"I--I don't know what to say," faltered Jack. "This is so strange--so
unexpected. Why didn't you come here before?"

"I have just been telling Mrs. Ruthven my story," and the surgeon
repeated what he had said, with several added details. As the man went
on our hero's face grew very pale, and he moved slowly towards Mrs.
Ruthven and clutched her by the shoulder.

"Mother, I don't want to leave you!" he whispered hoarsely. "I don't
like this man, even if he is my father!"

"I do not want you to leave me, Jack," she answered, embracing him in
spite of the fact that he was dripping wet. "But if this man is really
your father----"

"Make him prove it!"

"You will not take his word?"

"No! no! I do not like his looks. He is the man who met me on the bridge
and treated me like a slave."

Marion had listened to the conversation with a look of horror slowly
rising on her face. Now she rushed toward Jack.

"Jack, can this be true, and must I give you up?" she sobbed.

"No, I'm not going to give you up, Marion. We have always been brother
and sister, and so we shall remain--if you are willing."

"Yes, dear Jack; stay by all means."

By this time Dr. Mackey had arisen to his feet, and now he came up to
Jack with a darkening face.

"Did I understand you to say that you wished me to prove I was your
father?" he demanded harshly.

"Yes, I do wish you to prove it," answered Jack, with a boldness born of
desperation. "And until you prove it I shall remain here--if Mrs.
Ruthven will let me."

"By golly, dat's de talk!" came from Old Ben, who was hanging around on
the veranda.

"Shut up, you worthless nigger!" cried the doctor, at which Ben
disappeared like magic.

"This is a very--ahem--a very strange way to treat a newly found father,
Jack."

"I don't acknowledge you as my father."

"Ha! you won't believe me?"

"I will not, sir, and until you prove your claim in court I shall remain
with the lady who has been a real mother to me," answered our hero
pointedly and firmly.




CHAPTER XIV.

JACK SPEAKS HIS MIND.


A dead silence followed our hero's declaration to remain with Mrs.
Ruthven until Dr. Mackey had proved his claim to Jack in a court of law.

"This is a fine way to talk!" ejaculated the surgeon at last. "A fine
way, truly!"

"I mean what I say!" declared Jack. "Mother, am I right or wrong?" And
he turned pleadingly to Mrs. Ruthven.

"Dr. Mackey will certainly have to establish his claim to you before I
give you up, Jack," replied the lady of the plantation quickly. "You
see, I have adopted him legally, and he has been as dear to me as though
he were my own flesh and blood."

"Well--er--of course, in one way, your decision does you credit, madam,"
answered the surgeon lamely. "You have done a great deal for the lad,
and for that I must be as thankful as he is. When I have proved my claim
I will pay you back all the money you have spent upon him."

"I shall not wish a cent, sir."

"Yet I shall insist, madam."

"Are you wealthy?" asked Marion curiously.

"Yes, Miss Ruthven--or I will be as soon as I have proven my identity.
As yet I have been able to do but little. Let me add, Mackey is not my
real name."

"What is your real name?" questioned Mrs. Ruthven.

"I will reveal that later, when I have taken the proper steps in law to
obtain the vast property which is rightfully coming to me. You see, when
I disappeared, so to speak, nearly eleven years ago, my property went
into the hands of distant relatives, and they hate to give it up, and
are just as anxious to prove me an impostor as you seem to be."

"I am not anxious to prove you an impostor, Dr. Mackey; my heart is
wrapped up in Jack, that is all. If he is your son, I will rejoice that
he will be well off."

"I don't want to be rich; I would rather stay with you," put in our hero
quickly, and he meant what he said.

"Your affection for your foster mother does you credit, Jack," said the
doctor smoothly.

"She has been the best of mothers to me; so why shouldn't I love her?"

"True, my son, true. But it is strange that you have no warm feeling for
me--such as I have for you."

"You are a stranger to me."

"I trust your feeling towards me changes, for I want my only son to love
me."

At this Jack was silent, and instead of looking at the man he looked at
Mrs. Ruthven and at Marion. Then, unable to control his feelings, he
rushed from the room, mounted the stairs, and burst into his own
apartment, where he threw himself on the bed, wet as he was, to give
himself up to his misery.

"I don't want that man for a father!" he cried, over and over again,
half tearfully and with set teeth. "I don't want him! He isn't a bit
like anybody I could love! Oh, how I wish I had never set eyes on him!"

"It is a great shock to Jack, and to all of us," was Mrs. Ruthven's
comment, after the lad was gone.

"My reception here has been a great shock to me," said the doctor
bluntly. "My own son runs away from me."

"He had some trouble with you a couple of weeks ago."

"Pooh, that was nothing! I had almost forgotten it."

"Jack does not forget such things easily. Moreover, he is slow to make
friends with anybody."

"He doesn't know the chances he is throwing away. Were it not that he is
my son, and my heart goes out toward him, I would never bother him."

"What chances has he?" asked Marion.

"I shall be very rich; and, not only that, our family has a famous name
in England, with a title attached. Jack may some day be a nobleman."

"I reckon he'd rather be an American," answered Marion.

"Well, there is no accounting for tastes," said the surgeon dryly. "And
you evidently have him well drilled in."

"What actual proofs have you that Jack is your son?" asked Mrs. Ruthven,
after a painful pause.

"I have a number of private papers; also the marriage certificate which
proves that I married Jack's mother. More than that, I expect soon to
meet an old college chum who knows much of the past, and who can testify
in my behalf."

"Well, on my own account and on Jack's, I feel that I must make you
prove your claim, Dr. Mackey. It will be hard enough to give up the boy
when I am assured that he is really your own."

"I will not discuss the situation further," cried the doctor, moving
stiffly toward the door. "But unless you wish me to take immediate steps
to take Jack from you, you must make me one promise."

"And what is that, sir?"

"That you will not spirit the boy away from this plantation, so that he
cannot be brought into court when wanted."

"I will promise that. I do not wish to do anything contrary to law."

"Then that is all for the present, Mrs. Ruthven, and I will bid you
good-day."

"When do you expect to come back again?"

"As soon as my duties will permit. The Yankees are pressing us hard, and
I cannot neglect my duties as a surgeon in our army."

In a moment more the doctor was gone. Mrs. Ruthven watched him out of
sight, then sank in a chair, all but overcome. Old Ben saw her and came
up, hat in hand, his honest face full of genuine grief.

"Missus, dis am de worst wot I eber did heah," he said. "De idea, dat
dat man wants to take our Jack away! It am dreadful!"

"Yes, Ben; I do not know how I can endure it."

"He don't look like Jack one bit; not one bit, missus!"

"I know it, Ben. He says Jack resembles his brother Walter."

"Maybe he dun nebber had a brudder Walter."

"Evidently you do not believe him?"

"No, I don't."

"Where did you meet him?"

"He cum to de boathouse, and got me to row him ober to de wrack."

"You took him there. What did he want at the wreck?"

"I dunno dat, missus. He tole me to go away fer an hour or so. He went
below in de wrack, out ob sight."

"Perhaps he was after something belonging to the past. Did he bring
anything away with him?"

"I aint suah about dat, missus. When I rowed him ashore he had a tin box
hidden away under his coat, but he might have had dat when I took him
ober."

"How large a box?"

"About dis size," and Ben held out his hands.

"He wouldn't be likely to take such a box to the wreck with him. He must
have found it on the ship," went on Mrs. Ruthven, with interest.

"Where could he find it, missus? De folks around yeah has tuk everyt'ing
off dat wrack long ago."

"Perhaps not. To tell the truth, Ben, I do not like that man's manner at
all."

"No more do I, missus. He's got a bad eye, he has," responded the
colored man warmly.

"If you see him again, Ben, I wish you would watch him closely."

"I will do it, missus. Yo' can trust Ole Ben."

"You may be able to learn something important."

"If I do, I'll bring de news to yo' directly, missus."

"Perhaps you had better follow him now," went on Mrs. Ruthven suddenly.
"If he goes to the battlefield, you can come back."

"I will, missus," and in a moment more Ben was off.

Meanwhile Marion had gone up to Jack's room and knocked on the door. At
first there was no answer, and the girl knocked again.

"Who is it?" came in a half-choked voice.

"It is I, Marion. Can't I come in?"

"Yes," answered Jack, and Marion entered the room and sat down beside
our hero on the bed.

"Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry for you!" was all she could say.

"Marion, do you honestly think that man is my father?" he questioned
anxiously.

"I don't know what to say, Jack. It's all so strange."

"If he was my father it seems to me I ought to feel differently toward
him."

"Perhaps it's the shock, Jack."

"No, it isn't. I could never love that man as a son ought to love his
father," went on our hero impetuously.

"Hush! you mustn't talk so!"

"I can't help it. I hated that man when we met on the bridge--and--and I
hate him still!"

"Oh, Jack!"

"It's true, Marion. I don't see why he wanted to come here. I was happy
enough, with you and mother."

"He hasn't taken you away yet, Jack. Mother will make him prove his
claim first, never fear. She feels as badly almost as do you."

"To me the whole story sounds unreasonable, Marion. If there is a big
fortune in the background, that man may only be scheming to get it."

"But, if that is true, why doesn't he ignore you and keep the money for
himself?"

"I don't know--excepting it may be that he wants me in order to make his
claim stronger, or something like that. I don't know much about law."

"Neither do I. But if it comes to the worst, mother will get a lawyer
and make that man prove everything he says."

The two talked the matter over for a while, and gradually Jack grew
calmer. But look at it from every possible light, he could not make
himself believe that Dr. Mackey was his father.

Presently Mrs. Ruthven entered the chamber and also sat down to comfort
our hero.

"He is certainly a strange man," said she, referring to the surgeon. "He
went to the wreck and was aboard alone for some time, so Old Ben tells
me."

"What did he do?"

"Ben doesn't know."

"I shall visit the wreck again before long and make a search," said
Jack.

The three talked the matter over for several hours, but reached no
further conclusions. Jack expected the doctor back the next day, but he
did not appear, nor did he show himself for some time to come. In the
meantime things of great importance happened.




CHAPTER XV.

CAPTAIN JACK AT THE FRONT.


Two days after the conversation recorded in the last chapter the folks
living at the Ruthven plantation were disturbed at daybreak by the
distant firing of cannon, which continued for over two hours, gradually
drawing closer and closer.

"What can this mean?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, in alarm, as she moved to the
window. "Can the Yankees be pressing our army back again?"

"I will take the spyglass and go to the roof," said Jack. "Perhaps I'll
be able to see something."

Armed with the glass he made his way to the garret of the plantation
home, and then up a ladder leading to a scuttle of the roof. Marion, as
anxious as anybody, came after him.

Standing on the roof, Jack adjusted the spyglass and gave a long look in
the direction from whence the sounds were proceeding.

"What do you see, Jack?"

"I can see nothing but smoke," he answered. "Some is over at Bannock's
woods and the other near Townley church."

"Don't you see any of our soldiers?"

"No. The trees are in the way, and all I can see is a stretch of the bay
road. Hark! the cannon are at it again!"

"But the sounds are closer," persisted Marion.

"That is true. They must be--hullo! there come our men, along the bottom
of the woods--they are retreating!"

"Do you mean to say they are coming this way, Jack?"

"Yes, Marion. See for yourself!" And he handed the girl the spyglass.

Marion took a long look, and gave a sigh. "You are right, our brave
soldiers are suffering another defeat. Perhaps they will come to our
plantation!"

"If they do, we ought to do all we can for the wounded," answered Jack
quickly.

"To be sure. Oh, see! they are running this way as fast as they
can--fully two regiments of them!"

Again Jack took the glass. "Yes, and now I can see the Yankees. My, what
a lot of them! At least twice as many men as there are on our side. I
really believe they are going to push on to here, Marion!"

At this the girl turned pale. "And if they do?"

"We must defend ourselves as best we can," answered Jack. "Do you know
what I am going to do? Call out the Home Guard!"

"But, Jack, you may be shot down?"

"If I am, it will be only at my post of duty, Marion."

So speaking, Jack leaped down the ladder into the garret and ran
downstairs. He met Old Ben just coming into the house, accompanied by
Darcy Gilbert.

"Darcy! just the fellow I want to see! And Old Ben, too!"

"The Yankees are coming!" answered Darcy.

"I know it, Darcy. I was going to call out the Home Guard."

"Exactly my idea."

"Old Ben can help you get the boys together."

"'Deed I will, Massah Jack, if yo' wants me to," responded the colored
man.

Darcy and Ben were soon off and Jack re-entered the house, to be
confronted by Mrs. Ruthven.

"What are you up to, Jack?"

"I have called out our Home Guard, mother. The Yankees shall not destroy
this plantation or molest you and Marion."

"You must do nothing rash, Jack."

"I will be careful. But this is private property, and you and Marion are
ladies, and our enemy must remember this," responded Jack, and ran off
to don his uniform and his sword.

Inside of half an hour the members of Jack's company began to appear,
until there were nineteen boys assembled. Each had his gun or his pistol
fully loaded, and the appearance made by the lads, when drawn up in a
line, was quite an imposing one.

"Ise got a pistol," said Old Ben, showing a long, old-fashioned "hoss"
pistol on the sly. "If anybody tries to shoot Massah Jack, he will heah
from dis darky, suah."

"Thank you, Ben," answered our hero. "You always were true to me. If
ever I grow up to be a man and get rich, I shan't forget you," and this
made Old Ben grin from ear to ear.

Presently there was a clatter on the road beyond the plantation, and a
Confederate battery, drawn by horses covered with foam, swept past.

"The Yanks are coming!" was the cry. "Get indoors and hide your jewelry
and silverware!"

"They are coming!" muttered our hero. He called the boys together. "Home
Guard, attention!" he cried out. "Line up here. Carry arms! Boys, are
you willing to stand by me and help me to keep my mother's house from
being ransacked?"

"Yes! yes!" was the ready reply.

"Hurrah for Captain Jack!" put in several of the more enthusiastic ones.

"Thank you, boys. We won't fight unless we have to. But if it comes to
that, let everybody give a good account of himself."

"We will! We will!"

Soon another battery swept by the house, the horses almost ready to drop
from exhaustion. Marion saw this and whispered to her mother.

"Let me do it, mother," she pleaded.

"If you so much wish it," answered Mrs. Ruthven.

With all speed the girl ran to the barn and brought out her own horse, a
beautiful black, and ran him to the road.

"Take my horse and hitch him to yonder cannon!" she cried. "He is
fresh--he will help you save the piece!"

"Good fer you, young lady!" shouted one of the cannoneers. "We've got
friends yet, it seems!" The horse was taken, and the cannon moved on at
a swifter pace than ever.

"That was grand of you, Marion!" cried Jack. He knew just how much she
thought of the steed she had sacrificed, her pet saddle horse.

And now came several of the hospital corps, carrying the wounded on
stretchers, and also several ambulances. In the meantime the shooting
came closer and closer, and several shells sped over the plantation, to
burst with a crash in the woods beyond.

"The battle is at hand! God defend us!" murmured Mrs. Ruthven.

Several Confederates with stretchers were crossing the lawn. On the
stretchers lay three soldiers, all badly wounded.

"We can't carry them any further, madam," said one of the party. "Will
you be kind enough to take them in?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Mrs. Ruthven. "Bring them in at once. We will do our
best for them!" And she summoned the servants to prepare cots on the
lower floor, since it would have been awkward to take the wounded
upstairs.

The stretcher-carriers were followed by others, until six wounded
Confederates lay on cots in the sitting room. A young surgeon was at
hand, and he went to work without delay, and Mrs. Ruthven and Marion
assisted.

And now the army was passing by the plantation, some on foot, some on
horseback, and all exhausted, ragged, covered with dust and dirt, and
many badly wounded. The shooting of small-arms had ceased, but the
distant cannon still kept booming, and occasionally a shell burst in the
vicinity. As the last of the Confederates swept by Jack ran down to the
roadway.

"The enemy are coming!" he said, after a long look ahead. "They will be
here in less than ten minutes."

Soon the trampling of horses' hoofs was heard, and then came the
occasional blast of a trumpet. At last a troop of cavalry swept by,
paying no attention to the Ruthven homestead.

The cavalry was followed at a distance by a company of rascally looking
guerrillas--followers of every army--who fight simply for the sake of
looting afterward.

"To the house!" cried the captain of the guerrillas, a man named Sandy
Barnes.

"Company, attention!" cried out Jack, and drew up his command across the
lawn in front of the homestead.

"Halt!" shouted Captain Barnes. And then he added; "What are you boys
doing here?"

"We are the guard of this house," answered Jack, quietly but firmly.

"Guard nothin'! Out of our way!" growled the guerrilla.

"We will not get out of your way, and you will advance at your peril."

"What, will you boys show fight?" queried the guerrilla curiously.

"We will!" came from the boys. "Keep back!"

"This is private property and must be respected," went on Jack.
"Besides, the house is now a hospital, for there are six wounded
Confederates inside, in charge of a surgeon."

The guerrilla muttered something under his breath.

"Come on, anyhow!" shouted somebody in a rear rank. "It looks like a
house worth visitin'!"

"Try to enter the house and we will shoot!" went on Jack, his face
growing white.

"Why, youngster, you don't know who you are talking to," growled Barnes.

He stepped forward as if to enter the house by a side door, when Jack
ran in front of him and raised his sword.

"Not another step, if you value your life!"

"Out of my way, boy!" And now the guerrilla raised his own sword, while
some of his men raised their guns.

It was truly a trying moment, and Marion, at the window, looked on with
bated breath. "Oh, if Jack should be killed!" she thought.

But now there came a shout from the road, and there appeared a regiment
of regular Federal troops. The guerrillas saw them coming, and gazed
anxiously at their leader.

"It's Colonel Stanton's regiment!" muttered a guerrilla lieutenant. "He
won't stand no nonsense, cap."

"I know it," growled Barnes. "Right face, forward march!" he shouted,
and, as quickly as they had come, the guerrillas left the plantation and
took to a side road leading to the distant hills.

But the Federal regiment had seen them, and as the guerrillas ran they
received a volley which lay several of them low. They were virtually
outlaws, and knew it, and lost no time in getting out of sight.

"Halt!" shouted the Federal colonel as he rode up across the lawn, and
one after another the companies behind him stopped in their march. Then
the Northerner came closer to Jack and the others of the Home Guard.

"What's the matter here? What does this mean?"

Jack gazed up into the face of the Federal colonel and saw that it was
an unusually kindly one. "We are defending this home, sir; that's all. I
reckon those fellows who just ran off wanted to ransack it."

"The scoundrels! I've been after them twice before. Was anybody hurt?"

"No, sir."

"You are a young Confederate, I presume?"

"I am the captain of these boys. We call ourselves the Home Guard. We
wish to protect our homes, that's all."

At this the face of the colonel broke out into a warm smile.

"You do yourself credit, my lad. You could not do better than protect
your homes and your mothers and sisters. Whose place is this?"

"Mrs. Alice Ruthven's."

"Did the Confederate battery just retreat past here?"

"I cannot answer that question, sir."

"Well, it doesn't matter much. We have got them on the run, and that was
all we wanted for the present."

"I hope you don't intend to do anything to this place," went on Jack
anxiously. "It is private property, and, besides, we have six wounded
men here, in charge of a surgeon."

"An officer who is a gentleman always respects private property," was
the grave answer. "As long as you do nothing treacherous, you have
nothing to fear from me or my men." And so speaking, the colonel rode
back to the road.

"A fine-looking man, and a gentleman, if ever there was one," thought
Jack. "What a difference between him and that fellow who threatened me
with his sword!"

"Will they come back, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, as she came outside.

"I don't know, mother. But the officer said we had nothing to fear."

"He looked like an honest gentleman."

"So I thought. How are those wounded men making out?"

"One is already dead, poor fellow. But the surgeon has hopes of the
others."

"Is Marion helping the doctor?"

"Yes. I want her to come away from the awful sights, but she will not.
Jack, she is almost as brave as you are!"

"Pooh! I'm not so brave, mother."

"Yes, you are. Why, that rascal was going to run you through with his
sword!"

"Dat he was," put in Old Ben. "But let me tell yo' sumt'ing, missus. I
had dat feller covered wid dis hoss-pistol ob mine. If he had tried to
slew Jack dat would hab been de end of the rascal, suah pop!"

"Good for you, Ben! Continue to look out for Jack, and I will reward you
handsomely," concluded Mrs. Ruthven, and returned to the house.




CHAPTER XVI.

COLONEL STANTON'S VISIT.


The Federal regiment went into camp up the road, but a short distance
from the Ruthven home. The coming of the soldiers filled the whole
neighborhood with alarm, but it was soon evident that Colonel Stanton
was a strict disciplinarian and did not countenance any pilfering, and
then the inhabitants became more quiet. In the meanwhile the Confederate
troops had departed for parts unknown. But another battle was not far
off.

Attached to Colonel Stanton's regiment was a young man named Harry
Powell, a surgeon, who was a nephew to Mrs. Ruthven, although the two
had not seen each other for years. Powell was a fine fellow, and well
liked by all who knew him, the single exception to the case being St.
John Ruthven, who was too much of a sneak to admire anybody so
free-hearted and manly.

Harry Powell had drifted to the North several years before, and
established a practice in Philadelphia. He was thoroughly opposed to
slavery, and when the war broke out lost no time in joining the Federal
troops, much to the horror of his two aunts and his cousin Marion. As
for St. John, that spendthrift said it was "just like Harry, who had no
head on his shoulders, anyway."

On the day following the arrival of the Federal troops Old Ben was
making his way to his cabin for some things, when he ran across Colonel
Stanton on his way to the Ruthven mansion. The colonel was accompanied
by Harry Powell, but the young surgeon now wore a heavy mustache, and
for the moment the old colored man did not recognize him.

"See here, my man. I want to talk to you," began Colonel Stanton, as he
held up his hand for Ben to halt.

"Yes, sah," and Old Ben touched his hat respectfully.

"Did I understand that this is the plantation of Mrs. Alice Ruthven?"

"Yes, sah."

"Why, it's Old Ben!" cried Harry Powell, striding forward. "Don't you
remember me, you old rascal?" and he slapped the colored man on the
back.

Old Ben stared in astonishment for a moment, and then his ebony face
broke out into a broad smile.

"Bless my soul, if it aint Massah Harry Powell!"

"Of course it is, Ben."

"Yo' is so changed I didn't know yo', sah."

"I suppose I am changed, Ben. Is my aunt at home?"

"Yes, sah."

"Good. I want very much to see her."

Old Ben shook his head dubiously.

"Massah Harry, yo' aint gwine an' joined de Yanks, hab yo'?" he
questioned.

"Yes, Ben; I am fighting for the old flag."

"Yo' aunt an' Miss Marion will be wery sorry to heah dat, sah."

"I presume so. But that cannot be helped. I did as my heart dictated,
Ben. I want to see all colored folks free, as you are."

"Dat would be wery nice certainly, sah, but--but----"

"It was too bad we had to fight, you mean." Harry Powell looked up. "Who
is that coming?"

"Dat am Massah Jack, sah?"

"Oh! Why, when I was here before he was nothing but a little shaver."
The young surgeon raised his voice. "Hullo, Jack! come here."

Wondering who it was who was calling him so familiarly, Jack came
forward. He started back upon seeing Harry Powell, and in a Federal
uniform.

"You!" he cried.

"Yes, Jack. Come, won't you shake hands with me?" and the young surgeon
smiled good-naturedly.

"Well--that is--I don't like to shake hands with a--a Yankee," stammered
Jack.

"Oh, so you object to my uniform?"

"I do, Harry. Why did you join the Yankees?"

"Because I thought it best. If you won't shake hands with me as a
Yankee, won't you shake hands as a cousin?"

At this our hero's face relaxed, for he had always liked Harry Powell
immensely.

"Yes, I'll do that," he said, and they shook hands warmly.

"And how is your mother these days, Jack?"

"Quite well, but a good deal alarmed."

"She need not be alarmed because of us, Jack. Is that not so, Colonel
Stanton?"

The colonel bowed. His manner was so pleasant that Jack felt more drawn
to him than ever.

"You are kind," he said. "I thought all Yankees were brutes."

"They are far from that, Jack. But I was going to ask, can I see my
aunt?"

"I suppose so. But she'll be hurt to see you in that uniform."

"Never mind, I'll risk that," rejoined Harry Powell.

Old Ben continued on his way, and Jack and the others walked toward the
Ruthven plantation. Then our hero ran ahead, to tell Mrs. Ruthven of the
visitors.

"A fine, manly young fellow, Powell," remarked Colonel Stanton, when he
and the young surgeon were left alone.

"Yes, he has turned out a first-rate lad, colonel."

"I presume, were he older, he would be at the head of a regular
Confederate command, instead of being at the head of this boyish Home
Guard."

"Undoubtedly, sir. But I am glad he is not in the regular ranks."

"Why?"

"I should hate to fight against him, sir."

"I see. Well, this war has brought brother against brother, and worse.
To tell the truth, I heartily wish it was over, myself."

In a few minutes more Mrs. Ruthven appeared, her face full of sorrow. As
she approached Harry Powell, the tears stood in her eyes.

"My dear aunt, how glad I am to see you, after this long separation!"
cried the young man impulsively.

"Oh, Harry! Harry! How can you come here in that uniform?" she returned.

"Let us speak of that later, Aunt Alice. Allow me to introduce you to my
superior, Colonel Stanton."

Mrs. Ruthven looked at the colonel steadily, and he bowed gravely. Each
saw that the other was of good blood and breeding. The lady of the
plantation dropped her eyes.

"Colonel Stanton, courtesy bids me say you are welcome, but--I beg you
to consider that I am a Southern woman," she faltered.

"I hope, Mrs. Ruthven, you will not look upon me as an enemy."

"Are you not in arms against my country?"

"Against your section, yes, but not against your country, madam. I fight
under the flag which belongs alike to the South and the North."

At this Mrs. Ruthven shook her head sadly.

"I cannot agree with you, sir. But let that drop. May I ask the news?
Have our troops been hopelessly defeated?"

"I cannot answer you, Mrs. Ruthven. Our side has won a battle and the
Confederate troops have taken to the mountain side. They may engage us
again before long."

"Your troops are encamped but a short distance from here, I believe?"

"It is true."

"Are we to consider ourselves as prisoners of war?"

"By no means, Mrs. Ruthven. I am informed that your house is something
of a hospital. Let it remain so."

"Thank you."

"You certainly did not expect ill treatment, did you?" went on the
colonel curiously.

"You seem to be a gentleman, I must admit, but I have heard such stories
of violence and rapine that I have some reasons to be apprehensive."

"The stories are in most cases baseless and without truth. I hope you
are not prejudiced enough to think that Federal officers are destitute
of honor and humanity. Every true soldier, no matter under what banner
he draws his sword, respects a lady, and would be the last to injure or
annoy her."

"I can believe that of you, sir, but you are an exception."

"I cannot accept the compliment. I know many of my brother officers, and
I am glad to say that what is true of me is true also of them."

"But your President, Mr. Lincoln, I am told is a cruel monster, intent
upon the destruction of the South."

"You are sadly misinformed, Mrs. Ruthven. There never beat a warmer,
kinder heart than that of Abraham Lincoln, I know, for I have seen him
and spoken with him, and I know that no one sorrows more over the
stricken homes and bloodshed of this unhappy strife. He is misjudged
now, but posterity will do him justice."

"I cannot believe it. If he deplores the evils of war, why does he not
end it at once, and order his hordes of Yankee invaders to throw down
their arms?"

"Because the life of the nation is at stake. I do not wish to speak
severely of your leaders. They are actuated by a mistaken sense of
right. Amid the clash of arms, Reason is silent. We are fighting, not
against the South, but for its best good."

"You plead well, Colonel Stanton, but I am not convinced," answered the
lady of the house.

At that moment Jack came up again, bringing Marion.

"Marion!" cried Harry Powell, and ran up to her.

"Harry!" she returned, and put out her hand to him.

"Will you shake hands with a Yankee?" he asked. "Jack was rather
backward about doing it."

"I am always ready to shake hands with my cousin," she returned, and
blushed.

Colonel Stanton was then introduced, and a minute later Harry Powell
asked about St. John Ruthven.

"Is he in the ranks, aunt?" he questioned.

"He is not," answered Mrs. Ruthven, and drew down her mouth.

"He cannot leave his mother," put in Marion contemptuously.

"Evidently you think he ought to go?"

"He is a strong, able-bodied man. I would go, were I in his place."

"So would I," put in Jack.

"Then he isn't very patriotic."

"Oh, yes he is--in words," returned Marion. "But in deeds----" She
shrugged her pretty shoulders, and that meant a good deal.

Colonel Stanton and Mrs. Ruthven entered the house, followed by Jack,
and presently Marion and the young surgeon found themselves alone in the
garden.




CHAPTER XVII.

A SCENE IN THE SUMMERHOUSE.


In years gone by Marion and Harry Powell, as little girl and boy, had
thought a good deal of each other.

Now, as the pair faced once more, much of the old feelings came back,
and pretty Marion found herself blushing deeply, she could not tell
exactly why.

She despised Harry's uniform, yet she felt that he looked remarkably
handsome in it, and not such an awful bear of a Yankee, after all. The
manliness of the young surgeon's superior had likewise made a deep
impression upon her.

Before going into the house Mrs. Ruthven had invited the young man to
remain to dinner, and he had readily accepted the invitation. But he was
by no means anxious to go into the house with the others.

"It is so nice and cool in the garden, Marion," he said. "Let us remain
out here for a while, if you have no objections."

"As you will, Harry. But we need not stand. Let us go down to the old
summerhouse. Of course you remember that place."

"To be sure, Marion--I remember it only too well. How you used to bring
in the flowers and make bouquets and wreaths, and open a flower store
and bid me buy----"

"And you wouldn't buy, more than half the time," she laughed. "You
always were somewhat contrary, Harry. Is that what made you turn
Yankee?"

"I hardly think so. I want to see all the slaves set free."

"Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"Most Yankees want to see the South broken up and ruined."

"No! no! That is a mistake."

The summerhouse was soon gained, and she sat down, and without ceremony
he took a seat on the bench at her side.

"This takes me back ten or fifteen years," he declared, as he looked
around at the familiar surroundings. "There are the same old magnolias,
with the swing, and the same old rose bush, or new ones just like the
old. Marion, you ought to be happy here."

"I was--until the war broke out, and poor papa was killed."

"Yes, that was a shock, and I felt it too, when the news reached me. He
was a noble man, Marion."

"So they all say, Harry, but that does not give him back to us. And now
another danger threatens us."

"Another danger? You mean the presence of our troops here? Marion, no
harm shall come to you, if I can prevent it."

"But I do not mean that. It is concerning Jack."

"What of your brother?"

"Oh, Harry, he is just like a brother to me, and mamma thinks of him as
her son! Now a stranger has appeared on the scene, and he wants to take
Jack away from us."

"A stranger. Who?"

"A Confederate surgeon named Dr. Mackey. He claims that he is Jack's
father."

"But is he?"

"We do not believe that he is. But he says he can prove it."

"This is news certainly, Marion. Will you give me the particulars?"

"I will," and she did so, to which Harry Powell listened with keen
interest.

"Humph! And Jack does not like the man?"

"No, he despises him."

"That will make it awkward, if this doctor's story is true."

"He will have to bring strong proofs to make me believe the story, I can
tell you that."

"I do not blame you, Marion." The young surgeon mused for a moment. "It
runs in my mind that I have heard of this Dr. Mackey before."

"Where?"

"I cannot remember now. But I believe it was while I was practicing in
Philadelphia."

"Was he a doctor there?"

"It runs in my mind that he was connected with some bogus medical
institute which defrauded people through the mails. But I am not
certain."

"If there is truth in this, I wish you would look the matter up, Harry.
Mamma will want to know all she can of Dr. Mackey before she gives up
Jack to him."

"I will do my best for you, Marion. I love Jack, too--although he was
very young when I went away, if you will remember."

"You have been away a long time, Harry," she replied, and drew a long
breath.

"That is true, and I realize it now, although I did not before." He
gazed steadily into her face and suddenly caught her hand. "Dear cousin,
cannot you forgive me for going over to the enemy?" he pleaded.

She flushed up. "I ought not to, Harry, but--but----"

"You will, nevertheless?"

"I--I will think of it," she faltered.

"We were very intimate when I went away. I would not wish that intimacy
broken off."

"Were we intimate?" she murmured shyly.

"Yes, indeed. Don't you remember it? You used to sit in my lap."

"How shocking!" she cried. "Are you sure?"

"As if I could forget it."

"You seem to have an awfully good memory for some things," she said
slowly.

"I remember something more, Marion. We were like brother and sister in
those days, and you used to put your arms around my neck and kiss me."

"I don't believe I ever did anything so dreadful, Harry!"

"I remember it perfectly well."

"Don't you think we had better go into the house now?"

"Don't get angry, Marion. But--but--I always did think a lot of you, and
always shall--even if I have turned Yankee."

"Yankee or not, Harry, you will always be very dear to me as my cousin,"
she returned hastily.

"Speaking of cousins, does St. John come here often?"

"Yes, quite often."

"I suppose he comes to see you?"

"He comes to see mamma and me. He and Jack are not very good friends."

"What, doesn't Jack like him?"

"He considers St. John overbearing, and St. John thinks Jack an
intruder, and possibly of low parentage."

"Is St. John married yet?"

"No."

"And he comes here quite often, you say?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps he is going--that is, he would like to marry you, Marion,"
blurted out Harry Powell.

At this the girl flushed crimson.

"Well--he has spoken something of it," she replied, in a low voice.

"The dickens he has!"

"Cousin Harry!"

"I beg your pardon, Marion, but--but--this is not pleasant news."

"You mustn't get rough, Harry. St. John says there are no true gentlemen
among the Yankees. But I think differently--now I have met Colonel
Stanton."

"Oh, confound St. John! There are truer gentlemen among my fellow
officers than he will ever be." Harry Powell took a turn around the
summerhouse. "But I forgot. I ought not to have spoken so of your future
husband."

"Who said he was my intended husband?"

"Why, you intimated as much."

"I am sure I did not."

"It is the same thing. You said he had spoken of marriage to you."

"That is a very different matter."

Harry Powell took another turn around the summerhouse. "I suppose you
love him, though I don't understand how any girl could love such an
insufferable bore."

"Harry, aren't you prejudiced against St. John?"

"Perhaps I am. But seriously, Marion, what can you find to admire in St.
John?"

"He is a Ruthven."

"That is true."

"If I married him I would still remain a Ruthven."

"Then why not remain an old maid and likewise a Ruthven? It would be far
better, take my word on it."

"Then you don't advise me to marry?"

"I don't advise you to marry St. John."

"Oh!"

"Are you engaged to him?" he asked, coming closer.

"I am not."

"I am glad to hear it."

"Are you married, Cousin Harry?" she asked suddenly.

"Me? No, Marion--not yet."

"I suppose you'll marry some Yankee girl one of these days."

"I don't think so, unless----"

"Unless what?"

"Unless the girl I always did love goes back on me, Marion. Do you think
she will go back on me?" and he caught both of her hands in his own.

"Harry, you are a--a--Yankee."

"But that doesn't affect my feelings for you."

"A true Yankee ought not to care for a Southern girl."

"And why not?"

"Well, I don't know exactly. But it doesn't seem right."

"Do you mean to say that a Southern girl ought not to care for the man
who is fighting as his conscience dictates?" he demanded, turning a
trifle pale.

"No, no, Harry! I honor you for sticking to your principles. But we had
better say no more at present on this subject." She glanced down the
garden path. "See, St. John is coming. Let go my hands."

He dropped her hands and took a seat on the other side of the
summerhouse, and a moment later St. John Ruthven presented himself at
the doorway.




CHAPTER XVIII.

MEETING OF THE COUSINS.


St. John had come up the garden path quickly, and had failed to notice
Harry Powell, although he had caught sight of a well-known dress which
Marion wore.

Now, when he saw the young surgeon, his face fell, for he had calculated
upon seeing Marion alone.

"Excuse me, Marion," he said, "I did not know you had company."

"Come in, St. John," replied the girl. "Do you not recognize my visitor?
It is Dr. Harry Powell."

"Oh!" St. John was much surprised, and showed it. "How do you do?" he
continued stiffly.

"Shake hands. You are cousins," went on Marion, not liking the dark look
which had come to St. John's face.

"Excuse me, but I cannot shake hands with one who wears that uniform,"
returned the spendthrift, drawing back. "I am surprised, Marion, to see
you upon such intimate terms with your country's foe."

Marion's face flushed, and she bit her lip. Harry Powell set his teeth
and then smiled coldly.

"I perceive you wear no uniform at all, St. John," he remarked
pointedly.

"No. My duty to my mother keeps me at home," stammered St. John.

"If all who have mothers were to remain at home we would have few
soldiers."

"It is a very great trial to me to have to remain at home," went on the
hypocrite smoothly. "Yet, to my notion, a man is far better off at home
than to be wearing a Yankee uniform."

"That is for each man to decide for himself."

St. John turned to Marion.

"Does your mother know that Dr. Powell is here?"

"Yes; she has invited him to dine with us."

"To dine with you!" exclaimed the spendthrift.

"Yes, what is wrong about that?" questioned Harry Powell.

"I thought she was a true and loyal Southern woman."

"I do not follow you," answered Harry Powell hotly. "The ties of blood
count for something, even in war times."

"They do not count for as much as that--to me," said St. John sourly.

"Then I presume you will not care to stop and dine with us, St. John,"
put in Marion.

"Thank you, no. I will remain another time--when it is more agreeable,
Marion."

So speaking, St. John bowed low to the girl, nodded slightly to the
young surgeon, and hurried from the place.

Marion looked at Harry Powell with a face that was crimson.

"Forget the insult, Harry!" she cried.

"It is not your fault, Marion. But what a cad St. John is! I never liked
him much. I can easily understand how Jack cannot get along with him."

"I wish he would join the army. It might make a man of him."

"I believe he is too cowardly to don a uniform. But come, let us go into
the house, or your mother will wonder what is keeping us."

When they entered the homestead they found Colonel Stanton taking his
leave. The colonel was perfectly willing to allow the young surgeon to
remain.

"Have a good time, Powell," he said. "And try to convince your worthy
relatives that all Yankees are not the monsters they are painted."

"He's a downright good fellow!" cried Jack, when the Federal officer had
departed. "I don't wonder that you like him, Harry."

"He is a very nice man," said Marion, and to this Mrs. Ruthven nodded
affirmatively.

Dinner was almost ready to be served, and while they were waiting Marion
noticed that the young surgeon was studying Jack's face closely.

"What makes you look at Jack so?" she questioned, in a low voice, so
that our hero might not hear.

"I was studying his face," was the slow reply.

"Studying his face?"

"Yes. Marion, did you notice how Colonel Stanton looks?"

"I did, although not very closely."

"It seems to me that Jack bears a wonderful resemblance to the colonel."

"Now you speak of it, I must say you are right," answered Marion
thoughtfully. And then, after another pause, she continued: "Is the
colonel a married man?"

"I hardly think so. I have never heard him speak of a wife or children."

"Then it is likely that he is a bachelor." And there, for the time
being, the subject was dropped.

Despite the fact that the house was surrounded by Federal troops and
that a portion of the homestead was being used as a hospital, the dinner
passed off in a far from unpleasant manner. Mrs. Ruthven was glad to
meet her nephew once more, and made him tell the story of his service in
detail. Not only the lady of the house, but also Marion and Jack, hung
upon the young surgeon's words, and Jack's eyes glistened when he heard
about the hard fighting which had been witnessed.

"Oh, how I wish I had been there! I would have helped to beat the Yankee
troops back!" he cried.

"You're a born soldier, Jack!" answered Harry Powell. "And I must say I
like you the better for it. I can't stand such stay-at-homes as St.
John."

"Oh, St. John is a regular--a regular----"

"Hush, Jack!" interrupted Mrs. Ruthven reprovingly. "He says his mother
needs him at home."

"And our country needs him at the front," said Marion.

"We don't need cowards," finished Jack. "Harry, you don't have cowards
in your ranks, do you?"

"I am afraid all armies have more or less cowards in the ranks," laughed
the young surgeon. "Some fellows would never make soldiers if they
remained in the service a hundred years. Human nature is human nature
the world over, you know."

"I wonder if Dr. Mackey is a brave man," muttered Jack, but nobody paid
attention to this question.