The Clansman Part 42

Phil laughed, followed, and watched them fold their tickets, get in line, and vote the rat labels.

Ben turned toward a white man with gray beard, who stood watching the crowd.

He was a pious member of the Presbyterian church but his face didn't have a pious expression to-day. He had been refused the right to vote because he had aided the Confederacy by nursing one of his wounded boys.

He touched his hat politely to Ben.

"What do you think of it, Colonel Cameron?" he asked with a touch of scorn.

"What's your opinion, Mr. McAllister?"

"Well, Colonel, I've been a member of the church for over forty years. I'm not a cussin' man--but there's a sight I never expected to live to see.

I've been a faithful citizen of this State for fifty years. I can't vote, and a n.i.g.g.e.r is to be elected to-day to represent me in the Legislature.

Neither you, Colonel, nor your father are good enough to vote. Every n.i.g.g.e.r in this county sixteen years old and up voted to-day--I ain't a cussing man, and I don't say it as a cuss word, but all I've got to say is, IF there BE such a thing as a d--d shame--that's it!"

"Mr. McAllister, the recording angel wouldn't have made a mark had you said it without the 'IF.'"

"G.o.d knows what this country's coming to--I don't," said the old man bitterly. "I'm afraid to let my wife and daughter go out of the house, or stay in it, without somebody with them."

Ben leaned closer and whispered, as Phil approached:

"Come to my office to-night at ten o'clock; I want to see you on some important business."

The old man seized his hand eagerly.

"Shall I bring the boys?"

Ben smiled.

"No. I've seen them some time ago."

CHAPTER VII

BY THE LIGHT OF A TORCH

On the night of the election Mrs. Lenoir gave a ball at the hotel in honour of Marion's entrance into society. She was only in her sixteenth year, yet older than her mother when mistress of her own household. The only ambition the mother cherished was that she might win the love of an honest man and build for herself a beautiful home on the site of the cottage covered with trailing roses. In this home dream for Marion she found a great sustaining joy to which nothing in the life of man answers.

The ball had its political significance which the military martinet who commanded the post understood. It was the way the people of Piedmont expressed to him and the world their contempt for the farce of an election he had conducted, and their indifference as to the result he would celebrate with many guns before midnight.

The young people of the town were out in force. Marion was a universal favourite. The grace, charm, and tender beauty of the Southern girl of sixteen were combined in her with a gentle and unselfish disposition. Amid poverty that was pitiful, unconscious of its limitations, her thoughts were always of others, and she was the one human being everybody had agreed to love. In the village in which she lived wealth counted for naught. She belonged to the aristocracy of poetry, beauty, and intrinsic worth, and her people knew no other.

As she stood in the long dining-room, dressed in her first ball costume of white organdy and lace, the little plump shoulders peeping through its meshes, she was the picture of happiness. A half-dozen boys hung on every word as the utterance of an oracle. She waved gently an old ivory fan with white down on its edges in a way the charm of which is the secret birthright of every Southern girl.

Now and then she glanced at the door for some one who had not yet appeared.

Phil paid his tribute to her with genuine feeling, and Marion repaid him by whispering:

"Margaret's dressed to kill--all in soft azure blue--her rosy cheeks, black hair, and eyes never shone as they do to-night. She doesn't dance on account of her Sunday-school--it's all for you."

Phil blushed and smiled.

"The preacher won't be here?"

"Our rector will."

"He's a nice old gentleman. I'm fond of him. Miss Marion, your mother is a genius. I hope she can plan these little affairs oftener."

It was half-past ten o'clock when Ben Cameron entered the room with Elsie a little ruffled at his delay over imaginary business at his office. Ben answered her criticisms with a strange elation. She had felt a secret between them and resented it.

At Mrs. Lenoir's special request, he had put on his full uniform of a Confederate Colonel in honour of Marion and the poem her father had written of one of his gallant charges. He had not worn it since he fell that day in Phil's arms.

No one in the room had ever seen him in this Colonel's uniform. Its yellow sash with the gold fringe and ta.s.sels was faded and there were two bullet holes in the coat. A murmur of applause from the boys, sighs and exclamations from the girls swept the room as he took Marion's hand, bowed and kissed it. Her blue eyes danced and smiled on him with frank admiration.

"Ben, you're the handsomest thing I've ever seen!" she said softly.

"Thanks. I thought you had a mirror. I'll send you one," he answered, slipping his arm around her and gliding away to the strains of a waltz.

The girl's hand trembled as she placed it on his shoulder, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had a wistful dreamy look in their depths.

When Ben rejoined Elsie and they strolled on the lawn, the military commandant suddenly confronted them with a squad of soldiers.

"I'll trouble you for those b.u.t.tons and shoulder straps," said the Captain.

Elsie's amber eyes began to spit fire. Ben stood still and smiled.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"That I will not be insulted by the wearing of this uniform to-day."

"I dare you to touch it, coward, poltroon!" cried the girl, her plump little figure bristling in front of her lover.

Ben laid his hand on her arm and gently drew her back to his side: "He has the power to do this. It is a technical violation of law to wear them. I have surrendered. I am a gentleman and I have been a soldier. He can have his tribute. I've promised my father to offer no violence to the military authority of the United States."

He stepped forward, and the officer cut the b.u.t.tons from his coat and ripped the straps from his shoulders.

While the performance was going on, Ben quietly said:

"General Grant at Appomattox, with the instincts of a great soldier, gave our men his spare horses and ordered that Confederate officers retain their side-arms. The General is evidently not in touch with this force."

"No: I'm in command in this county," said the Captain.

"Evidently."

When he had gone, Elsie's eyes were dim. They strolled under the shadow of the great oak and stood in silence, listening to the music within and the distant murmur of the falls.

"Why is it, sweetheart, that a girl will persist in admiring bra.s.s b.u.t.tons?" Ben asked softly.