Ailsa Paige Part 39

"'What!'

"The soldier grinned.

"'I'm not married at all,' he said, 'and I'm the biggest liar-and you can ask the boys who the d.a.m.nedest liar is.'"

When the merriment and laughter had subsided, Hallam told another story rather successfully; then Hammond told another. Then Dr. West returned; the tiny Christmas tree, cut in the forest, and loaded with beribboned cakes and sticks of chocolate and a few presents tied in tissue-paper, was merrily despoiled.

Ailsa and Letty had worked slippers for the two doctors, greatly appreciated by them, apparently; Hallam had some embroidered handkerchiefs from Ailsa, and she received a chain and locket from him-and refrained from opening the locket, although everybody already had surmised that their engagement was a fact.

Letty sent an orderly for her guitar, and sang very sweetly an old-fas.h.i.+oned song:

"When the moonlight s.h.i.+nes bright Silvery bright on the sea."

Ailsa sang "Aileen Aroon," and "Oft in the Stilly Night," and everybody, later, sang "The Poor Old Soldier."

The fire glowed red in the chimney; gigantic shadows wavered on wall and ceiling; and, through the Christmas candles dimly burning, the branches of the little evergreen spread, laden with cake and candy.

"They're to have a tree in every ward to-morrow," said Ailsa, turning toward Hallam. Her eyes smiled, but her voice was spiritless. A tinge of sadness had somehow settled over the festivity; Hammond was staring at the fire, chin in hand; West sipped his wine reflectively; Letty's idle fingers touched her guitar at intervals, as her dark eyes rested on Ailsa and Hallam.

Hallam had found in camp a copy of a Southern newspaper; and, thinking it might amuse the company to read it, produced it.

Ailsa, looking over his shoulder, noticed a poem called "Christmas," printed on the first page.

"Read it aloud," he said, laughing. "Let's hear what sort of Christmas poetry the Johnnies produce."

So, after smilingly scanning the first lines, she began, aloud; but her face had grown very grave, and her low voice thrilled them as she became conscious of the deeper sadness of the verse.

"How grace this Hallowed Day?

Shall happy bells from yonder ancient spire Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire Round which our children play?

"How shall we grace the Day?

With feast and song and dance and homely sport, And shout of happy children in the court, And tales of ghost and fay?

"Is there indeed a door Where the old pastimes with their joyful noise And all the merry round of Christmas joys Can enter as of yore?

"Would not some pallid face Look in upon the banquet, calling up Dread shapes of battle in the Christmas cup, And trouble all the place?

"How can we hear the mirth While some loved reveller of a year ago Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow, In cold Virginia earth-"

Her voice suddenly broke; she laughed, slightly hysterical, the tears glittering in her eyes.

"I-c-can't-read it, somehow... . Forgive me, everybody, I think I'm-tired--"

"Nerves," said West cheerily. "It'll all come right in a moment, Mrs. Paige. Go up and sit by Davis for a while. He's going fast."

Curious advice, yet good for her. And Ailsa rose and fled; but a moment later, seated at the side of the dying man, all thought of self vanished in the silent tragedy taking place before her.

"Davis?" she whispered.

The man opened his sunken eyes as the sleepy steward rose, gave his bedside chair to Ailsa, and replaced the ominous screen.

"I am here, Private Davis," she said cheerily, winking away the last tear drop.

Then the man sighed deeply, rested his thin cheek against her hand, and lay very, very still.

At midnight he died as he lay. She scarcely realised it at first. And when at length she did, she disengaged her chilled hand, closed his eyes, drew the covering over his face, and, stepping from behind the screen, motioned to the steward on duty.

Descending the stairs, her pale, pensive glance rested on the locket flas.h.i.+ng on its chain over the scarlet heart sewn on her breast. Somehow, at thought of Hallam waiting for her below, she halted on the stairway, one finger twisted in the gold chain. And presently the thought of Hallam reminded her of the trooper and the hot dinner she had promised the poor fellow. Had the cook been kind to him?

She hastened downstairs, pa.s.sed the closed door of the improvised dining-room, traversed the hall to the porch, and, lifting the skirts of her gray garb, sped across the frozen yards to the kitchen.

The cook had gone; fire smouldered in the range; and a single candle guttered in its tin cup on the table.

Beside it, seated on a stool, elbows planted on both knees, face buried in his spread fingers, sat the lancer, apparently asleep.

She cast a rapid glance at the table. The remains of the food satisfied her that he had had his hot dinner. Once more she glanced at him, and then started to withdraw on tiptoe.

And he raised his head; and she gazed into the face of Berkley.

Neither stirred, although in the shock of discovery she felt that she would drop where she stood. Then, instinctively, she reached for the table's edge, rested against it, hand clutching it, fascinated eyes never leaving his face.

He got up leisurely, walked toward her, made an abrupt turn and faced her again from the window recess, leaning back against the closed wooden shutters.

Her heart was beating too rapidly for her to speak; she tried to straighten her shoulders, lift her head. Both sank, and she looked down blindly through the throbbing silence.

Berkley spoke first; but she could not answer him. Then he said, again, lightly:

"A woman's contempt is a bitter thing; but they say we thrive best on bitter medicine. Do you wish me to go, Ailsa? If so, where? I'll obey with alacrity."

She raised her dazed eyes.

"W-was that you, with Captain Hallam's horse-there in the starlight-when I spoke?"

"Yes. Didn't you know me?"

"No. Did you know me?"

"Of course. I nearly fell out of my saddle."

She strove hard to collect herself.

"How did you know it was I?"

"How?" He laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "I knew your voice.

Why shouldn't I know it?"

"Did-had anybody told you I was here?"

"No. Who is there to tell me anything?"

"n.o.body wrote you?-or telegraphed?"

He laughed again. "n.o.body has my address."

"And you never-received-receive-letters?"

"Who would write to me? No, I never receive letters. Why do you ask?"

She was silent.