Chapter XXVIII: Elfie’s Return

One by one, thy duties wait thee,
Let thy whole strength go to each,
Let no future dreams elate thee,
Learn thou first what these can teach.

One by one, bright gifts from Heaven,
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,
Ready, too, to let them go.—A. A. PROCTOR.

It was nearly ten o’clock when the train steamed into the station. Elfie got out on the platform. As she had no luggage to look after nor even a parasol nor a hand-bag to encumber her, she quickly made her way to the street, where omnibus-drivers and cab-men were cracking their whips, and vociferating their routes; and where porters were quarreling over their loads, and policemen adding much to the general noise and confusion.

Elfie had not been robbed by the guerrillas; and she had still in her pocket the little portemonnaie, well filled with “greenbacks” and “fractional currency,” that her father had given her some weeks before, when he had gone to join his regiment. So she called a carriage, taking care to pass by all those with yelling drivers, and to select one in charge of a well-conducted coachman.

“Where to, Miss?” inquired the latter, touching his hat, after he had assisted Miss Fielding into her seat.

Elfie gave him the direction. The man got upon his box. And the carriage was driven off towards the parsonage.

“Now I wonder if my sudden arrival will shock Erminie very much? Or if it does, if the shock will hurt her? She has no reason whatever to expect me. She may even have retired to bed. Perhaps I ought rather to go to a hotel to-night, and send for Dr. Sales in the morning, and get him to break the news gently to Erminie,” mused Elfie, as she sat back in her carriage.

But she did not act upon her thought. On the contrary, she exclaimed to herself:

“Bosh! it won’t be such a shock to her, after all! I am not returning from the grave! She had no reason to believe me dead! And if she had had, though she loved me very much, she didn’t love me to such excess as to die of joy at my resurrection. And besides, I couldn’t possibly wait till to-morrow to see her, and to hear from dear little Mim.”

And upon this decision Elfie rested, laying back at ease in her cushions until the carriage reached the gates of the parsonage.

Then she eagerly looked out to see if there were any external signs by which she could guess whether the household had retired for the night.

“All right! I see the lights gleaming through the library shutters, and I know by them Erminie is still up,” she said to herself, as the carriage stopped and the coachman got down and opened the door.

“Here is the dollar agreed upon for your fare! And here is half a dollar extra to reward you for not roaring at travellers like the other hackmen did!” said Elfie, as she quickly thrust the money into the man’s hand, and opened the gate.

As the carriage drove off again, she ran up the walk leading from the gate to the front door of the house. And when she reached it she seized the bell-pull and rang a peal like a fire-alarm.

The door was opened by old Uncle Bob, who, on seeing his young mistress, jumped a yard backward, exclaiming:

“Praise the Lord, Miss Elfie! is this you?”

“Yes! yes! Where is Erminie?” cried Elfie, and without waiting for an answer, she rushed past the old man, tore open the library door, and bounced in upon the young mistress of the mansion.

Erminie, looking like some fair spirit of peace, sat in her deep arm-chair by the library table, reading by the light of a shaded gas-burner.

On raising her eyes to see who it was who rushed into her presence so rudely, and recognizing Elfie, she laid down her book and arose and opened her arms, and folded the wild girl fondly to her bosom, while her tears fell warmly on the little, black head.

“Thank Heaven for your safe return! Oh, Elfie, my dear, I am so happy to have you back again!” said Erminie, gently releasing Elfie, and placing her in the easiest resting-chair.

“I was half afraid to come upon you so suddenly, Erminie, dear. I was afraid I should shock you. But indeed, indeed, I had not self-denial enough to go to a hotel and stop all night, and wait until I could send for Dr. Sales to break the news to you.”

“I am very glad you came at once to the house, my dear. The other proceeding would have been highly improper in a young lady, travelling alone, in a city full of soldiers,” said Erminie.

“‘Full of soldiers!’ fiddle-de-dee! I have been marching and counter marching, fighting and flying, among soldiers and guerrillas, for the last ten days! So I have no reason to be frightened at them. But I am glad I didn’t startle you by pouncing in upon you so unexpectedly.”

“You startled me a little, dear; but it was with a very pleasant shock.”

“And oh! I was so impatient to see you, and to hear from my brave little Mim. Oh, Erminie, can you tell me about my little Mim?” anxiously inquired Elfie.

“He is quite out of danger, and is getting well fast.”

“Thank Heaven for that! I should never have got over his death if he had died, the dear little hero! But—he _was_ in danger?”

“Oh, yes. However, that is quite past. I saw him this morning. I went to see him every day, for your sake, Elfie.”

“Heaven bless you for that, dear! Erminie, were you very anxious about me when I didn’t get home that night?”

“I was uneasy,” replied the Lutheran minister’s daughter, who was by no means “gushing,” and never exaggerated her emotions. “I was uneasy: but I thought you must have decided to prolong your excursion, and I knew you were with a large party, well able to protect you.”

“Umph—umph!” said Elfie, who was slightly disappointed in not having created a greater sensation. “Umph—umph! But next day, when the excursionists got back, bringing little Mim with his skull fractured, and the news that I had been carried off by guerrillas! How then, Erminie?”

“I was very much shocked, and very anxious at first; and I called on some of the ladies to learn the facts. And when I discovered that it was your cousin and old adorer, Albert Goldsborough, who had carried you off, I felt reassured.”

“Upon what ground, if one might inquire?” demanded Elfie, rather piqued at her friend’s self-possession.

“Upon that of a certainty that Albert Goldsborough would allow no injury to be done you. I foresaw that he would detain you in a sort of honorable captivity for a while, and use all his influence and eloquence to induce or persuade you to marry him; and that when he should fail to do so, he would send you back to your home, as he has apparently done.”

“Indeed! Well, you have a good deal to learn from me yet, Erminie,” said Elfie.

“You shall tell me all your experience since you left me dear; but not until you have had rest and refreshment. My curiosity can wait,” said Miss Rosenthal, touching the bell.

Catherine came to answer the summons. She had heard from Old Bob of the arrival, and now she came in—eager, smiling diffident, and curtesying to welcome Miss Fielding.

“Come and shake hands with me if you are glad to see me, girl! and don’t stand there bobbing at me like a Chinese mandarin. That is no way to welcome a friend who has returned safely from captivity among the guerrillas,” said Elfie, heartily offering her hand to the German girl, who snatched and pressed it to her heart and lips.

“Now, my dear Elfie, what will you have prepared? The fire, I know, is in full blast in the kitchen range, and there is a plenty of hot water in the boiler, and plenty of provisions in the pantry. Order what you like, my dear. You are at home here, you know,” said Erminie.

“I know I am, thanks to your boundless hospitality. But I had a substantial meal hours ago at an old farm-house near the railway station at the Point of Rocks. What I want first of all is a warm bath and a change of clothes. Oh, just only think of it, I have been ten days without the one or the other!”

“Dear me!” said Erminie, opening her brown eyes in dismay.

If Miss Rosenthal had heard that her friend had been under fire in forty separate fights in this time, it would not have shocked her so much.

“It is a fact, Erminie. And I tell you the deprivation has cured me of one folly,” said Elfie, nodding her head.

“What is that?”

“The desire to serve as a soldier in the ranks. There is too much _grime_ mixed up with the glory. I shouldn’t so much mind the sabre strokes, nor the shot and shell, nor even the commissary coffee, salt pork and hard tack. But I wouldn’t—no, not even for the sake of my country—would I endure the lack of clean linen and fresh water and the abundance of dirt and—‘_inthects_,’ as my friend Billingcoo delicately puts it. So I think I will leave the men who are not fastidious to fight the battles, and wear the breeches, and I will rest contented with crinoline and cleanliness for the remainder of my life.”

“I think you would do well,” answered Erminie. “But now, after your bath and change of clothing, you will require something. What shall it be? A glass of mulled wine, a cup of coffee and sandwiches?”

“A cup of tea and a round of toast, if you please, my dear. I couldn’t go anything heavier than that. Afterwards we will have such a talk! You have no idea how much I have got to tell you, Erminie.”

“Then you shall have your bath immediately, after which you shall slip on a dressing gown and come to my bed-room. I will order your tea served there, where we can talk at ease.”

“You angel!—There! I don’t want to say anything sentimental or sickening, but you _are_ an angel, if I know anything about the cloudy creatures, which perhaps I don’t. A mere mortal might have put me off with my own room, or any other one in this big house; but you take me to yours; consequently you are an angel!”

“Nonsense, Elfie.”

“Oh, yes, I dare say it is nonsense—nothing more likely. Whenever I speak from my heart I am apt to talk nonsense, I believe.”

And then, as Catherine was waiting to attend her, Elfie arose, gave her friend a rousing kiss and left the library.

An hour later than this, at about eleven o’clock in the night, Elfie, thoroughly refreshed with her warm bath and fresh clothing, and wrapped in a white merino dressing gown, and with her feet thrust into white fur slippers, sat in an easy chair before the bright little wood-fire in Erminie’s bed-room.

Erminie sat opposite to her, and between them stood a stand with a little tête-à-tête silver and porcelain tea service.

And while she took her tea, which Erminie shared for sociability sake, Elfie related her adventures among the guerrillas.

“I have so much to tell you, Erminie dear, that indeed I do not know where to begin. But first tell _me_: Have you heard from your brother or from Britomarte lately?”

“They—they are safe?” gasped Erminie, in sudden, deadly fear.

“They are both safe at this present moment. At least it is fair to presume that they are, for your brother was alive and well at seven o’clock this morning; and Britomarte was alive and well at seven o’clock this evening.”

“You saw them? You saw them both? My brother and—and Britomarte?” anxiously inquired Erminie.

“Now I didn’t say all that. I said they were alive and well at the times I stated. I will add that they were at liberty, in good spirits, and in no sort of danger,” said Elfie.

“You speak of them as if they were together—are they?”

“I spoke in no such manner. Nor I did not mean to do so. Together indeed! That’s likely. But you haven’t answered my question yet. You haven’t told me when you heard from your brother and from your friend.”

“I got a letter from my dear Justin little more than a week ago. He had just been appointed to the command of a regiment of cavalry on duty at W. And he was about to start for that place immediately. His letter was postmarked H.”

“Yes; well, I believe he is still in command of that regiment. But now as to Britomarte. When did you hear from her?”

“About a fortnight ago. A letter postmarked Baltimore reached me, merely saying that she was well, and giving me the mysterious information that _you_ were under the protection of Madam Corsoni.”

“Oh, Alberta! Poor, poor Alberta!” sighed Elfie.

“What about her, my dear?” inquired Miss Rosenthal.

“Oh, Erminie, as I said before, I have so much to tell you! You have no idea where Britomarte is?”

“None in the world, unless she is living in obscurity somewhere in Baltimore and perhaps acting on the stage under an assumed name. Her letters give me no information of her manner of life, and they bear no address except the broad one—Baltimore.”

“She is not in Baltimore. She _is_, however, acting under an assumed name an important part, in the greatest drama and on the broadest stage the world has ever seen.”

“In the name of Heaven, Elfie, what do you mean?” demanded Erminie.

“I have no right to explain. I had no right even to say as much as I have said. But this I _will_ impart—That it is to Britomarte’s tact, courage and heroism that _I_ owe my deliverance from a fate far worse than death, and Colonel Rosenthal owes the most signal victory of his military career!—a victory that has rid the Valley of the Shenandoah from one of its greatest scourges, and that will certainly make the victor a brigadier-general,” said Elfie, in sympathetic pride.

“You astonish me more and more. You amaze me, Elfie! Was Britomarte a spy?” inquired Erminie, her large brown eyes dilating to double their size.

“I am not in Britomarte’s confidence. And if I were so, or even if I had discovered her secrets by chance, I, who owe my earthly salvation to her—I should be an ingrate and a traitor to betray her. So you see I cannot clearly explain my words. But I will relate my adventures among the guerrillas; and when you have heard them you may judge for yourself and guess what you like; so that you hold your tongue as discreetly, or rather, let us hope, _more_ discreetly than I have held mine,” said Elfie, as she poured out for herself another cup of tea.

“Do so, then, my dear. I am very anxious to hear all you have to tell me,” urged Erminie.

Elfie drank her tea and then began the story of her captivity.

As she spoke of the spy in the camp of the Free Sword, Erminie nodded her head several times with a look of comprehension; but she made no comment in words.

When Elfie came to speak of her forced marriage she wept with anger and mortification; but Erminie assured her, as Justin had done before, that the marriage was null and void in law.

“MARRIAGE IS MUTUAL CONSENT, Elfie, and there was no mutual consent there,” she urged.

“You may be right, or you may be wrong, Erminie. I shall take counsel of both clergymen and lawyers before I venture to decide a question in which my honor is concerned. I would rather be a wretched wife than an erring woman anytime. But let me go on with my story. Ah, Heaven! the worst is behind! There were greater sufferers than myself in it!”

“Justin?” anxiously exclaimed Erminie.

“I told you before that he was alive and well. Have you forgotten that?”

“Who then?”

“Alberta! poor, poor Alberta!”

“You spoke of her just now. Of course she could not have been otherwise than most wretched in the life she led, poor woman! But I hope no greater misfortune overtook her!” said Erminie.

“I will tell you,” sighed Elfie.

And then she resumed the thread of her narrative, describing the march of Goldsborough’s guerrillas and the battle of the hill, in which Colonel Rosenthal routed the guerrillas, and in which the Free Sword and his wife were killed.

“Killed! Oh, merciful Heaven, not that! Don’t say that Alberta was killed in battle!” exclaimed Erminie, clasping her hand tightly, while her eyes dilated with horror and amazement.

“Yes, she was killed,” wept Elfie.

“But how was that?”

“Oh, it seems that she would not leave him. You know what a will she had. She would not leave him. She rode by his side through all that bloody day! This is the way I heard the story: His horse was shot under him. _She_ jumped from her saddle and insisted on his mounting hers, and at that moment she saw one of our sharpshooters aim a rifle at him, and quick as lightning she threw herself before him and received the shot in her heart! Oh! Erminie, it was a deadly minie ball! It passed quite through her body, killing her instantly, and entered the bosom which she tried to shield, wounding it mortally.”

“Oh! Heaven of Heavens!” exclaimed Erminie, sobbing for pity.

“So the same ball killed them both; but not at the same instant. _He_, in his great sorrow, never felt his own wound! He bore her off the field, and sat down with her under the trees at the entrance of an old turnpike road. His disappearance seemed to decide the fortunes of the day. The guerrillas lost hope and fled. Some fled down the old turnpike road; and, seeing Corsoni sitting there with his dead wife in his arms, they urged him to get up and fly for his life; but he paid no attention to them. They told him that our cavalry were in hot pursuit, and would certainty capture him if he should remain where he was. But he scarcely seemed to hear their words. They reminded him that when he should be taken an ignominious death awaited him. He did not seem to care for that or for anything on earth but the face of his dead wife, for he never lifted his eyes from it.”

“His heart must have been broken!” wept Erminie.

“It was! Justin says it would have moved his bitterest enemy to compassion to have seen him when he was captured. Some of our cavalry men rode up and very naturally swore at him, and called him hard names, and ordered him to yield. He did not return railing for railing, but without lifting his face from the still face of his wife, he answered simply, ‘I yield.’ Justin rode up, and, seeing this sight, ordered the men to withdraw; and then he himself advanced to receive Corsoni’s sword. But first he spoke some few words of sympathy and compassion for the prisoner’s awful sorrow. Corsoni did not once reply; but laid the body of his beloved wife down and arose to deliver up his sword. In the act of doing so—”

Elfie broke down and wept convulsively for some moments before she could resume her story.

—“The blood began to spout like a fountain from a wound in his chest. And Justin said, ‘You are hurt.’ And he answered ‘Am I? I didn’t know.’ And with these words on his lips he fell dead beside his dead wife.”

Erminie was weeping; and it was some time before she could speak. When she did, it was to say:

“Perhaps theirs was the best fate that could have befallen them—I mean under the dreadful circumstances.”

“We all thought so. They were buried side by side in an old country churchyard. It spoke well for the tenderness of our poor soldiers that, tired as they were, they were willing to march three miles to lay the poor woman’s remains in consecrated ground; and they laid her husband’s body beside her.”

“May they rest in peace!” said Erminie, solemnly.

“Amen,” breathed Elfie.

The two girls fell into a thoughtful silence until Erminie arose to ring the bell for Catherine to remove the tea service.

And then, as it was twelve o’clock, the friends kissed each other good night, and Elfie went to her own old room that Catherine had prepared for her.