XIII
THINGS ANNA COULD NOT WRITE
"Charlie has two ribs broken, but is doing well," ran a page of thediary; "so well that Flora and Madame--who bears fatiguewonderfully--let Captain Irby take them, in the evening, to see theillumination. For the thunderstorm, which sent us whirling home atmidday, was followed by a clear evening sky and an air just not too coolto be fragrant.
"I cannot write. My thoughts jostle one another out of all shape, likethe women in that last crush after the flag-presentation. I begged notto have to take Flora's place from her. It was like snatching jewels offher. I felt like a robber! But in truth until I had the flag actually inmy hand I thought we were only being asked to take care of it for alater day. The storm had begun to threaten. Some one was trying to sayto me--'off to camp and then to the front,' and--'must have the flagnow,' and still I said, 'No, oh, no!' But before I could get any one toadd a syllable there was the Captain himself with the three men of thecolor guard behind him, the middle one Victorine's father. I don't knowhow I began, but only that I went on and on in some wild way till Iheard the applause all about and beneath me, and he took the colorsfrom me, and the first gust of the storm puffed them halfopen--gorgeously--and the battery hurrahed. And then came his part.He--I cannot write it."
Why not, the diary never explained, but what occurred was this:
"Ladies and gentlemen and comrades in arms!" began Hilary and threw asuperb look all round, but the instant he brought it back to Anna, itquailed, and he caught his breath. Then he nerved up again. To help hiscourage and her own she forced herself to gaze straight into his eyes,but reading the affright in hers he stood dumb and turned red.
He began again: "Ladies and gentlemen and comrades in arms!" and pulledhis moustache, and smote and rubbed his brow, and suddenly drove hishand into an inside pocket and snatched out a slip of paper. But whatshould come trailing out with it but a long loop of ribbon! As he pushedit back he dropped the paper, which another whiff of wind flirtedstraight over his head, sent it circling and soaring clear above Moody'sstore and dropped it down upon the roof. And there gazed Anna and allthat multitude, utterly blank, until the martyr himself burst into alaugh. Then a thousand laughs pealed as one, and he stood smiling andstroking back his hair, till his men began to cry, "song! song!"
Upon that he raised the flag high in one hand, let it balloon to thewind, made a sign of refusal, and all at once poured out a flood ofspeech--pledges to Anna and her fellow-needlewomen--charges to hismen--hopes for the cherished cause--words so natural and unadorned, sopractical and soldier-like, and yet so swift, that not a breath wasdrawn till he had ended. But then what a shout!
It was over in a moment. The great black cloud that had been swellingup from the south gave its first flash and crash, and everybody startedpell-mell for home. The speaker stood just long enough for a last bow toAnna while the guard went before him with the colors. Then he hurriedbelow and had the whole battery trotting down Canal Street and roundingback on its farther side, with the beautiful standard fluttering to thestorm, before the Callenders could leave the balcony.
Canal Street that evening was a veritable fairyland. When, growing tiredof their carriage, the Callenders and Mandeville walked, and Kincaidunexpectedly joined them, fairyland was the only name he could find forit, and Anna, in response, could find none at all. Mallard's,Zimmerman's, Clark's, Levois's, Laroussini's, Moody's, Hyde &Goodrich's, and even old Piffet's were all aglow. One cannot recounthalf. Every hotel, every club-house, all the theatres, all the consul'soffices in Royal and Carondelet streets, the banks everywhere, OddFellows' Hall--with the Continentals giving their annual ball in it--andso forth and so on! How the heart was exalted!
But when the heart is that way it is easy to say things prematurely, andright there in Canal Street Hilary spoke of love. Not personally, onlyat large; although when Anna restively said no woman should ever giveher heart where she could not give a boundless and unshakable trust, hiseyes showed a noble misery while he exclaimed:
"Oh, but there are women of whom no man can ever deserve that!" Therehis manner was all at once so personal that she dared not be silent,but fell to generalizing, with many a stammer, that a woman ought to bevery slow to give her trust if, once giving it, she would not rather diethan doubt.
"Do you believe there are such women?" he asked.
"I know there are," she said, her eyes lifted to his, but the nextinstant was so panic-smitten and shamed that she ran into a lamp post.And when he called that his fault her denial was affirmative in itsfeebleness, and with the others she presently resumed the carriage andsaid good-night.
"Flippantly!" thought the one left alone on the crowded sidewalk.
Yet--"It is I who am going to have the hardest of it," said the diary ashort hour after. "I've always thought that when the right one came I'dnever give in the faintest bit till I had put him to every test and taskand delay I could invent. And now I can't invent one! His face_quenches_ doubt, and if he keeps on this way--Ah, Flora! _is_ heanything to you? Every time he speaks my heart sees you. I see you now!And somehow--since Charlie's mishap--more yours than his if--"
For a full minute the pen hovered over the waiting page, then graduallyleft it and sank to rest on its silver rack.