"Whether she glanced up and saw me, or whether she divined my presence, I could never guess," Gabriel's grandmother went on, "but without raising her face, she began to speak to me. 'This is your house, Miss Lucy,' she said—she always called me Miss Lucy—'and why can't I, his future wife, go in and speak to Pulaski; or, at the very least, hold his hand, and help you and Fanny minister to his wants?' I made her no answer, for I could not trust myself to speak; I simply sat on the edge of the sofa by her, and stroked her hair, trying in this mute way to demonstrate my sympathy. She seemed to take some comfort from this, and finally put her request in a different shape. Would I permit her to sit in a chair near the door of the room in which Pulaski lay, until such time as she could see him? 'I will give you no trouble whatever,' she said. 'I am determined to see him,' she declared; 'he is mine, and I am his.' I gave a cordial assent to this proposition, carried a comfortable chair and placed it near the door, and there she stationed herself.
"I went into the room where the others were, and was surprised to see Fanny Tomlin looking so cheerful. Even Major Perdue appeared to be relieved. Fanny asked me a question with her eyes, and I answered it aloud. 'She is sitting by the door, and says she will remain there until she can see Pulaski.' He beat his hand against the headboard of the bed, his mental agony was so great, and kept murmuring to himself. Major Perdue turned his back on his friend's writhings, and went to the window. Presently he returned to the bedside, his watch in his hand. 'Pulaski,' he said, 'if she's there fifteen minutes from now, I shall invite her in.' Pulaski Tomlin made no reply, and we continued our ministrations in perfect silence.
"A few minutes later, I had occasion to go into my own room for a strip of linen, and to my utter amazement, the chair I had placed for Margaret Gaither was empty. Had she gone for a drink of water, or for a book? I went from room to room, calling her name, but she had gone; and I have never laid eyes on her from that day to this. She went away to Malvern on a visit, and while there eloped with a Louisiana man named Bridalbin, whose reputation was none too savoury, and we never heard of her again. Even her Aunt Polly lost all trace of her."
"What did Mr. Tomlin say when you told him she was gone?" Nan inquired.
"We never told him. I think he understood that she was gone almost as soon as she went, for his spiritual faculties are very keen. I remember on one occasion, and that not so very long ago, when he refused to retire at night, because he had a feeling that he would be called for; and his intuitions were correct. He was summoned to the bedside of one of his friends in the country, and, as he went along, he carried your father with him. Margaret Gaither, such as she was, was the sum and the substance of his first and last romance. He suffered, but his suffering has made him strong.
"Yes," Mrs. Lumsden went on, "it has made him strong and great in the highest sense. Do you know why he is called Neighbour Tomlin? It is because he loves his neighbours as he loves himself. There is no sacrifice that he will not make for them. The poorest and meanest person in the world, black or white, can knock at Neighbour Tomlin's door any hour of the day or night, and obtain food, money or advice, as the case may be. If his wife or his children are ill, Neighbour Tomlin will get out of bed and go in the cold and rain, and give them the necessary attention. To me, there never was a more beautiful countenance in the world than Neighbour Tomlin's poor scarred face. But for that misfortune we should probably never have known what manner of man he is. The Providence that urged Margaret Gaither to fly from this house was arranging for the succour of many hundreds of unfortunates, and Pulaski Tomlin was its instrument."
"If I had been Margaret Gaither," said Nan, clenching her hands together, "I never would have left that door. Never! They couldn't have dragged me away. I've never been in love, I hope, but I have feelings that tell me what it is, and I never would have gone away."
"Well, we must not judge others," said Gabriel's grandmother gently. "Poor Margaret acted according to her nature. She was vain, and lacked stability, but I really believe that Providence had a hand in the whole matter."
"I know I'm pretty," remarked Nan, solemnly, "but I'm not vain."
"Why, Nan!" exclaimed Mrs. Lumsden, laughing; "what put in your head the idea that you are pretty?"
"I don't mean my own self," explained Nan, "but the other self that I see in the glass. She and I are very good friends, but sometimes we quarrel. She isn't the one that would have stayed at the door, but my own, own self."
Mrs. Lumsden looked at the girl closely to see if she was joking, but Nan was very serious indeed. "I'm sure I don't understand you," said Gabriel's grandmother.
"Gabriel does," replied Nan complacently. Gabriel understood well enough, but he never could have explained it satisfactorily to any one who was unfamiliar with Nan's way of putting things.
"Well, you are certainly a pretty girl, Nan," Gabriel's grandmother admitted, "and when you and Francis Bethune are married, you will make a handsome pair."
"When Francis Bethune and I are married!" exclaimed Nan, giving a swift side-glance at Gabriel, who pretended to be reading. "Why, what put such an idea in your head, Grandmother Lumsden?"
"Why, it is on the cards, my dear. It is what, in my young days, they used to call the proper caper."
"Well, when Frank and I are to be married, I'll send you a card of invitation so large that you will be unable to get it in the front door." She rose from the footstool, saying, "I must go home; good-bye, everybody; and send me word when you have chocolate cake."
This was so much like the Nan who had been his comrade for so long that Gabriel felt a little thrill of exultation. A little later he asked his grandmother what she meant by saying that it was on the cards for Nan to marry Bethune.
"Why, I have an idea that the matter has already been arranged," she answered with a knowing smile. "It would be so natural and appropriate. You are too young to appreciate the wisdom of such arrangements, Gabriel, but you will understand it when you are older. Nan is not related in any way to the Cloptons, though a great many people think so. Her grandmother was captured by the Creeks when only a year or two old. She was the only survivor of a party of seven which had been ambushed by the Indians. She was too young to give any information about herself. She could say a few words, and she knew that her name was Rosalind, but that was all. She was ransomed by General McGillivray, and sent to Shady Dale. Under the circumstances, there was nothing for Raleigh Clopton to do but adopt her. Thus she became Rosalind Clopton. She married Benier Odom when, as well as could be judged, she was more than forty years old. Randolph Dorrington married her daughter, who died when Nan was born. Marriage, Gabriel, is not what young people think it is; and I do hope that when you take a wife, it will be some one you have known all your life."
"I hope so, too," Gabriel responded with great heartiness.
CHAPTER SIX
The Passing of Margaret
The day after the return of Mr. Sanders and Francis Bethune from the war, Gabriel's grandmother had an early caller in the person of Miss Fanny Tomlin. For a maiden lady, Miss Fanny was very plump and good-looking. Her hair was grey, and she still wore it in short curls, just as she had worn it when a girl. The style became her well. The short curls gave her an air of jauntiness, which was in perfect keeping with her disposition, and they made a very pretty frame for her rosy, smiling