Copperhead Gore: Benjamin Wood's Fort Lafayette and Civil War America

CHAPTER XV

[ 168 ] CHAPTER XV. In the upper apartment of a cottage standing alone by the roadside on the outskirts of Boston, Miranda, pale and dejected, sat gazing vacantly at the light of the solitary lamp that lit the room. The clock was striking midnight, and the driving rain beat dismally against the window-blinds. But one month had passed since her elopement with Philip Searle, yet her wan cheeks and altered aspect revealed how much of suffering can be crowded into that little space of time. She started from her reverie when the striking of the timepiece told the lateness of the hour. Heavy footsteps sounded upon the stairway, and, while she listened, Philip, followed by Bradshaw , entered the room abruptly. “How is this?” asked Philip, angrily. “Why are you not in bed?” “I did not know it was so late, Philip,” she answered, in a deprecating tone. “I was half asleep upon the rocking-chair, listening to the storm. It’s a bad night, Philip. How wet you are!” He brushed off the hand she had laid upon his shoulder, and muttered, with bad humor: “I’ve told you a dozen times I don’t want you to sit up for me. Fetch the brandy and glasses, and go to bed.” “Oh, Philip, it is so late! Don’t drink tonight, Philip. You are wet, and you look tired. Come to bed.” “Do as I tell you,” he answered, roughly, ¶inging himself into a chair, and beckoning Bradshaw to a seat. Miranda sighed, and brought the bottle and glasses from the closet. Fort Lafayette by Benjamin Wood [ 169 ] “Now, you go to sleep, do you hear; and don’t be whining and crying all night, like a sick girl.” The poor girl moved slowly to the door, and turned at the threshold. “Good night, Philip.” “Oh, good night—there, get along,” he cried, impatiently, without looking at her, and gulping down a tumblerful of spirits. Miranda closed the door, and left the two men alone together. They remained silent for a while, Bradshaw quietly sipping his liquor, and Philip evidently disturbed and angry. “You’re sure ’twas she?” he asked at last. “Oh, bother!” replied Bradshaw. “I’m not a mole nor a blind man. Don’t I know Moll when I see her?” “Curse her! She’ll stick to me like a leech. What could have brought her here? Do you think she’s tracked me?” “She’d track you through ¤re, if she once got on the scent. Moll ain’t the gal to be fooled, and you know it.” “What’s to be done?” “Move out of this. Take the girl to Virginia. You’ll be safe enough there.” “You’re right, Bradshaw. It’s the best way. I ought to have done it at ¤rst. But, hang the girl, she’ll weary me to death with her sermons and crying ¤ts. Moll’s worth two of her for that matter—she scolds, but at least she never would look like a stuck fawn when I came home a little queer. For the matter of that, she don’t mind a spree herself at times.” And, emptying his glass, the libertine laughed at the remembrance of some past orgies. While he was thus, in his half-drunken mood, consoling himself for present perplexities by dwelling upon the bacchanalian joys of other days, a carriage drove up the street, and stopped before the door. Soon afterward, the hall bell was rung, and Philip, alarmed and astonished, started from his seat. “Who’s that?” he asked, almost in a whisper. Copperhead Gore [ 170 ] “Don’t know,” replied his companion. “She couldn’t have traced me here already unless you have betrayed me, Bradshaw,” he added suddenly, darting a suspicious glance upon his comrade. “You’re just drunk enough to be a fool,” replied Bradshaw, rising from his seat, as a second summons, more violent than the ¤rst, echoed through the corridors. “I’ll go down and see what’s the matter. Someone’s mistaken the house, I suppose. That’s all.” “Let no one in, Bradshaw,” cried Philip, as that worthy left the room. He descended the stairs, opened the door, and presently afterward the carriage drove rapidly away. Philip, who had been listening earnestly, could hear the sound of the wheels as they whirled over the pavement. “All right,” he said, as he applied himself once...