She had entered on her work among the hospitals a bitter partisan2 of her father’s school, with the simple idea that all Southerners were savage3 brutes4. Yet as she had seen the wounded boys from the South among the men in blue, more and more she had forgotten the difference between them. They were so young, these slender, dark-haired ones from Dixie—so pitifully young! Some of them were only fifteen, and hundreds not over sixteen. A lad of fourteen she had kissed one day in sheer agony of pity for his loneliness.
The part her father was playing in the drama on which Ben Cameron’s life had hung puzzled her. Was his the mysterious arm back of Stanton? Echoes of the fierce struggle with the President had floated through the half-open door.
She had implicit5 faith in her father’s patriotism6 and pride in his giant intellect. She knew that he was a king among men by divine right of inherent power. His sensitive 57 spirit, brooding over a pitiful lameness7, had hidden from the world behind a frowning brow like a wounded animal. Yet her hand in hours of love, when no eye save God’s could see, had led his great soul out of its dark lair8. She loved him with brooding tenderness, knowing that she had gotten closer to his inner life than any other human being—closer than her own mother, who had died while she was a babe. Her aunt, with whom she and Phil now lived, had told her the mother’s life was not a happy one. Their natures had not proved congenial, and her gentle Quaker spirit had died of grief in the quiet home in southern Pennsylvania.
Yet there were times when he was a stranger even to her. Some secret, dark and cold, stood between them. Once she had tenderly asked him what it meant. He merely pressed her hand, smiled wearily, and said:
“Nothing, my dear, only the Blue Devils after me again.”
He had always lived in Washington in a little house with black shutters9, near the Capitol, while the children had lived with his sister, near the White House, where they had grown from babyhood.
A curious fact about this place on the Capitol hill was that his housekeeper10, Lydia Brown, was a mulatto, a woman of extraordinary animal beauty and the fiery11 temper of a leopardess. Elsie had ventured there once and got such a welcome she would never return. All sorts of gossip could be heard in Washington about this woman, her jewels, her dresses, her airs, her assumption of the dignity of the presiding genius of National 58 legislation and her domination of the old Commoner and his life. It gradually crept into the newspapers and magazines, but he never once condescended12 to notice it.
Elsie begged her father to close this house and live with them.
His reply was short and emphatic13:
“Impossible, my child. This club foot must live next door to the Capitol. My house is simply an executive office at which I sleep. Half the business of the Nation is transacted14 there. Don’t mention this subject again.”
Elsie choked back a sob15 at the cold menace in the tones of this command, and never repeated her request. It was the only wish he had ever denied her, and, somehow, her heart would come back to it with persistence16 and brood and wonder over his motive17.
The nearer she drew, this morning, to the hospital door, the closer the wounded boy’s life and loved ones seemed to hers. She thought with anguish18 of the storm about to break between her father and the President—the one demanding the desolation of their land, wasted, harried19, and unarmed!—the President firm in his policy of mercy, generosity20, and healing.
Her father would not mince21 words. His scorpion22 tongue, set on fires of hell, might start a conflagration23 that would light the Nation with its glare. Would not his name be a terror for every man and woman born under Southern skies? The sickening feeling stole over her that he was wrong, and his policy cruel and unjust.
She had never before admired the President. It was fashionable to speak with contempt of him in Washington. 59 He had little following in Congress. Nine tenths of the politicians hated or feared him, and she knew her father had been the soul of a conspiracy24 at the Capitol to prevent his second nomination25 and create a dictatorship, under which to carry out an iron policy of reconstruction26 in the South. And now she found herself heart and soul the champion of the President.
She was ashamed of her disloyalty, and felt a rush of impetuous anger against Ben and his people for thrusting themselves between her and her own. Yet how absurd to feel thus against the innocent victims of a great tragedy! She put the thought from her. Still she must part from them now before the brewing27 storm burst. It would be best for her and best for them. This pardon delivered would end their relations. She would send the papers by a messenger and not see them again. And then she thought with a throb28 of girlish pride of the hour to come in the future when Ben’s big brown eyes would be softened29 with a tear when he would learn that she had saved his life. They had concealed30 all from him as yet.
She was afraid to question too closely in her own heart the shadowy motive that lay back of her joy. She read again with a lingering smile the name “Ben Cameron” on the paper with its big red Seal of Life. She had laughed at boys who had made love to her, dreaming a wider, nobler life of heroic service. And she felt that she was fulfilling her ideal in the generous hand she had extended to these who were friendless. Were they not the children of her soul in that larger, finer world of which she had dreamed and sung? Why should she give them 60 up now for brutal31 politics? Their sorrow had been hers, their joy should be hers, too. She would take the papers herself and then say good-bye.
She found the mother and sister beside the cot. Ben was sleeping with Margaret holding one of his hands. The mother was busy sewing for the wounded Confederate boys she had found scattered32 through the hospital.
At the sight of Elsie holding aloft the message of life she sprang to meet her with a cry of joy.
She clasped the girl to her breast, unable to speak. At last she released her and said with a sob:
“My child, through good report and through evil report my love will enfold you!”
Elsie stammered33, looked away, and tried to hide her emotion. Margaret had knelt and bowed her head on Ben’s cot. She rose at length, threw her arms around Elsie in a resistless impulse, kissed her and whispered:
“My sweet sister!”
Elsie’s heart leaped at the words, as her eyes rested on the face of the sleeping soldier.
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1
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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2
partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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3
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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4
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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5
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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7
lameness
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| n. 跛, 瘸, 残废 | |
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lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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12
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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13
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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14
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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15
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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16
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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18
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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20
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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scorpion
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| n.蝎子，心黑的人，蝎子鞭 | |
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conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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24
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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27
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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29
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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30
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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31
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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32
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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33
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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