Dorothy South

“Yes, I quite understood that,” answered Arthur. “Let us run our horses for a bit. I have a fancy to do that.”

Dorothy understood. She joined him in a quarter mile stretch, and then he suddenly reined in his horse and faced her.

“It was right here, Dorothy, after a run like that,” he said, “that you told me I might call you Dorothy. Now I ask you to let me call you Wife.”

The girl hesitated. Presently she said:

“I have made up my mind to be perfectly true with you. I don’t know whether I had thought of this or not, at any rate I have tried not to think of it.”

“But now that I have forced the thought upon you, Dorothy? Is it yes, or no?”

Again the girl paused in thought before answering. Her dogs, seeing that she was paying no attention to them, broke away in pursuit of a hare. She suddenly recovered her self-possession. She whistled through her fingers to recall the hounds, and when they returned, crouching to receive the punishment they knew they deserved, she bade them go to heel, adding: “You’re naughty fellows, but you haven’t been kept under control, and so I forgive you.” Then, turning to Arthur she said,

“Yes, Master.”

* * * * * * * *

On their return to the house Arthur was mindful of his duty to Aunt Polly, guardian of the person of Dorothy South, and, as such endowed with authority to approve or forbid any marriage to which that eighteen year old young person might be inclined, before attaining her twenty first year.

“Aunt Polly!” he said abruptly, “I want your permission to marry Dorothy.”

“Why of course, Arthur,” she replied. “That is what I have intended all the time.”

* * * * * * * *

It was four years later, in June, 1865. Arthur and Dorothy – with an abiding consciousness of duty faithfully done – stood together in the porch at Wyanoke. The war was over. Virginia was ruined beyond recovery. All of evil that Arthur had foreseen, had been accomplished. “But the good has also come,” said Dorothy as they talked. “Slavery is at an end. You, Arthur, are free. You may again address yourself to your work in the world without the embarrassment of other duty. Shall we go back to New York?”

“No, Dorothy. My work in life lies in the cradle in the chamber there, where our two children sleep.”

“Thank you!” said Dorothy, and silence fell for a time.

Presently Dorothy added:

“And my mother’s work is done. It consoles me for all, when I remember that she lies where she fell, a martyr. The stone under which she sleeps is a rude one, but soldier hands have lovingly carved upon it the words:

‘MADAME LE SUD

The Angel of the Battlefield.’ ”

Then Dorothy whistled, and Dick came in response.

“Bring the horses at six o’clock tomorrow, Dick, your master and I are going to ride soon in the morning.”

THE END

notes

1

The negroes always properly called this word “Voodoo.” Among theatrical folk it has been strangely and senselessly corrupted into “Hoodoo.” The negroes believed in the Voodoo as firmly as the player people do. – Author.

2

The court incident here related is a fact. The author of this book was present in court when it occurred. – Author.

3

This story of Robert Copeland is historical fact, except for such disguises of name, etc. as are necessary under the circumstances. – Author.