Chapter 26

Yorktown broke the British heart, and General Dale, still weak from wounds, went home to Red Oaks. It was not long before, with gentle inquiry, he had pieced out the full story of Barbara and Erskine and Dane Grey, and wisely he waited his chance with each phase of the situation. Frankly he told her first of Grey�s dark treachery, and the girl listened with horrified silence, for she would as soon have distrusted that beloved father as the heavenly Father in her prayers. She left him when he finished the story and he let her go without another word. All day she was in her room and at sunset she gave him her answer, for she came to him dressed in white, knelt by his chair, and put her head in his lap. And there was a rose in her hair.

�I have never understood about myself and�and that man,� she said, �and I never will.�

�I do,� said the general gently, �and I understand you through my sister who was so like you. Erskine�s father was as indignant as Harry is now, and I am trying to act toward you as my father did toward her.� The girl pressed her lips to one of his hands.

�I think I�d better tell you the whole story now,� said General Dale, and he told of Erskine�s father, his wildness and his wanderings, his marriage, and the capture of his wife and the little son by the Indians, all of which she knew, and the girl wondered why he should be telling her again. The general paused:

�You know Erskine�s mother was not killed. He found her.� The girl looked up amazed and incredulous.

�Yes,� he went on, �the white woman whom he found in the Indian village was his mother.�

�Father!� She lifted her head quickly, leaned back with hands caught tight in front of her, looked up into his face�her own crimsoning and paling as she took in the full meaning of it all. Her eyes dropped.

�Then,� she said slowly, �that Indian girl�Early Morn�is his half-sister. Oh, oh!� A great pity flooded her heart and eyes. �Why didn�t Erskine take them away from the Indians?�

�His mother wouldn�t leave them.� And Barbara understood.

�Poor thing�poor thing!�

�I think Erskine is going to try now.�

�Did you tell him to bring them here?� The general put his hand on her head.

�I hoped you would say that. I did, but he shook his head.�

�Poor Erskine!� she whispered, and her tears came. Her father leaned back and for a moment closed his eyes.

�There is more,� he said finally. �Erskine�s father was the eldest brother�and Red Oaks���

The girl sprang to her feet, startled, agonized, shamed: �Belongs to Erskine,� she finished with her face in her hands. �God pity me,� she whispered, �I drove him from his own home.�

�No,� said the old general with a gentle smile. He was driving the barb deep, but sooner or later it had to be done.

�Look here!� He pulled an old piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. Her wide eyes fell upon a rude boyish scrawl and a rude drawing of a buffalo pierced by an arrow:

�It make me laugh. I have no use. I give hole dam plantashun Barbara.�

�Oh!� gasped the girl and then��where is he?�

�Waiting at Williamsburg to get his discharge.� She rushed swiftly down the steps, calling:

�Ephraim! Ephraim!�

And ten minutes later the happy, grinning Ephraim, mounted on the thoroughbred, was speeding ahead of a whirlwind of dust with a little scented note in his battered slouch hat:

�You said you would come whenever I wanted you. I want you to come now.

Barbara.�

The girl would not go to bed, and the old general from his window saw her like some white spirit of the night motionless on the porch. And there through the long hours she sat. Once she rose and started down the great path toward the sun-dial, moving slowly through the flowers and moonlight until she was opposite a giant magnolia. Where the shadow of it touched the light on the grass, she had last seen Grey�s white face and scarlet breast. With a shudder she turned back. The night whitened. A catbird started the morning chorus. The dawn came and with it Ephraim. The girl waited where she was. Ephraim took off his battered hat.

�Marse Erskine done gone, Miss Barbary,� he said brokenly. �He done gone two days.�

The girl said nothing, and there the old general found her still motionless�the torn bits of her own note and the torn bits of Erskine�s scrawling deed scattered about her feet.