Chapter XIII: "aunt Betsy" Takes the Helm

It would have been a dangerous thing for any man to accuse Colonel Conway of cowardice. Personal courage was his in full measure. Three times during the Mexican war he had been promoted--rising from lieutenant to colonel--and each time in special recognition of "conspicuous gallantry in action." He was afraid of no man and no company of men. He did and dared throughout his life with absolute disregard of danger.

But Colonel Conway was mightily afraid of his sister Betsy, as his daughter had said. Why, he could not have told, but the fact remained that he was afraid of that elderly little woman, encased as she was in an armor of conventionalities, gentle but resolute, and mercilessly insistent upon what she decreed to be "proper" conduct.

When the negro boy who daily brought the letter bag from the post office to The Oaks reported that Mr. Boyd Westover had come up from Richmond and was to stay only for a day or two at Wanalah, Colonel Conway promptly announced his purpose to ride over and congratulate him. The family were at the breakfast table at the time and the Colonel observed that his daughter paled at the mention of his purpose, though she said nothing in reply to his declaration. His sister, "Aunt Betsy," also said nothing. It was her habit to say nothing till the time was ripe.

Immediately after breakfast Margaret sought speech with her father.

"You are right, father, and what you purpose is the part of an honorable man. You ought to go to Boyd and take his hand, and make him feel that men of your kind and his kind understand. But--" She paused uncertainly.

"'But' what, daughter?" asked the Colonel, eagerly scanning her face.

"Nothing. I was only going to say that perhaps it will be just as well not to mention me--unless he does so first."

There was that in her hesitating utterance which awakened the Colonel's attention and curiosity.

"But why not, Margaret?" he questioned. "Surely it is about you he will be most eager to hear."

"If so he will ask. If he doesn't, I beg of you--"

"Why, surely you've heard from him frequently during this trouble--and you've written to him?"

"I've written to him, yes."

"And he has written to you, of course?"

The girl stood silent, while she plucked honeysuckles from the vines that shrouded the porch in which they stood, and nervously pulled them to pieces.

"Answer me, child," the Colonel said in a tone of command. "Hasn't Boyd Westover written to you during all this trouble?"

"I have received no letter from him," she answered hesitatingly.

"Do you mean that he hasn't written to you of his arrest, trial and all the rest of it, of his vindication and--"

"I have had no letter from him," she repeated.

"Hasn't he even offered you a release from your engagement?"

"I have had no letter from him," she said again, but this time she lost her self control and blurted out the thought that had troubled her for many days.

"Oh Father," she said, seizing his arm as if to detain him, "there has been some cruel mistake, some miscarriage, something, I don't know what. I only know that Boyd Westover is a gentleman and would never have neglected such a duty."

"As he _has_ neglected it, he is unworthy of a gentleman's recognition, Margaret. I shall not go near him."

"You are judging him unheard," she promptly and passionately answered; "and oh, Father, that isn't like you, because it is unworthy, and nothing unworthy or unjust is like you. I beg of you, give him a chance. You need do nothing but make a call. The explanation will follow--if there is an explanation. If there isn't--well, we shall know."

"I'll go, daughter, of course. It is my duty. But I'll force the explanation. I have a right to ask him why, being engaged to marry my daughter, he has sent her no release, in view of the circumstances. That will bring out all there is to say on the subject."

At that point in their conversation the father and daughter were interrupted by the advent of "Aunt Betsy," who passed from the house into the porch quite casually, and said to Margaret:

"When you have leisure, dear, you'd better see Janet. She has come to say that Diana is much worse this morning and that the doctor, who was in a hurry, left some important written directions out at the quarters."

Quick to respond to duty, especially where the sick of the plantation were concerned, Margaret was in the saddle a minute later and galloping toward the "quarters," as the negro village was called in plantation nomenclature.

No sooner had her sorrel palfry's white tail flashed its signal of departure through the outer grove, than "Aunt Betsy" turned to her brother, saying:

"Of course you forgot yourself, brother, when you impulsively declared your purpose to visit Mr. Boyd Westover to-day. The one serious fault in your nature is impulsiveness. You are too chivalric, too trusting, too confident of others, too apt to think of them as men like yourself."

"What is it you want to say, Betsy?" asked the Colonel as he sank limply into one of the porch chairs.

"Only that upon reflection you must see that it won't do for you to call upon Mr. Westover."

"But why not?"

"There are a dozen reasons. He's a man under a cloud you know. He has been regularly convicted of a crime, and sentenced for it, and--"

"But he has been fully vindicated and pardoned," interrupted the Colonel.

"Yes, of course. Fully vindicated by the confession of a demented man who may or may not know what he is saying. It may be--well, anything may be, you know, and opinions in this community are likely to be divided as to the matter of Mr. Boyd Westover's guilt. So long as that remains unsettled the Master of The Oaks cannot afford to take sides by visiting Wanalah."

"You mean that I, Colonel Robert Conway, of The Oaks, am not free to do as I damn please just because a lot of pestilent old gossips think to say me nay?"

"You misunderstand me, Robert, and you grieve me to the heart by the violence of your language."

"Did I swear? If so I beg pardon, but sometimes oaths will slip out. It's a bad habit I acquired in the army."

"You utterly fail to understand me," said "Aunt Betsy." "I am not concerned about myself or you, or the family name, though that is dearer to me than all else in the world. I'm concerned for Margaret. You are a man, of course, but even a man ought to see that for Margaret's father to visit Westover of Wanalah, under existing circumstances, would be everywhere interpreted as throwing Margaret at his head, challenging him to fulfil his engagement with her. In brief it would be almost the equivalent of that vulgar impossibility in Virginia, a breach of promise suit."

"Aunt Betsy" saw in Colonel Conway's face that she had carried her point, and she did not imperil the result by further speech. She suddenly applied her handkerchief to her eyes instead, and hastily retreated to her room, confident that on that day at least her brother would not ride over to Wanalah.