John Luther Long

“ Look at Evelyn, Jon! How pale! Is she dying?"
"I have been looking," says Jon, more scared than Dave. "Don't you think the best thing—the one thing—we can ask Evelyn is to tell us, honestly, whether or not she is seriously ill, and whether she is sure she will get well?"
"Yes," says Dave. "For God's sake, Evelyn, tell us that—and we'll be satisfied."
"Did you ever see me happier?" asks Evelyn.
"No!" says Jon and Dave at once.
"Are people happy who think they are sick enough to die—and go away from daddy and Jon and Dave—or even be sick enough to be kept away from them a little while?" ”

“ Well, of course, Jon didn't understand that crazy stuff any more than I did. He goes straight back to the love.
"Evelyn," says Jon, desperate, "it must be more! You must marry me."
Then, even in the night, I could see the hardness come into her face, and when she spoke it cut through her voice like iron.
"Would you like to know what my heart is full of at this moment?" she says.
"Yes," says Jon, thinking maybe, that it was something about him.
"Murder!" says Evelyn.
"No, no," says Jonathan, "not in that heart. It is made to be filled with love. Nothing else." ”

“ I asks.
"Not a word, not a thing," smiles Jon. "On the contrary, dear old daddy, I spend half the time I ought to sleep thinking of ways to make the happiness more and more wonderful. I thought I loved her, daddy. I told her it was the greatest love ever man had for woman. But, daddy, the wonder of Dave's love makes me ashamed of mine. And hers! It is as great as his. Why, what is it that he forgets us? We are small things in his world. And how can it be otherwise? There is nothing but her for him, nothing but him for her. Daddy, I was an apprentice. I had to learn love. But Dave is it. ”

“ Yet, within me that conscience which doth make cowards of all—but the women who wait, was crying:
"It is fifty years! Dave, if alive, is an old, old man! Evelyn is an old woman! Age can not love! If Dave were alive and had a mind to return he must have done so long ago! If one loves does one stay away?"
"Why," she was smiling while I was compounding treason, "we have done everything else to get word to him, but, strangely enough, have never thought of printing his story and sending it into every corner of the earth. ”

“ I had taken in all the glory-talk, as well as the gratitude-notion, and I had thought, I am afraid, that I was doing something noble: first, in going to such a dangerous thing as war for my country and fellow men; second, in losing an arm for them—a material part of my body. But no one seemed to care very much. And I heard no one speak of courage, patriotism, or gratitude. All now cursed the war.
When the body has been fed too much of one kind of food it becomes indifferent to it. Perhaps the mind of our people had been fed too greedily upon the war. ”

“ I want just enough of your great love for a sister. That is all I dare receive. That is all you may give. Keep the rest for some one more worthy. Now, let us not hurt each other. I am capable of it! Maybe I have done it—hurt you all. But what matters it that a few of us fall by the wayside if the people are saved! Jon, there must be no more of this. I have dedicated myself to a great cause. I am not I any more. I am a thing—a machine to do the will of a cause. ”

“ But poor old Jon was troubled at that. Think of the temptation! He took her hands to keep her near, but he said:
"I do not know—I do not know! I have thought little about the war—about anything but you—since you came! I don't know!"
This did not please Evelyn. She flung his hands away.
"You, a man, and don't know! Oh, if the women could but fight this war! You, a man, with hell seething all about you and talking, thinking of love! A woman! A woman's man! There is no room in my heart for love, or such a man! ”

“ If you love me, please try and bear with that. Forgive me, Jon, forgive me, daddy! Always forgive me! You must. It's an infirmity, illness. Dearest Jon and dearest daddy in the world! And put your arms about me—both of you—yes, about an irreconcilable rebel!—two Black Republicans—and let us have peace. I'll try not to let it happen again."
Just think of a woman who could do all that and smile and cry all together, like an angel! Wasn't she wonderful? And that's the kind of women men go crazy about! But don't you forget that's the kind of women go crazy 'bout men—when the right one comes! ”

“ Dave kept stroking Jon's long light hair and saying crazy baby things. But after a while he spoke so's I could hear:
"You're not hurt badly, are you, Jonthy? Just brace up. Dave would rather die a thousand times than hurt you. You see, I was blind and crazy with pain, and blood in my eyes, or I would have known you as you crawled over the horse. You know how that is, being a soldier, and a better and braver and honester one than I. When you have pain you can hardly stand, and blood from a saber cut in your eyes, you just fire at anything and everything—just for spite and hell in general. ”

“ AFTER THE STORY
THIS is the story which beautiful old Stephen Vonner told me in his apple-orchard one night in June. We sat under a low-boughed tree whose blossoms filtered lovingly down upon us all the long night. For the story began while the setting sun still glowed in our faces and went on through the nesting of the birds, the sleep-song of the cicadas, the amazing night-stillness; while the constellations reeled above and the serried Milky Way marched past; until the full moon rose, saying:
"Lo, I have looked upon wo for a million years! And it passes—always it passes. Have peace!" ”

“ But Evelyn's caressed with the elisions of the South—which alien tongues could never quell. I fell to the wonderful voice. But, presently, my conscience would not and rose in revolt. Almost without my willing, it uttered a grim warning:
"Do not forget the years," said I. "Dave would be seventy if he should come back."
But, instantly, when I had choked down conscience, I was glad that my saying had not hurt her. It meant nothing to love like hers.
"And, do men cease to love and forgive at seventy?" asked the gentle voice. "Women don't. I do not, and I am nearly seventy." ”

“ Why, Jon was nearly as old then as he is now. Davy, I wouldn't have you changed one jot or tittle. You were a sunbeam in a dark place. You have always been. I know you always will be."
"A sunbeam, daddy!" says Dave, with the glad light in his eyes once more.
"Yes, a sunbeam! I am not afraid to repeat it. A sunbeam! More than one! Don't you be so worked up about—ahem—us going to war. There's not much danger if you don't fool with the guns more than you have to. We'll get back all right. And, about Evelyn—Dave, you marry her. She loves you—that's as plain as a haystack. ”

“ They know in the North now. They know in the South. And you know what they do to spies. Both sides. And the horror of it is that they won't do it to me, but to Dave, who they think is—Mallory. But if they know that Mallory has gone from here to Stuart, and I have made that certain, all will be well, only, he must turn up there—oh, daddy, daddy, daddy! Can't you help me? Can't some one? Just think of it! I must be a soldier. I'll die of shame, of course, but I daren't until I have taken the danger from you-all, and am known as Mallory.
"You see, daddy, dear, how horrid a master evil becomes. ”

“ For the first time in his life Jon seemed glad not to have Dave about. And he had a wild look about the eyes that I had never seen on Jon.
He went out and told Evelyn not to wait for Dave, that he had gone to bed.
"Yi—you didn't tell him?" I heard her shriek, "You didn't?—He didn't guess it?"
"He had gone some time before I went in," Jon said. "Come! We will meet in the morning! Come."
Jon dragged her in and she flew off to bed like a troubled spirit.
"Come, Jonthy," says I, "let's sleep—if we can. Seems to me that we're all crazy in one way or another, to-night." ”

“ The poor old widow has his picture in the zouave uniform always by her.
It's a grown-up baby—long yellow curls, dimples, that smile the photographer puts on you, leaning on the back of a carved chair, with one leg across the other, his gun in the hollow of his arm, his red cap on the back of his head, as if he didn't care how soon they called on him to march to Richmond and put a stop to the war. This picture is all painted and it looks like a pretty toy soldier. ”

“ God, God Almighty!"
"Oh, my poor Jon—my poor old Jonthy!" sobbed Evelyn again.
"Peace," says Jonathan, more quiet now. "It is decided."
"Signal to-night yet," says Jon, "the last signal, that Lucas Mallory has gone to join Stuart. To look for him there."
"Yes," says Evelyn, "and after the war is over, soon, soon, then I will not seem so bad. I shall confess—in his arms. Some things which are tragic now we shall be able to laugh at then. Then, we'll tell him and I'll take my chances with him—but not now. I'm too sick. I should die telling him, seeing his eyes flame." ”

“ Yes, you must kill him—that is the better way—better than enlisting in the rebel army. Death to Mallory!"
And she actually laughs.
"Daddy says," put in Jon, puzzled to death, "that you are Union now. If you're Union why do you bother?"
"Do you suppose those little things could make me like this?" says Evelyn. "Union—rebel! What are they now? My God!"
"They use' to be a lot," kind of smiles Jon, and in a nice soft voice. "And, if it's so that you are still rebel—"
She flings up her hands and just goes on.
"It's—Dave—Dave—Dave!" ”

“ I was to be a Union soldier. Let us accept it—and follow on to happiness."
"Happiness?" moans Evelyn.
"Happiness," says Jon, solemn. "Don't you see that this was the only way to ultimate happiness? Dave knows—yes, now—but in a way that is easily capable of honorable correction. And the first step toward happiness is for me to go, precisely where I am going to-day—except that I go honestly—for that is toward Dave. It is fortunate that I must. Otherwise when you ask me to stay—ah! If I could I would. But these men—And you must not die, but live and hope and wait! ”

“ We carries her back to bed.
"Daddy," she says, when we were alone, "they are still after Mallory. They think he is well again—or never has been sick, or has lied or deserted. Once a spy, always a spy—or you are shot. And there's no tapestry to weave and unweave now! I thought it was all over! But it must be done again, I expect. You must help me, daddy, dear. I'm too sick to do it alone this time."
"The wedding will stop all that," I said.
"Ah, the wedding," she sighed. "Dave must know now. And, when he knows, do you think—there will be a wedding?" ”

“ For a minute I didn't know whether he was going to run Dave through the bosom with his sword, or not. Then he slaps the other two on the shoulders, put his sword up, and they all laughs like blazes.
"Constantly looking for treason makes one silly about it, I guess," he says to the others. "I got what I deserve." To Dave he says: "I won't arrest you—just yet. I'm rather inclined to shake your hand. I like a man who gets the better of me—and is in love!" ”

“ WHAT IS GREATER THAN PATRIOTISM?
JON and me were sitting on the front porch there, in our shirt-sleeves, one night, and Dave and Evelyn were out under the plum trees yonder, when the brass cornet band came along playing, "We Are Coming, Father Abraham, Three Hundred Thousand Strong." And there was a procession, with a banner telling that there was to be a meeting in town that night to raise a company of Union soldiers. ”

“ That's how this night's work has turned the matter!"
"But," says Jon, "we don't know him—where to find him—who he is. He doesn't exist, as far as we know. Yet, they know he does. If he could be found—I'd kill him! And send them his body. He wouldn't have to enlist."
"He deserves that," says I, "a man that is too cowardly to shoulder his own deeds, but puts 'em on some one else! I wish, too, that I'd come across him with a gun in my hands!"
"Dear daddy," says Evelyn, more quiet now, and slow and solemn, "the time is at hand—you have brought it to-night—for you and your gun—and Mallory! ”

“ Jon had finished reading the letter. He stood and smiled down on Evelyn. The leave-taking was still going on, and no one noticed Evelyn and the captain much.
"How beautiful you are to-day!" says Jon. "The beauty of truth! How much to be desired. This is our Evelyn!"
"I want you—I ask you—to stay with me—at home! I need—I must have some one—And then—and then—Dave will come back. He will always come where you are," says Evelyn". "But he will never again come where I am—unless you are there, too. And then—oh, and then—I'll keep you both! Please stay! I'm so lonely!" ”

“ These are flowers; that's a wedding. What's the answer? Please tell me."
"There's the answer," laughs old Jon. "Those orchids. They're some of the frailest and rarest flowers in the world and I am raising them for Evelyn's wedding! Orchids. Nothing less would be appropriate. You're not to tell. If they think they are going to surprise us, this will tell them that they haven't succeeded." ”

“ But we could see, off to the right, on another road, the colonel commanding, trying to rally some of his men to a last effort. He had only one arm, like me. But he was a Trojan at making men fight. Well, he succeeded. They came at our flank like a whirlwind. But Jon had been making ready. He faced us right, and we counter-charged, Jon in the lead, like Lucifer himself, outdistancing the Jerry-horse.
But the Johnny was game. He gave us a carbine volley on the run and pushed right into us. God! I'll never forget that coming together! Four thousand men meeting as hard as their horses could run! ”

“ You don't turn beggars out. But you are not good enough to be rebels!—as you fools call us. You don't stop to think that your father's brother had the courage to be one! And you don't recall that some of you murdered him! At night, while he stood faithfully at his gun! And his blood is on you—his own kin—as well as the rest. Shall I tell you some more of the things in my heart? Oh, there won't be any talk of love between us after this—will there? ”

“ Jon gave the word to fall in—four ranks—and that looked so much like going, at last, that the cheering stopped, and after a silent solemn moment we were swamped by women. Every man had at least one woman hanging on him and crying—except just Jon and me. ”

“ She made a traitor of me. She must do no more harm. I mustn't kill her here. No, there must not be two deaths on you, daddy. Maybe I couldn't—here! But I must—I will—kill her. She's a murderer."
That night he disappeared.
The letter Jon got that day, on the Square, from Dave, was in Jonathan's pocket when he died—all black and ragged, but in Dave's big handwriting—easy to read—very easy to read. Evelyn's got it in a little ivory box up-stairs—all alone. But we've read it so often, with so many tears, that I know it by heart—every word. It is the last testament of Jon and Dave together. ”