SIR WILLIAM AND HIS WIFE.
Probably Elizabeth Parris would not have sat down in the portico, but
the night's watching had made her faint. When Norman Lovel darted off to
gather up the roses he had plucked, and so rudely scattered, she sank
down, watching him dreamily as he cast them away a second time, and
gathered fresh ones, unmindful, poor child, that this might be a type of
his character, and those poor flowers of her own fate.
He came back, bringing a rich harvest of blush roses--he never gave any
other to Elizabeth--with both hands wet with the dew which rained out of
their hearts.
"Come," he said, heaping them on the seat by her side, "let us gather up
a bouquet for the breakfast-table. Lady Phipps loves flowers fresh from
the thicket."
Elizabeth Parris started up with a look of sudden dismay.
"Lady Phipps! and I have known that you are safe all this time without
telling her--how selfish, how cruel! It was almost morning before she
went to her room. I am sure she has not slept."
As she spoke, Elizabeth pushed open the door, and in an instant Norman
saw her gliding up the broad staircase which led to the second story. He
followed her into the vestibule, and began pacing up and down, turning
his eyes now on the floor, tessellated with lozenges of black oak and
red cedar, now upon the staircase, hoping to see the young girl descend
again.
But, instead of this, an imperious knock sounded from the door which he
had but partially closed; at the same instant it was pushed open, and a
gentleman strode through with a dull, weary step, and walked heavily
up-stairs.
Norman was in the lower end of the vestibule, and the surprise of this
sudden entrance kept him motionless. Recovering himself, he came
forward, but only in time to catch another glimpse of the governor as he
entered his wife's chamber.
Elizabeth had found Lady Phipps asleep, and, not daring to wake her,
stole off to her own room; but the heavy step of Sir William possessed
more power than her fairy tread, and the moment it sounded on the floor
Lady Phipps started up and inquired wildly if the young secretary was
found.
The governor shook his head. Saddened by his gesture Lady Phipps fell
back upon her pillow, and, turning her face to the wall, fell into a
leaden silence.
A knock, and a sweet, pleading voice asking entrance.
"It is Elizabeth Parris. Poor child, she has spent a terrible night,"
said Lady Phipps. "Have you no comfort to give her?"
"None!" said the stern man, with a quiver of the voice. "He was seen
going to the shore with another person, directly after a boat was
engulfed in the breakers--nothing could have lived."
"And who was that other one?" cried the lady, struck by the hesitation
in her husband's voice.
Sir William arose, and came close to the bed, afraid to speak aloud with
that young creature at the door.
"It was Samuel Parris."
The lady uttered a low cry, and buried her face in the pillow. Her noble
heart was shaken as if it had been her own father who was lost.
Again that knock at the door, and now a low, almost harsh voice, bade
the girl come in.
Sir William was hardening himself into composure, that he might tell the
young girl of her bereavement, with the firmness that became his
manhood.
Elizabeth entered timidly, as she always did, but her face beamed with
happiness.
Lady Phipps looked up shocked to the heart.
"Elizabeth!" The lady sat up in her bed and held forth her arms tenderly
as if the girl had been her own child.
"He is here--he is safe--he--"
The young girl fell down upon her knees by the bed, pressing soft kisses
on the lady's hand.
Sir William Phipps arose and went out. It was seldom that his face
betrayed any of the deep feelings of his nature, but as he went forth,
that firm mouth quivered, and he turned from one object to another,
searching eagerly for something.
"Sir William."
The governor gave an imperceptible start, controlled himself, and
reaching forth his hand--the large, firm hand, which had known much toil
in its day--buried that of the young man in its grasp.
"I hope that Lady Phipps was not alarmed by my absence," said Norman, a
little chilled by this composure.
"I cannot quite say that with truth, young man," replied the governor;
"but you will explain all at breakfast. From the state of your garments
I should judge that you had at least been in the water."
"Yes; but you see I came out safe--and that brave old minister, also,
Samuel Parris. I wish you could have seen him, Sir William: he was a
perfect Neptune."
"Nay," answered the governor, with a smile that transfigured his face
from its usual grave expression into something that made the heart leap
towards him, "that is a heathenish name for one of God's ministers; but
if your danger, whatever it prove, was shared by Samuel Parris, it must
have been in a good cause. I am glad, boy, that your night has been
spent with this devout man."
With these words Sir William passed on, and entered his closet,
apparently casting all thought of the youth from his mind. But no sooner
was he alone and the door closed, than he fell upon his knees by the
great oaken chair, which had belonged to his old father on the Kennebec.
There, with bent head, he poured forth the thanksgiving that filled his
soul, so earnestly that his frame shook, and his clasped hands unwove
themselves, covering his face, while the tears that sprang to his eyes
stole softly down the palms.
It was only when alone with his God that the strong man became like a
little child--alone, with the bolts drawn, and his face bowed over the
oaken seat where his father had prayed with the mother and her score of
children by his side.
Governor Phipps joined his family at breakfast, sedate, calm, and with
that dignity of manner which may well accompany a sense of high power.
Lady Phipps could not so well conceal the traces of an anxious and
sleepless night. Her eyes were heavy, her cheeks pale, and the usual
exquisite arrangement of her morning toilet was a good deal disturbed.
The robe of dark chintz was looped back, a little unevenly, from the
full dimity underskirt, and the crimson ribbon that bound the snowy
little cap to her head was knotted in a bow, slightly verging towards
the left temple, instead of lying flat upon the glossy black hair over
the forehead as it should have done.
Besides these little indications of unrest, the lady would draw a deep
breath, now and then, like one who had just recovered from a fright, and
she glanced towards the young secretary from time to time, with a look
of devout thankfulness.
Dear lady, her life had been so full of happiness, so rich in
prosperity, that the danger of one she loved as if he had been her own
son clung around her yet. She grew paler as he told over his strange
adventure on the shore, and seemed greatly interested in the old man who
had been his companion.
He did not mention the name of this person, and passed over the
conversation on the beach entirely, dwelling only on that which marked
their encounter on the heights, when the storm was raging. Some
intuition told him that the young girl, whose eyes dwelt so wistfully on
his, would be pained to know that her father had been for two days
within sight of the roof that covered her without attempting to enter
beneath it.
Governor Phipps seemed unusually interested in the events he described,
and though the youth talked on gayly, a superstitious feeling crept over
the party as he gave a vivid picture of the spectral appearance of the
ship. But when he came to speak of Barbara Stafford, his speech
faltered, a husky feeling clove to his tongue, and it was only by
questions that they gained a knowledge of the strange woman.
"I will ride over to the farm-house to-morrow," said Lady Phipps, with
prompt hospitality; "if she is a gentlewoman, as you say, Norman, we can
be of service. She must have letters of introduction that will warrant
us in asking her here."
Governor Phipps looked suddenly up as his wife spoke and his countenance
changed. It was so unusual to see him in the least disturbed that his
lady remarked it with some anxiety.
"Are you ill, Sir William?"
"I do not know. A strange feeling seized upon me for the moment; a
faintness--a sort of shock--it is nothing."
Lady Phipps looked around for some cause.
"It may be this plateau of flowers, they are unusually fragrant this
morning," she said, looking around for a servant to carry away the
roses, which Norman had gathered, from the table.
"Let me--let me!" cried Elizabeth Parris, seizing upon the flowers, and
carrying them off to her room. She would not have had a leaf touched by
one of the servants for the universe.
Norman followed her with his eyes, smiled with quiet satisfaction, when
he saw her stoop fondly and inhale the breath of the roses as she went
up-stairs, then, leaning towards Lady Phipps, he said, in a low voice,
"The old man was her father!"
"What! Samuel Parris? and pass by this house?" exclaimed the lady in
astonishment. "This is a strange thing, Sir William."
"It is strange--very strange," answered the governor, rising. "I will
seek our old friend and reason with him."
"And I," said his wife, "will seek out the stranger. Goody Brown is a
kind woman, but the poor lady may not obtain all she needs in the
farm-house. Did you hear her name, Lovel?"
"No," answered the youth, with unaccountable hesitation; "but you will
find it embroidered on this handkerchief, which I picked up on the beach
in coming along. The cambric is wet and drenched with sand, but you can
perhaps make it out."
Lady Phipps took the handkerchief and examined the embroidery.
"A coronet," she muttered: "this looks well. But the
name--B--Barbara--Barbara Stafford. Stafford--that is a good old English
name. Sir William, I will surely go and see her."