"THE COWARD!"
The steamer that carried Captain Maynard and his fortunes out of the
Narraganset Bay, had not rounded Point Judith before his name in the
mouths of many became a scorned word. The gross insult he had put upon
the English stranger had been witnessed by a score of gentlemen, and
extensively canvassed by all who had heard of it. Of course there would
be a "call out," and some shooting. Nothing less could be expected
after such an affront.
It was a surprise, when the discovery came, that the insulter had stolen
off; for this was the interpretation put upon it.
To many it was a chagrin. Not much was known of Captain Maynard, beyond
that public repute the newspapers had given to his name, in connection
with the Mexican war.
This, however, proved him to have carried a commission in the American
army; and as it soon became understood that his adversary was an officer
in that of England, it was but natural there should be some national
feeling called forth by the affair. "After all," said they, "Maynard is
not an American!" It was some palliation of his supposed poltroonery
that he had stayed all day at the hotel, and that his adversary had not
sent the challenge till after he was gone.
But the explanation of this appeared satisfactory enough; and Swinton
had not been slow in making it known. Notwithstanding some shame to
himself, he had taken pains to give it a thorough circulation; supposing
that no one knew aught of the communication he had received from
Roseveldt.
And as no one did appear to know of it, the universal verdict was, that
the hero of C--, as some of the newspapers pronounced him, had fled from
a field where fighting honours might be less ostentatiously obtained.
There were many, however, who did not attribute his departure to
cowardice, and who believed or suspected that there must have been some
other motive--though they could not conceive what.
It was altogether an inexplicable affair; and had he left Newport in the
morning, instead of the evening, he would have been called by much
harder names than those that were being bestowed upon him. His stay at
the hotel for what might be considered a reasonable time, in part
protected him from vituperation.
Still had he left the field to Mr Swinton, who was elevated into a sort
of half-hero by his adversary's disgraceful retreat.
The lord _incognito_ carried his honours meekly as might be. He was not
without apprehension that Maynard might return, or be met again in some
other corner of the world--in either case to call him to account for any
triumphant swaggering. Of this he made only a modest display, answering
when questioned:
"Confound the fellaw! He's given me the slip, and I don't knaw where to
find him! It's a demmed baw!"
The story, as thus told, soon circulated through the hotel, and of
course reached that part of it occupied by the Girdwood family. Julia
had been among the first who knew of Maynard's departure--having herself
been an astonished eye-witness of it.
Mrs Girdwood, only too glad to hear he had gone, cared but little about
the cause. Enough to know that her daughter was safe from his
solicitations.
Far different were the reflections of this daughter. It was only now
that she began to feel that secret longing to possess the thing that is
not to be obtained. An eagle had stooped at her feet--as she thought,
submitting itself to be caressed by her. It was only for a moment. She
had withheld her hand; and now the proud bird had soared resentfully
away, never more to return to her taming!
She listened to the talk of Maynard's cowardice without giving credence
to it. She knew there must be some other cause for that abrupt
departure; and she treated the slander with disdainful silence.
For all this, she could not help feeling something like anger toward
him, mingled with her own chagrin.
Gone without speaking to her--without any response to that humiliating
confession she had made to him before leaving the ball-room! On her
knees to him, and not one word of acknowledgment!
Clearly he cared not for her.
The twilight had deepened down as she returned into the balcony, and
took her stand there, with eyes bent upon the bay. Silent and alone,
she saw the signal-light of the steamer moving like an _ignis fatuus_
along the empurpled bosom of the water--at length suddenly disappearing
behind the battlements of the Fort.
"He is gone?" she murmured to herself, heaving a deep sigh. "Perhaps
never more to be met by me. Oh, I must try to forget him!"