LOVE'S SWEET DREAM.
It is not truth, but falsehood which requires explanation, and Maria was
sensible of this fact as she sat at her tambour frame thinking of Agnes
and of Harry and of her uncle Neil. There was something not
straightforward in the life of Agnes, and she resolved every day to make
inquiry into it, and every day she made, instead, some deferring excuse.
But one morning, while eating breakfast, they were all sensitive to
unusual movements in the city, and the air was tense with human emotion.
The Elder and Neil became restless and anticipative, and Maria could not
escape the feverish mental contagion. When the men had left the house
she hurried through her few duties, and then went to her friend. Agnes
was standing at the garden gate, watching and listening. "There is news
of some kind, Maria," she said; "I am anxious to know what it is."
"Grandmother says we need not run after news, it will find us out, and I
dare say it is only more Connecticut ravaging."
Then Agnes turned into the house with Maria, for she perceived something
unusual in her voice and manner--dissatisfaction, and perhaps a tone of
injury. There was no pretence of study about her, she had not even
brought her books, and Agnes became silent, and lifted her sewing. At
length Maria spoke:
"What is the matter with you, Agnes?" she asked, and then added: "you
are not like yourself this morning."
"Whatever the matter is, Maria, I caught it from you."
"You are cross."
"I was only curious and anxious when you came. You brought
dissatisfaction and annoyance with you. I think you had better tell me
at once what has displeased you."
"Oh, you must know what displeases me, Agnes. Do you think I can bear to
see you playing with two lovers at once? I am very fond of my uncle
Neil, and he adores you. And when Harry is away, uncle Neil is
everything; but as soon as Harry comes, then Harry is everything. It is
not fair to uncle, and I do not approve of such ways. If I were to act
in that kind of fashion between Lord Medway and Quentin Macpherson, who
would be so shocked as Agnes Bradley? I am so disappointed in you,
Agnes. I have not been able to come and see you for days; this morning I
felt that I must speak to you about things."
"Maria, I once asked you to defer judgment on whatever you saw or heard
or suspected, and to take my word for it being all right. It seems that
I asked too much."
"But how can it be all right, if you allow two men to make love to
you?--and you seem to like it from both of them."
"I do like it--from both of them. The two loves are different."
"Agnes! Agnes! I am shocked at you!" and Maria hid her face on the sofa
cushion and began to cry.
Then Agnes knelt at her side, and lifted her face and kissed it, and
whispered four words in her ear; and there was a look of wonder, and
Maria asked softly, "Why did you not tell me before?"
"I thought every time you saw him you would surely guess the truth."
"I did not."
"You must have seen also that Harry is deeply in love with you. Now, how
could he be in love with me also?"
"Harry in love with me! O Agnes!"
"You know it. Love cannot be hid. Only lovers look at a woman as I have
seen Harry look at you."
"I do think Harry likes me, and I felt as if--I don't know what I felt,
Agnes. I am very unhappy."
"Let me tell you what you felt. You said to yourself: if Harry was not
bound to Agnes he would be my lover; and Agnes does not care for him,
she does not treat him well, and yet she treats him too well to be doing
right to uncle Neil. You would include your uncle, because you would
feel it selfish to be wounded and disappointed only on your own
account."
"You ought not to speak in that way, Agnes. Suppose I had such feelings,
it is not nice of you to put them into words so plain and rude."
"I do not blame you, Maria. Your attitude is natural, and specially
womanly. It is I who have been wrong. I must now excuse myself to you;
once you said you could believe in me without explanations."
"Forgive me, Agnes. I do not want explanations now."
"For I have told you that Harry is my brother, not my lover. That is the
main fact, and accounts for all that specially troubles you. Now you
must know the whole truth. Harry was sent to England out of the way of
the war, for my father lives and moves in his being and welfare. But
Harry wanted to be in the thick of the war; he wanted the post of most
danger for his country's sake. He said he was ashamed to be in England;
that every American who could be in active service ought to be there,
because it might be, God intended to use just him. I gave in to all he
proposed; I had no heart to resist him. I only stipulated that come what
would, our father should not know he was in the country."
"Why did you not tell me at first that he was your brother?"
"Harry is handsome, and I was afraid you might be attracted by him; and
the secrecy and romance of the situation and the danger he was
constantly facing--these are things that capture a woman's imagination.
And marriage is such an important affair, I could not think it right to
run the risk of engaging you to Harry unknown to your father or friends.
I told Harry that you believed him to be my lover, and I was sure that
this belief would save you from thinking of him in any light but that of
a friend or brother."
"It ought to have done, dear Agnes; it did do--but Harry."
"I know, at Harry's second visit, if not at his first, he was your
lover; and I knew that this explanation must come. Now, I can only beg
you to keep the knowledge of Harry Bradley's presence in America
absolutely to yourself. I assure you, if father knew he was here and in
constant danger, he would be distracted."
"But does he not suspect? He must wonder that Harry does not write to
him."
"Harry does write. He sends letters to a friend in London, who re-mails
them to father. About three times a year father gets a London letter,
and that satisfies him. And he so little suspects Harry's presence in
America that the boy has passed his father on the street without the
slightest recognition on father's part; for he has more disguises than
you could believe possible. I have seen him as a poor country doctor,
buying medicines for his settlement; as an old schoolmaster, after a few
books and slates at Rivington's; and a week ago, I met him one day
shouting to the horses which were pulling a load of wood up Golden Hill.
And he has no more transitions than a score of other young men who serve
their country in this secret and dangerous manner. I can assure you
General Washington's agents go in and out of New York constantly, and it
is beyond the power of England to prevent them."
"Suppose in some evil hour he should be suspected! Oh, Agnes!"
"There are houses in every street in the city where a window or a door
is always left open. Harry told me he knew of sixteen, and that he
could pass from one to the other in safety."
"Suppose he should be noticed on the river, at your landing or any
other."
"He can swim like a fish and dive like a seal and run like a deer. The
river banks that look like a tangle to you and me, are clear as a
highway to Harry. And you know it is the East river that is watched; no
one thinks much about the water on this side; especially so near the
fort. I do not think Harry is in any great danger; and he will be mainly
on the river now for some months."
"I wish I had not said a word, Agnes, I am so sorry! So sorry!"
"We are always sorry when we doubt. I felt that you were mistrusting me,
and I promised Harry, on his last visit, to tell you the truth before he
came again. I have been waiting for you all week. I should have told you
to-day, even if you had not said a word."
"I shall never forgive myself."
"I was wrong also, Maria. I ought, at the first, to have trusted you
fully."
"Or not trusted me at all, Agnes."
"You are right, Maria."
A great chagrin made Maria miserable. A little faith, a little patience,
and the information she had demanded in spirit unlovely and unloving,
would have come to her by Harry's desire, and with the affectionate
confidence of Agnes. But neither of the girls were fully satisfied or
happy, and the topic was dropped. Both felt that the matter would have
to rest, in order to clear itself, and Agnes was not unconscious of
those mute powers within, which, if left to themselves, clear
noiselessly away the debris of our disputes and disappointments. She
proposed a walk in the afternoon; she said she had shopping to do, and
if there was any news, they would likely hear it from some one.
There was evidently news, and Agnes at once judged it unfavorable for
the royalists. The military were moving with sullen port; the houses
were generally closed, and the people on the streets not inclined to
linger or to talk. "We had better ask my father," she said, and they
turned aside to Bradley's store to make the inquiry. The saddler was
standing at the door talking to Lord Medway; and his eyes flashed an
instant's triumphant signal as they caught his daughter's glance of
inquiry. But he kept his stolid air, and when he found Lord Medway and
Maria so familiarly pleased to meet each other, he introduced Agnes and
gave a ready acquiescence to Lord Medway's proposal to walk with the
ladies home.
Then, Maria, suddenly brilliant with a sense of her power, asked, "What
is the matter with the city this afternoon? Every one seems so depressed
and ill-humored."
"We have lost Stony Point," answered Medway. "There was a midnight
attack by twelve hundred picked men. It was an incomparable deed of
daring. I would like to have been present. I said to General Clinton
when I heard the story, 'Such men are born to rule, and coming from the
stock they do, you will never subdue them!'"
"Who led the attack?" asked Agnes.
"Anthony Wayne, a brave daring man, they tell me. The Frenchman, De
Fleury, was first in, and he hauled down our flags. _Dash it!_ If it had
been an American, I would not have cared so much. Now, perhaps, Generals
Clinton and Tryon will understand the kind of men they have to fight.
When Americans fight Englishmen, it is Greek meeting Greek. Clinton
tells me the rebels have taken four thousand pounds' worth of ordnance
and stores and nearly seven hundred prisoners. Oh, you know a deed like
this makes even an enemy proud of the men who could do it!"
"Was it a very difficult deed?" asked Maria.
"I am told that Stony Point is a rock two hundred feet high, surrounded
by the Hudson River on three sides, and almost isolated from the land on
the fourth side by a marsh, which at high tide is two feet under water.
They reached the fort about midnight, and while one column drew the
defenders to the front by a rapid continuous fire, two other columns,
armed only with the bayonet, broke into the fort from opposite points.
In five minutes the rebels were rushing through every embrasure, and a
thousand tongues crying 'Victory'! There is no use belittling such an
affair. It was as brave a thing as ever men did, and I wish I had seen
the doing of it."
In such conversation they passed up Maiden Lane, and by the ruins of
Trinity Church to the river side; all of them influenced by the tense
feeling which found no vocal outlet for its passion. Men and women would
appear for a moment at a window, and then disappear. They were American
patriots on the look-out to spread the good news. A flash from the
lifted eyes of Agnes was sufficient. Again they would meet two or three
royalists talking in a dejected, disparaging way of the victory; or else
blustering in anger over the supineness or inefficiency of their
generals.
"I hope General Clinton will now find his soldiers some tougher work
than hay-making," sneered an irate old man who stopped Lord Medway. "If
he goes out hay-making, he ought to leave fighting men in the forts. Why
the commander at Stony Point--Colonel Johnson--I know him, had a wine
party, and the officers from Verplanck's Point were drinking with him,
when Wayne walked into their midst and made them all prisoners. I am
told the sentinels had been secured, the abatis removed, and the rebels
in the works before our fine soldiers knew an enemy was near. And it was
that tanner from Pennsylvania--that Dandy Wayne, that stole the march on
them! It makes me ashamed of our English troops, my lord!
"Well, Mr. Smith, General Clinton will be in New York in a few days.
There will be many to call him to account, I have no doubt."
In this electric atmosphere heart spoke to heart very readily, for in
the midst of great realities conventionalities are of so little
consequence, and genuine feeling, of any kind, forgets, or puts aside,
flatteries or compliments. So when they reached the Bradley house, Agnes
asked Lord Medway if he would enter and rest awhile? And he said he
would, and so sat talking about the war until it was tea-time for the
simple maidens, who ate their dinner at twelve o'clock. Then he saw
Agnes bring in the tray, and take out the china, and lay the round
table with a spotless nicety; and it delighted him to watch the homely
scene. Maria was knitting, and he turned her ball of pink yarn in his
hands and watched her face glow and smile and pout and change with every
fresh sentiment. Or, if he lifted his eyes from this picture, he could
look at Agnes, who had pinned a clean napkin across her breast, and was
cutting bread and butter in the wafer slices he approved. He wondered if
she would ask him to take tea with them; if she did not he was resolved
to ask himself. Then he noticed she had placed three cups on the tray,
and he was sure of her hospitality.
It made him very happy, and he never once fell into the affectation of
talk and manner appropriate to a fashionable tea-table. He seemed to
enjoy both the rebel sentiments of Agnes, and the royalist temper of
Maria; and he treated both girls with such hearty deference and respect
as he did not always show to much more famous dames. And it was while
sitting at this tea-table he gave his heart without reserve to Maria
Semple. If he had any doubts or withdrawals, he abandoned them in that
happy hour, and said frankly to himself:
"I will make her my wife. That is my desire and my resolve; and I will
not turn aside from it for anything, nor for any man living; Maria
Semple is the woman I love, no one else shall have her."
In following out this resolve he understood the value of Agnes; and he
did all he could to gain her good-will. She was well disposed to give
it; her father's approval bespoke hers. A feeling of good comradeship
and confidence grew rapidly as they ate, and drank their tea, and talked
freely and without many reservations, for the sake of their political
feelings. So much so, that when Lord Medway rose to go, there came to
Agnes a sudden fear and chill. She looked at him apprehensively, and
while he held her hand, she said:
"Lord Medway, Maria and I have been very sincere with you, but I am sure
our sincerity cannot wrong us, in your keeping."
This was not very explicit, but he understood her meaning. He laid his
hand upon the table at which they had eaten, and said: "It is an altar
to faith and friendship. When I am capable of repeating anything said at
the table where I sit as guest, I shall be lost to truth and honor, and
be too vile to remember." He spoke with force, and with a certain
eloquence, very different from his usual familiar manner, and both Agnes
and Maria showed him in their shining eyes and confiding air how surely
they believed in him.
After this event there was continual excitement in the city, and General
Clinton returned to it at once. He called in the little army he had
cutting grass for winter fodder, and with twenty thousand troops shut
himself up in New York.
"For once the man has been employing himself well and wiselike," said
Madame Semple. "He has cut all the grass, and cured all the grass round
about Rye, and White Plains, and New Rochelle, and East Chester, and a
few other places; and he has left it all ahint him. What a wiselike
wonderfu' man is General Sir Henry Clinton!"
"And the rebels have carried off the last wisp o' hay he made," said the
Elder angrily. "They were on the vera heels o' our soldiers. It's beyond
believing! It's just the maist mortifying thing that ever happened us."
Madame looked pityingly at her husband, raised her shoulders to
emphasize the look, and then in a thin voice, quavering a little with
her weakness and emotion, began to sing to herself from that old
translation of the Psalms so dear to every Scottish heart:
"Kings of great armies foiled were
And forced to flee away;
And women who remained at home
Did distribute the prey.
God's chariots twenty thousand are,
Thousands of angels strong."
"Janet! Janet! Will you sing some kind o' calming verse? The Lord is
naething but a _man of war_ in your thoughts. Do you believe He goes
through the earth wi' a bare, lifted sword in His hand?"
"Whiles He does, Alexander. And the light from that lifted sword
lightens the earth. I hae tasted o' the goodness of the Lord; I know of
old His tender mercy, and His loving kindness, but in these awfu' days,
I am right glad to think o' Him as _The Lord of Hosts!_ He is sure to be
on the right side, and He can make of one man a thousand, and of a
handful, a great multitude."
"It's a weary warld."
"But just yet there's nae better one, my dear auld man! So we may as
well tak' cheerfully what good comes to-day, there will be mair
to-morrow, or I'm far wrang."
If Janet's "to-morrow" be taken as she meant it to be taken, her set
time was long enough for other startling events. Tryon's expedition was
ordered back to New York, and Quentin Macpherson brought the news of his
own return. He did not meet with as warm a welcome as he hoped for.
Madame was contemptuous and indignant over the ravaging character of the
expedition. The Elder said they had "alienated royalists without
intimidating rebels"; and Maria looked critically at the young soldier,
and thought him less handsome than she had supposed: the expedition, so
cowardly and cruel, had been demoralizing and had left its mark on the
young man. He was disappointed, jealous, offended; he had an overweening
opinion of the nobility of his family and not a very modest one as to
his own deserts. He was also tenacious, and the thing he desired grew in
value as it receded from his grasp; so, although angry at Maria, he had
no idea of relinquishing his suit for her hand.
She kept as much as possible out of his company, and this was not
difficult. The troops were constantly on the alert, for one piece of bad
news, for the royalists, followed another. A month after the capture of
Stony Point, the rebels took Paulus Hook in a midnight attack. This fort
had been most tenaciously held by the English from the earliest days of
the war, it being the only safe landing-place in Jersey for their
foraging parties. It was within sight of New York, and almost within
reach of its guns. The shame and anger of the royalist burghers was
unspeakable; they would have openly insulted the military, if they had
dared to do so.
About two weeks later came the news of Sullivan's sweeping victory over
the Six Nations of Indians under Sir John Johnson and the Indian Chief,
Brandt. The Americans turned their country into a desert, and drove the
whole people in headlong flight as far as Niagara. This Autumn also was
rendered remarkable by the astonishing success of the American
privateers; never had they been at once so troublesome and so fortunate.
So that there was plenty for every one to talk about, if there had been
neither lovers nor love-making in the land. But it seemed as if Love
regarded the movement of great armies and the diplomacies of great
nations, as the proper background and vehicles for his expression. While
Medway was talking, or fishing, or hunting with Clinton, he was thinking
of Maria. While Macpherson was inspecting his company, he was thinking
of Maria. While Harry was traversing the woods and the waters, he was
thinking of Maria. And while Neil Semple was drawing out titles, and
making arguments in Court, he was always conscious of the fact that his
happiness was bound up in the love of Agnes Bradley. On every side also,
other lovers were wooing and wedding. The sound of trumpets did not
sadden the music of the marriage feast, nor did the bridal dance tarry a
moment for the tramp of marching soldiers. All the chances and changes
of war were but ministers of Love, and did his pleasure.
In the meantime John Bradley was stitching his saddles, and praying and
working for Washington, the idol of his hopes, quite unconscious of how
completely his home had been confiscated to the service of love and
lovers. No house in all the restless city seemed less likely to be the
rendezvous of meeting hearts; and yet quite naturally, and by the force
of the simplest circumstances, it had assumed this character. It began
with Maria. Her beauty and charm had given her three lovers, who were,
all of them, men with sufficient character to find, or to make a way to
her presence. But every movement, whether of the body or the soul,
takes, by a certain law, the direction in which there is the least
resistance; and the road of least resistance to Maria, was by way of
Agnes Bradley.
At the Semple house, Madame was a barrier Medway could not pass. She
told Maria plainly, "no English lord should cross her doorstep." She
could not believe in his good heart, or his good sense, and she asked
scornfully, "how a close friend of General Clinton's could be fit
company for an American girl? He has nae charm for touching pitch
without being defiled," she said, "and I'll not hae him sitting on my
chairs, and putting his feet on my hearth, and fleching and flattering
you in my house while my name is Janet Semple. And you may tell him I
said so."
And in order to prevent Madame giving her own message, Maria was
compelled to confess to Lord Medway, her grandmother's antagonism. He
was politely sorry for her dislike to Englishmen--for he preferred to
accept it as a national, rather than a personal feeling; but it did not
interfere with his intentions. There was Miss Bradley. She had a kind
feeling toward him, and Maria spent a large part of every day with her
friend. By calling on Miss Bradley he could see Miss Semple. As the
best means toward this end he cultivated Agnes through her father. He
talked with him, listened to his experiences, and gave him subscriptions
for Wesley Chapel, and for the prisoners he could find means to help. He
made such a good impression on John Bradley, that he told his daughter
he felt sure the good seed he had sown would bring forth good fruit in
its season.
Macpherson had a certain welcome at the Semples, but he could not strain
it. Madame was not well, company fatigued her, and, though he did not
suspect this reason, she was feeling bitterly that she must give up her
life-long hospitality--she could not afford to be hospitable any longer.
She did not tell Maria this, she said rather, "the laddie wearied her
mair than once a week. She wasna strong, and she didna approve o' his
excuses for General Clinton. I could tear them all to ravlins," she
said, angrily, "but I wad tear mysel' to pieces doing it. He has the
reiving, reiving Highland spirit, and nae wonder! The Macphersons have
carried fire and sword for centuries."
As for Harry Deane, he, of course, could not come at all, though Madame
might have borne him more than once a week, if she had been trusted. But
Harry was as uncertain as the wind. He came when no one looked for him,
and when he was expected, he was miles away. So there was no possible
neutral ground for Love but such as Agnes in her good-nature and wisdom
would allow. But Agnes was not difficult. Neil Semple had taught her the
sweetness and clemency of love, and she would not deprive Maria of
those pleasant hours, with which so many days were brightened that would
otherwise have been dull and monotonous. For, during the summer's heat
the royalist families, who could afford to do so, left the city, and the
little tea parties at Agnes Bradley's were nearly the only entertainment
at Maria's command.
These were informal and often delightful. Lord Medway knew that about
five o'clock Agnes would be setting the tea-tray, and he liked to sit
beside Maria and watch her do it. And sometimes Maria made the tea, and
poured his out, and put in the sugar and cream with such enchanting
smiles and ways that he vowed never tea in this world tasted so
refreshing and delicious. And not infrequently Quentin Macpherson would
come clattering in when the meal had begun, take a chair at the round
table, and drinking his tea a little awkwardly, soothe his self-esteem
by an aggressive self-importance. For Lord Medway's nonchalant manner
provoked him to such personal assertion as always mortified when the
occasion was over. About half-past seven was Neil's hour, and then the
conversation became general, and love found all sorts of tender
occasions; every glance of meeting eyes, and every clasp of meeting
hands, bearing the one sweet message, "I love you, dear!"
It was usually in the morning that Harry came springing up the garden
path. There was neither work nor lessons that day, nor any pretense of
them. Harry had too much to tell, and both Agnes and Maria hung upon his
words as if they held the secret of life and happiness. Now, granted two
beautiful girls with a moderate amount of freedom, and four lovers in
that pleasantly painful condition between hope and fear that people in
love make, if it is not made for them, and put all in a position where
they have the accessories of sunlight and moonlight, a shady garden, a
noble river, the scent of flowers, the goodness of fine fruit, the
pleasures of the tea-table, and if these young people do not advance in
the sweet study their hearts set them, they must be either coldly
indifferent, or stupidly selfish.
This company of lovers was however neither stupid nor selfish. In the
midst of war's alarms, while fleets and armies were gathering for
battle, they were attending very faithfully to their own little drama.
Quentin Macpherson had one advantage over both his rivals: he went to
the Semple house every Sunday evening, and then he had Maria wholly
under his influence. He walked in the garden with her, she made his tea
for him, he sat by her side during the evening exercise, sung the psalm
from the same Bible, and then, rising with the family, stood, as one of
them, while the Elder offered his anxious yet trustful prayer. It was
Madame who had thought of connecting this service with the young
soldier. "It is little good he can get from thae Episcopals," she said,
"and it's your duty, Alexander, to gie him a word in season," and though
Macpherson was mainly occupied in watching Maria, and listening to her
voice, he had been too well grounded in his faith not to be sensible of
the sacredness of those few minutes, and to be insensibly influenced by
their spirit.
Neil was never present. When the tea-table was cleared, he went quietly
out, and those who cared to follow him would have been led to the little
Wesleyan Chapel on John Street. He always took the same seat in a pew
near the door, and there he worshipped for an hour or two the beautiful
daughter of John Bradley. He was present to watch them enter. Sometimes
the father went to the pulpit, sometimes he went with Agnes to the
singing-pew. And to hear these two translating into triumphant song the
holy aspirations and longings of Watts and Wesley, was reason enough for
any one who loved music to be in Wesley Chapel when they were singing
together.
All who have ever loved, all who yet dream of love, can tell the further
story of those summer days for themselves. They have only to keep in
mind that it had a constant obligato of trumpets and drums and marching
men, and a constant refrain, made up of all the rumors of war, victory,
and defeat; good news and bad news, fear, and hope, and sighing despair.
At length the warm weather gave place to the dreamy hours of the Indian
summer. A heavenly veil of silvery haze lay over the river and the city;
a veil which seemed to deaden every sound but the shrill chirping of the
crickets; and a certain sense of peace calmed for a short time the most
restless hearts. The families who had been at various places during the
hot months returned to their homes in New York, with fresh dreams of
conquest and pleasure, for as yet the terrors of the coming winter were
not taken into thought or account. The war was always going to be "over
very soon," and General Clinton assured the butterflies of his military
court they might eat, drink, and be merry, for he intended at once to
"strike such a blow as would put an end to confederated rebellion for
ever." And they gladly believed him.
In less than a week Maria received half-a-dozen invitations to dinners,
dances, card parties, and musical recitations. She began at once to look
over her gowns, and Agnes came every day to the Semple house to assist
in remodeling and retrimming them. They were delightful days long to be
remembered. Both the Elder and Madame enjoyed them quite as much as the
girls; and even Neil entered into the discussions about colors, and the
suitability of guimpes and fringes, with a smiling gravity that was very
attractive.
"Uncle Neil thinks he is taking depositions and weighing evidence; see
how the claims of pink and amber perplex him!" and then Neil would laugh
a little, and decide in such haste that he generally contradicted his
first opinion.
The Sunday in this happy week was made memorable by the news which
Quentin Macpherson brought. "Some one," he said, "had whispered to
General Clinton that it was the intention of Washington to unite with
the French army and besiege New York, and Clinton had immediately
ordered the troops garrisoning Rhode Island to return to the city with
all possible speed. And would you believe it, Elder?" said the young
soldier, "they came so hastily that they left behind them all the wood
they had cut for winter, and all the forage and stores provided for six
thousand men. No sooner were they out of sight than the American army
slipped in and took possession of everything; and now it appears that
it was a false report--the general is furious, and is looking for the
author of it."
"He needna look very far," answered Semple. "There is a man that dips
his sop in the dish wi' him, and that coils him round his finger wi' a
mouthful o' words, wha could maist likely give him the whole history o'
the matter, for he'll be at the vera beginning o' it."
"Do you mean to say, sir, that our Commander-in-Chief has a traitor for
his friend and confidant and adviser?"
"I mean to say all o' that. But where will you go and not find
Washington's emissaries beguiling thae stupid English?"
"You cannot call the English stupid, sir."
"I can and I will. They are sae sure o' their ain power and wisdom that
they are mair than stupid. They are ridic'lus. It makes them the easy
tools of every clever American that is willing to take a risk--and they
maist o' them are willing."
"But when the English realize----"
"Aye, _when_ they realize!"
"Well, sir, they came to realization last month splendidly in that
encounter with the privateer, Paul Jones. It was the grandest seafight
ever made between seadogs of the same breed. Why, the muzzles of their
guns touched each other; the ships were nearly torn to pieces, and
three-fourths of the men killed or wounded. Gentlemen, too, as well as
fighters though but lowborn men, for I am told they began the combat
with a courtesy worthy of the days of chivalry. Both captains bowed and
remained uncovered until the foremost guns of the English ship bore on
the starboard quarter of the American. Then Captain Paul Jones put on
his hat, as a sign that formalities were over, and the battle began, and
raged until the English ship was sinking; then she surrendered."
"Mair's the pity!" said the Elder, "she ought to have gone down
fighting."
"She saved the great fleet of merchantmen she was convoying from the
Baltic; while she was fighting the American every one of them got safe
away and into port, and the American ship went down two days
afterward--literally died of her wounds and went down to her grave. And
by the bye, Mr. Semple, this Paul Jones is a countryman of ours--a
Scotchman."
"Aye, is he!--from Kirkcudbright. I was told he had an intention o'
sacking Edinburgh. Fair, perfect nonsense!"
"An old friend of the Macphersons--Stuart of Invernalyle--was sought out
to defend the town. I had a letter from the family."
"Weel, Stuart could tak' that job easy. The west wind is a vera reliable
one in the Firth o' Edinburgh, and it is weel able, and extremely
likely, to defend its ain city. In fact, it did do so, for Paul couldna
win near, and so he went 'north about' and found the Baltic fleet with
the _Serapis_ guarding it. Weel, then, he had his fight, though he lost
the plunder. But it was a ridic'lus thing in any mortal, menacing the
capital o' Scotland wi' three brigs that couldna have sacked a Fife
fishing village! And what is mair," added the old man with a tear
glistening in his eyes, "he wouldna have hurt Leith or Edinburgh. Not
he! Scots may love America, but they never hate their ain dear Scotland;
they wouldna hurt the old land, not even in thought. If put to the
question, all o' them would say, as David o' Israel and David o'
Scotland baith said, 'let my right hand forget its cunning----' you ken
the rest, and if you don't, it will do you good to look up the 137th
Psalm."
The stir of admiration concerning these and other events--all favorable
to the Americans--irritated General Clinton and made him much less
courteous in his manner to both friends and foes. And, moreover, it was
not pleasant for him to know that General Washington was entertaining
the first French Minister to the United States at Newburgh, and that
John Jay was then on his way to Madrid to complete with the Spanish
government terms of recognition and alliance. So that even through the
calmness of these Indian summer days there were definite echoes of
defeat and triumph, whether expressed publicly or discussed so privately
that the bird of the air found no whisper to carry.
One day at the end of October, Agnes did not come until the afternoon,
and Maria rightly judged that Harry was in New York. There was no need
to tell her so, the knowledge was an intuition, and when Agnes said to
Madame, "she had a friend, and would like Maria to bring the pelerine
they were retrimming to her house, and spend the evening with her," no
objection was made. "I shall miss you baith; so will the Elder," she
answered, "but I dare say that English lord is feeling I have had mair
than my share o' your company."
"Oh, Madame!" said Agnes, "it is not the English lord, it is a true
American boy from--up the river," and Agnes opened her eyes wide as she
lifted them to Madame's, and there was some sort of instantaneous and
satisfactory understanding. Then she added, "Will you ask Mr. Neil
Semple to come for Maria about eight o'clock?"
"There will be nae necessity to ask him. His feet o' their ain accord
will find their way to your house, Agnes," said Madame. "Before he has
told himsel' where he is going he will be at your doorstep. He must be
very fond o' his niece Maria--or of somebody else," and the old lady
smiled pleasantly at the blushing girl. Then both girls kissed Madame
and stopped at the garden gate to speak to the Elder, and so down the
road together full of happy expectation, divining nothing of _One_ who
went forth with them. How should they? Neither had ever seen the face of
sorrow or broke with her the ashen crust. They were not aware of her
presence and they heard not the stir of her black mantle trailing upon
the dust and the dead leaves as she walked at their side.
"Harry will be here for tea," said Agnes, when they reached the house,
and a soft, delightful sense of pleasure to come pervaded the room as
they sat sewing and talking until it was time to set the table. And as
soon as Agnes began this duty there was a peculiar whistle, and Maria
glanced at Agnes, threw aside her work, and went down the garden to meet
her lover. He was tying his boat to the little jetty, and when the duty
was done they sat down on the wooden steps and talked of this, and that,
and of everything but love, and yet everything they said was a
confession of their interest in each other. But the truest love has
often the least to say, and those lovers are to be doubted and pitied
who must always be seeking assurances, for thus they sow the path of
love with thorns. Far happier are they who leave something unsaid, who
dare to enter into that living silence which clasps hearts like a book
of songs unsung. They will sing them all, but not all at once. One by
one, as their hour comes, they will learn them together.
That calm, sweet afternoon was provocative of this very mood. Maria and
Harry sat watching the river rocking the boat, and listening to the
chirruping of the crickets, and both were satisfied with their own
silence. It was a heavenly hour, hushed and halcyon, full of that lazy
happiness which is the most complete expression of perfect love. When
Agnes called, they walked hand in hand up the garden, and at the
tea-table came back again into the world. Harry had much to tell them,
and was full of confidence in the early triumph of the Americans.
"Then I hope we shall have peace, and all be friends again," said Maria.
She spoke a little wearily, as if she had no faith in her words, and
Harry answered her doubt rather than her hope.
"There will not be much friendship this generation," he said; "things
have happened between England and America which men will remember until
they forget themselves."
After tea, Harry said, "Maria is going with me to the river to see if
the boat is safe," and Agnes, smiling, watched them a little way; then
turned again to her china, and without any conscious application began
to sing softly the aria of an old English anthem by King:
"I went down into the garden of nuts, to see whether the pomegranates
budded--to see whether the pomegranates--the pomegranates budded,"[1]
but suddenly, even as her voice rose and fell sweetly to her thoughts, a
strange chill arrested the flow of the melody; and she was angry at
herself because she had inadvertently wondered, "if the buds would ever
open full and flowerwise?"
[1] "Solomon's Song," 6:11.
In about half an hour Agnes, having finished her house duties, went to
the door opening into the garden and called Harry and Maria. They turned
toward the house when they heard her voice, and she remained in the open
door to watch them come through the tall box-shrubs and the many-colored
asters. And as she did so, Quentin Macpherson reached the front
door--which also stood open--and perceiving Agnes, he did not knock, but
waited for her to turn inward. Consequently he saw Harry and Maria, and
did not fail to notice the terms of affectionate familiarity between
them. The fire of jealousy was kindled in a moment; he strode forward to
meet the company, and was received with the usual friendly welcome; for
such a situation had often been spoken of as possible, and Agnes was not
in the least disconcerted.
"My friend, Mr. Harry Deane, Captain Macpherson," she said, without
hesitation, and the Captain received the introduction with his most
military air. Then Agnes set herself to keep the conversation away from
the war, but that was an impossible thing; every incident of life
somehow or other touched it, and before she realized the fact, Harry was
deprecating Tryon's outrages in Connecticut, and Macpherson defending
them on the ground that "the towns destroyed had fitted out most of the
privateers which had so seriously interfered with English commerce. Both
the building of the ships and the destruction of the towns for building
them are natural incidents of war," he said, and then pointedly,
"perhaps you are a native of Connecticut?"
"No," answered Harry, "I am a native of New York."
"Ah! I have not met you before."
"I am a great deal away----" then receiving from Agnes a look of anxious
warning, he thought it best to take his leave. Agnes rose and went to
the door with him, and Maria wished Captain Macpherson anywhere but in
her society; especially as he began to ask her questions she did not
wish to answer.
"So Miss Bradley has a lover?" he said, looking pointedly at the couple
as they left the room.
"I used to think so once," answered Maria.
"But not now?"
"But not now. Mr. Deane is an old friend, a playmate even."
"I suppose he is a King's man?"
"Ask him; he is still standing at the gate. I talk to him on much
pleasanter subjects."
"Love, for instance?"
"Perhaps."
"How can you be so cruel, Maria?"
"It is _Miss Semple's_ nature to be cruel."
The reproof snubbed him, and both were silent for some minutes; then the
same kind of desultory fencing was renewed, and Maria felt the time to
be long and the tension unendurable. She could have cried out with
anger. Why had not Agnes let her go to the door with Harry? She had had
no opportunity to bid him "good-bye"; and yet, even after Harry had
gone, there Agnes stood at the gate, "watching for Uncle Neil, of
course," thought Maria, "and no doubt she has a message for me; she
might come and give it to me--very likely Harry is at the boat waiting
for me--oh, dear! Why does she not come?"
With such thoughts urging her, the very attitude of Agnes was beyond
endurance. She stood at the gate as still as if she was a part of it,
and at length Maria could bear the delay no longer.
"I wish to speak to Agnes," she said, "will you permit me a moment?"
"Certainly," he answered with an air of offense. "I fear I am in the way
of some one or something."
"Oh, no, no!" cried Maria, decisively. "I only want to make her come in.
She says the night air is so unhealthy, and yet there she stands in
it--bareheaded, too."
"It is an unusually warm evening."
"Yes, but you know there is the malaria. I shall bring her in a moment,
you shall see how quickly I am obeyed."
In unison with these words, she rose in a hurry, and as she did so there
came through the open window a little stone wrapped in white paper. If
she had not moved, it would have fallen into her lap; as it was, it fell
on the floor and almost at the feet of Macpherson. He lifted it, and
went to the candle. It was a message, as he expected, and read thus:
_"Keep that Scot amused for an hour, and meet me at Semple's landing at
nine o'clock. Harry."_
"Oh! Oh!" he said with an intense inward passion. "I am to be amused! I
am to be cajoled! deceived! _that Scot_ is to be used for some purpose,
and by St. Andrew, I'll wager it is treason. This affair must be looked
into--quick, too." With this thought he put the paper in his pocket, and
followed Maria to the gate where she stood talking with Agnes.
"I will bid you good-night," he said with a purposed air of offense. "I
am sure that I am an intruder on more welcome company."
He would listen to no explanations or requests. Maria became suddenly
kind, and assumed the prettiest of her coaxing ways, but he knew she was
only "amusing" him, and he would not respond to what he considered her
base, alluring treachery.
"There, now, Maria! You have been very foolish," said Agnes. "Captain
Macpherson is angry. You ought to have been particularly kind to him
to-night--after Harry."
"You were so selfish, Agnes--so unreasonably selfish! You might have let
me go to the gate with Harry. I never had a chance to say 'good-bye' to
him; there you stood, watching for Uncle Neil, and I was on pins and
needles of anxiety. Why didn't you stay with the man, and let me go to
the gate?"
"If you must know why; I had some money to give Harry. Could I do that
before Captain Macpherson?"
"I hate the man! I am glad he has gone! I hope he will never come
again!"
"I do not think he will, Maria."
They went into the house thoroughly vexed with each other, and Maria
said in a tone of pique or offense, "I wonder what delays my uncle! I
wish he would come!"
In reality Neil was no later than usual, but Maria was quivering with
disappointment and annoyance, and when he did arrive it was not possible
for any one to escape the influence of an atmosphere charged with the
miserable elements of frustrated happiness. Maria was not a girl to bear
disagreeable things alone or in silence. She would talk only of
Macpherson and his unwelcome visit; "but he always did come when he was
not wanted," she said angrily. "Last Sunday when grandmother was sick,
and I was writing a long letter to father, and nobody cared to see him
at all, enter Captain Macpherson with his satisfied smile, and his
clattering sword, and his provoking air of conferring a favor on us by
his company. I hate the creature! And I think it is a dreadful thing to
make set days for people's visits; we have all got to dislike Sunday
afternoons, just for his sake!" and so on, with constant variations.
Fortunately Mr. Bradley came home soon after eight o'clock, and Maria
would not make any further delay. She had many reasons for her hurry,
but undoubtedly the chief one, was a feeling that Agnes ought not to
have the pleasure of a conversation between her father and her lover,
and probably a walk home with her, and then a walk back with Neil alone.
She would go at once, and she would not ask Agnes to go with her. If she
was disappointed, it was only a just retribution for her selfishness
about Harry. And though she noticed Agnes was depressed and cast down,
she was not appeased; "However, I will come in the morning and make all
right," she thought; "to-night Agnes may suffer a little. I will come in
the morning and make all right."
Yes, she would come in the morning, but little she dreamed on what
errand she would come. Still, Maria is not to be blamed over much; there
is some truth in every reproach that is made.