"I will teach you to do so."
"I do not think you can," she said demurely. "Though I am sure I do not
know why I do not. You are a very fine gentleman, a soldier and a
courtier, witty, brave and handsome--and this match"--a sigh--"is my
father's dearest wish. But I do not love you, sir, and I shall not
marry you until I do."
"Ah!" cried Sir Charles, and sunk again upon his knee. "You give me
hope! I will teach you to love me! I will exhibit towards you such
absolute fidelity, such patient devotion, such uncomplaining submission
to your cruel probation, that you will perforce pity me, and pity will
grow by soft degrees into blessed love. I do not despair, madam!" He
pressed her hand to his lips and cast his fine eyes upward in a killing
look.
Patricia gave a charming laugh. "As you please, Sir Charles. In the
mean time let us be once more simply good friends and loving cousins.
Tell me as much as you please of Lady Mary's charms, but leave Patricia
Verney's alone."
Sir Charles rose from his knees, smarting under an amazed sense of
failure, and very angry with the girl who had discarded him, Charles
Carew, as smilingly as if he had been one of the very provincial youths
whom he awed into awkward silence every time they came to Verney Manor.
Without doubt she deserved the condign punishment which it was in his
power to inflict by sailing away upon the next ship which should leave
for England. But he was now obstinately bent upon winning her. If not
to-day, to-morrow; and if not to-morrow, the next day; and if not that,
the day after. He was of the school of Buckingham and Rochester. He
could devote to the capture of a woman all the tireless energy, the
strategic skill, the will, the patience, the daring, of a great general.
He could mine and countermine, could plan an ambuscade here, and lead a
forlorn hope there, could take one intrenchment by storm, and another by
treachery. And victory seldom forsook her perch upon his banners.
Life in Virginia was pleasant enough, and he could afford to devote
several months to this siege. As to how it would terminate he had not
the slightest doubt. But just now it was the course of wisdom to retreat
upon the position held yesterday, and that as quickly as possible. So
he smoothed his face into a fine calm, modulated his voice into its
usual tone of languor, and said with quiet melancholy:--
"You are pleased to be cruel, madam. I submit. I will bide my time
until that thrice happy day when you will have learnt the lesson I would
teach, when Love, tyrannous Love, shall compel your allegiance as he
does mine."
"A far day!" said Patricia with soft laughter. "You had best return to
Lady Mary. I do not think that I shall ever love."
She lifted her white arms, and clasping them behind her head, gazed at
him with soft, bright, untroubled eyes and smiling lips. The sunlight,
filtering through the darkened windows in long bright stripes, laid a
shaft of gold athwart her shoulder and lit her hair into a glory. From
out the distance came the colonel's voice:--
"In his train see sweet Peace, fairest Queen of the sky,
Ev'ry bliss in her look, ev'ry charm in her eye.
Whilst oppression, corruption, vile slav'ry and fear
At his wished for return never more shall appear.
Your glasses charge high, 'tis in great Charles' praise,
In praise, in praise, 'tis in great Charles' praise."
Some one outside the door coughed, and then rattled the latch
vigorously. These precautions taken, the door was opened and there
appeared Mistress Lettice, gorgeously attired, and with an extra row of
ringlets sweeping her withered neck, and a deeper tinge of vermilion
upon her cheeks,--for she had waked that morning with a presentiment
that Mr. Frederick Jones would ride over in the course of the day. Sir
Charles rose to hand her to a chair, but she waved him back with a thin,
beringed hand.
"I thank you, Sir Charles: but I will not trouble you. I am going down
to the summer-house by the road, as I think the air there will cure my
migraine. Patricia, love, I am looking for my 'Clelie,'--the fourth
volume. Have you seen it?"
"No, Aunt Lettice."
"It is very strange," said Mrs. Lettice plaintively. "I am sure that I
left it in this room. 'T is that careless slut of a Chloe who deserves
a whipping. She hides things away like a magpie."
"Look in the window; you may have left it there," said Patricia.
Mrs. Lettice approached the window, laid a hand upon the curtain, and
started back with a scream.
"What is it, madam?" cried the baronet.
"'T is a man! a horrid, horrid man hiding there, waiting to cut all our
throats in the dead of night as the Redemptioner did to the family at
Martin-Brandon! Oh! Oh! Oh!" and Mrs. Lettice threw her apron over her
head, and sank into the nearest chair. Patricia started up. Sir
Charles, striding hastily towards the window, his hand upon his sword,
was met by the emerging figure of Landless.
The two gazed at each other, Sir Charles' first haughty surprise fast
deepening into passion as he remembered that the man before him had
assisted at the scene of a while before, had witnessed his discomfiture,
had seen him upon his knees, baffled, repulsed, even laughed at!
He was the first to speak. "Well, sirrah," he said between his teeth,
"what have you to say for yourself?"
"That I ask your pardon," said Landless steadily. "I should have made
known my presence in the room. But at first I thought you aware of it;
and when I discovered that you were not, I ... it seemed best to remain
silent. I was wrong. I should have made some sign even then. Again, I
beg your pardon." He turned to Patricia, who stood, tall, straight, and
coldly indignant, beside the chair from which she had risen. "Madam,"
he said in a voice that faltered, despite himself, "I crave your
forgiveness."
She bit her coral under lip, and looked at him from under veiled
eyelids. It was a cruel look, very expressive of scorn, abhorrence, and
perhaps of fear.
"My father hath many unmannerly servants," she said coldly and clearly,
"who often provoke me. But I pardon them because they know no better.
It seems that like allowance cannot be made for you. However," she
smiled icily, "I shall not complain of you to my father, which assurance
will doubtless content you."
Landless turned from burning red to deadly white. His eyes, fixed upon
the floor, caught the rich shimmer of her skirts as she moved towards
the door; a moment and she was gone, leaving the two men facing each
other.
Between them there existed a subtle but strong antagonism. Sir Charles
Carew, courtier in a coarse and shameless court masquerading under a
glittering show of outward graces, had taken lazy delight in heaping
quiet insults upon the man who could not resent them. This amusement had
beguiled the tedium of the Virginia voyage; and when chance threw them
together upon a Virginia plantation, where life flowed on in one long,
placid lack of variety, the sport became doubly prized. It had to be
pursued at longer intervals, but pursued it was. Heretofore the
amusement had been all upon one side; now, Sir Charles felt a chagrined
suspicion that it was he who had afforded the entertainment.
Simultaneously with arriving at this conclusion he arrived at a point
where he was coldly furious.
Landless returned his look coolly and boldly. He considered that he had
made quite sufficient apology for an offense which was largely
involuntary, and he was in no mood for further abasement.
"You are an insolent rascal," said the baronet smoothly.
Landless smiled. "Sir Charles Carew should be a good judge of
insolence."
Sir Charles took a leisurely pinch of snuff, shook the fallen grains
from his ruffles, snapped the lid of the box, looked languishingly at
the miniature that adorned it, replaced the box in his pocket, and
remarked, "Well, I am waiting!"
"And for what?"
"To hear your petition that I forbear to bring this matter to the notice
of your master. The lady mercifully gave you her promise. I suppose I
must follow so fair an example."
"Sir Charles Carew may wait till doomsday to hear that or any other
request made by me to him or to the lady--who does not seem always
mercifully inclined--" he broke off with a slight and expressive smile.
Sir Charles took another pinch of snuff. "May the Lard blast me," he
drawled, "if they do not teach repartee at Newgate! But I forget that
the tongue is the only weapon of women and slaves."
"Some day I hope to teach you otherwise."
The other laughed. "So the slave thinks he can use a sword? Where did
he learn? In Newgate, from some broken captain, as payment for
imparting the trick of stealing by the Book?"
Landless forced himself to stand quiet, his arms folded, his fingers
tightly clenching the sleeves of his coarse shirt. "Shall I tell Sir
Charles Carew where I first used my sword with good effect?" he said in
an ominously quiet voice. "At Worcester I was but a stripling, but I
fought by the side of my father. I remember that, young as I was, I
disabled a very pretty perfumed and ringleted Cavalier. I think he was
afterwards sold to the Barbadoes. And my father praised my sword play."
"Your father," said the other, bringing his strong white teeth together
with a click. "Like father, like son. The latter a detected rogue,
gaol-bird, and slave; the former a d--d canting, sniveling Roundhead
hypocrite and traitor, with a text ever at hand to excuse parricide and
sacrilege."
Landless sprang forward and struck him in the face.
He staggered beneath the weight of the blow; then, recovering himself,
he whipped out his rapier, but presently slapped it home again. "I am a
gentleman," he said, with an airy laugh. "I cannot fight you." And
stood, slightly smiling, and pressing his laced handkerchief to his
cheek whence had started a few drops of blood.
Mrs. Lettice, whom curiosity or the search for the fourth volume of
"Clelie" had detained in the room, screamed loudly as the blow fell; and
Colonel Verney, appearing at the door, stopped short, and stared from
one to the other of the two men.
*CHAPTER X*
*LANDLESS PAYS THE PIPER*
The hut of the mender of nets stood upon a narrow isthmus connecting two
large tracts of marsh. That to the eastward was partially submerged at
high tide; that to the west, being higher ground, waved its long grass
triumphantly above the reaching waters. Upon this side the marsh was
separated from the mainland of forest and field by a creek so narrow
that the great pines upon one margin cast their shadows across to the
other, and one fallen giant quite spanned the sluggish waters.
The grass of this marsh was annually cut for hay; for though the great
herds of cattle belonging to the different plantations roamed at large
through all seasons of the year, seeking their sustenance from forest or
marsh, the more provident of the planters were accustomed to make some
slight provision against the winter, which might prove a severe one with
snow and ice.
It was late afternoon, and the hay was cut. The half dozen mowers threw
themselves down upon the stubble, stretching out tired limbs and
pillowing heated foreheads upon their arms. They had been given until
sunset to do the work. Having no taskmaster over them, and being hid
from the tobacco-fields by a convenient coppice of pine and cedar, they
had set to work in a fury of diligence, had cut and stacked the grass in
a race with time, and now found themselves possessed of a precious hour
in which to dawdle, and swap opinions and tobacco before the sunset horn
should call them to quarters.
Three were indented servants, lumbering, honest-visaged youths whose
aims in life were simple and well defined. Their creed had but four
articles: "Do as little as you can consistently with keeping out of the
overseer's black books; get your full share of loblolly and bacon, and
some one else's if you are clever enough; embrace every opportunity for
reasonable mischief that is offered you; honor Church and King, or say
you do, and Colonel Verney will overlook most pranks." Of the others,
one was the Muggletonian, one the mulatto, Luiz Sebastian, and one a
convict, not Trail, but the red-haired, pock-marked, sullen wretch who
had come to the plantation with Trail and Landless, and whose name was
Roach.
One of the rustics, who seemed more intelligent than his fellows, and
who had a good-humored deviltry in his young face and big blue eyes,
began an excellent imitation of Dr. Nash's exhortation to submission and
obedience delivered upon the last instruction day for servants, and soon
had his audience of two guffawing with laughter. The mulatto and the
convict edged by imperceptible degrees farther and farther away from the
others, until, within the shadow of a stack of grass, they lay side by
side and commenced a muttered conversation. The countenance of the
white man, atrocious villainy written large in every lineament, became
horribly intent as his amber-hued companion talked in fluent low tones,
emphasizing what he had to say by a restless, peculiar, and sinister
motion of his long, yellow fingers. At a little distance lay the
Muggletonian, his elbows on the ground, his ghastly face in his hands,
and his eyes riveted upon the Geneva Bible which he had drawn from his
bosom.
When he had brought his entertainment to a finish, the blue-eyed youth
rolled himself over and over the stubble to where the Muggletonian lay,
intent upon a chapter of invective. The youth covered the page with one
enormous paw and playfully attempted to insert the little finger of the
other into the hole in Porringer's ear. "What now, old Runaway," he
said, lazily, "hunting up fresh curses to pour on our unfort'net heads?"
"Cursed be he who makes a mock of age," said the Muggletonian, grimly.
"May he be even as the wicked children who cried to the prophet, 'Go up,
thou baldhead!'"
The boy laughed. "Tell me when you see brown bear a-coming," quoth he.
"Losh! a bear steak would taste mighty good after eternal bacon!"
Porringer closed his book and restored it to his bosom. "Tell me," he
said, abruptly, "have you seen aught of the young man called Landless?"
"'The young man called Landless,'" answered the other, petulantly, "has
a d--d easy berth of it! Yesterday evening I carried water from the
spring to the great house to water Mistress Patricia's posies, and every
time I passes the window of the master's room I see that fellow
a-sitting at his ease in a fine chair before a fine table, writing away
as big as all out of doors. And every time I says to him, says I, 'I
reckon you think yourself as fine as the Lord Mayor of London? A pretty
sec'tary you make!'"
"Have you seen him to-day?"
"No, I have n't seen him to-day,--but I see someone else. Mates," he
exclaimed, "Witch Margery's coming down t' other side of creek. I 'll
call her over."
Scrambling to his feet he gave a low halloo through his hands, "Margery!
Margery! Come and find the road to Paradise!"
Margery waved her hand to signify that she heard and understood, and
presently stepped upon the fallen tree that spanned the stream. It was
a narrow and a slippery bridge, but she flitted across it with the
secure grace of some woodland thing, and, staff in hand, advanced
towards the men. Between them and the western sun she stood still, a
dark figure against a halo of gold light, and threw an intent and
searching glance over the unbroken green of the marsh and the blue of
the waters beyond. Then with a wild laugh she came up to them and cast
her staff wreathed with dark ivy upon the ground.
"The road is not here," she cried. "Here is all green grass, and beyond
is the weary, weary, weary sea! There is no long, bright, shining road
to Paradise." She sat down beside her staff, and taking her chin into
her hand, stared fixedly at the ground.
The men gathered around her, with the exception of the Muggletonian,
who, after audibly comparing her to the Witch of Endor, turned on his
side and drew his cap over his eyes as if to shut out the hated sight.
The convict took up the staff and began to pull from it the strings of
ivy.
"Put it down!" she said quickly.
The man continued to strip it of its leafy mantle.
"Put it down, can't you?" said the youth. "She never lets any one touch
it. She says an angel gave it to her to help her on her way."
With a snarling laugh the convict threw it from him with all his force.
Whirling through the air it struck the water midway from shore to shore.
Margery sprang to her feet with a loud cry. The boy rose also.
"D--n you!" he said, wrathfully. "I'd like to break it over your
misshapen back! Here, Margery, don't fret. I 'll get it for you."
He ran to the bank, dived into the water, and in three minutes was back
with the dripping mass in his arms. He gave it into Margery's hands,
saying kindly while he shook himself like a large spaniel; "There! it is
n't hurt a mite!"
With a cry of delight Margery seized the "angel's gift" and kissed the
hand that restored it. Then she turned upon the convict.
"When I go back to my cabin in the woods," she said, solemnly, and with
her finger up, "I shall whistle all the fairy folk into a ring, all the
elves and the pixies, and the little brown gnomes who burrow in the
leaves and look for all the world like pine cones, and I shall tell them
what you did, and to-night they will come to your cabin, and will pinch
you black and blue, and stick thorns into you, and rub you with the
poison leaf until you are blotched and swelled like the great bull frog
that croaks, croaks, in these marshes."
There was an uneasy ring in the convict's laugh, full of bravado as he
meant it to be. Margery continued with an ominously extended
forefinger. "And then they will fly to the great house where the master
lies sleeping, and they will whisper to him that you took away the
angel's gift from poor, lost Margery, and he will be angry, for he is
good to Margery, and to-morrow he will make Woodson do to you what he
did to-day to the Breaking Heart."
"To the Breaking Heart!" exclaimed her auditors.