"_Love and a crown no rivalship can bear.
Love, love! Thou sternly dost thy power maintain,
And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign_."
Neil's first emotion was not so much one of anger as of exultation. The
civilization of the Semples was scarce a century old; and behind them
were generations of fierce men, whose hands had been on their dirks for
a word or a look. "I shall have him at my sword's point;" that was what
he kept saying to himself as he turned from Hyde to Van Heemskirk's
house. The front-door stood open; and he walked through it to the
back-stoop, where Joris was smoking.
Katherine sat upon the steps of the stoop. Her head was in her hand, her
eyes red with weeping, her whole attitude one of desponding sorrow. But,
at this hour, Neil was indifferent to adverse circumstances. He was
moving in that exultation of spirit which may be simulated by the first
rapture of good wine, but which is only genuine when the soul takes
entire possession of the man, and makes him for some rare, short
interval lord of himself, and contemptuous of all fears and doubts and
difficulties. He never noticed that Joris was less kind than usual; but
touching Katherine, to arouse her attention, said, "Come with me down
the garden, my love."
She looked at him wonderingly. His words and manner were strange and
potent; and, although she had just been assuring herself that she would
resist his advances on every occasion, she rose at his request and gave
him her hand.
Then the tender thoughts which had lain so deep in his heart flew to his
lips, and he wooed her with a fervour and nobility as astonishing to
himself as to Katherine. He reminded her of all the sweet intercourse of
their happy lives, and of the fidelity with which he had loved her.
"When I was a lad ten years old, and saw you first in your mother's
arms, I called you then 'my little wife.' Oh, my Katherine, my sweet
Katherine! Who is there that can take you from me?"
"Neil, like a brother to me you have been. Like a dear brother, I love
you. But your wife to be! That is not the same. Ask me not that."
"Only that can satisfy me, Katherine. Do you think I will ever give you
up? Not while I live."
"No one will I marry. With my father and my mother I will stay."
"Yes, till you learn to love me as I love you, with the whole soul." He
drew her close to his side, and bent tenderly to her face.
"No, you shall not kiss me, Neil,--never again. No right have you,
Neil."
"You are to be my wife, Katherine?"
"That I have not said."
She drew herself from his embrace, and stood leaning against an
elm-tree, watchful of Neil, full of wonder at the sudden warmth of his
love, and half fearful of his influence over her.
"But you have known it, Katherine, ay, for many a year. No words could
make the troth-plight truer. From this hour, mine and only mine."
"Such things you shall not say."
"I will say them before all the world. Katherine, is it true that an
English soldier is wearing a bow of your ribbon? You must tell me."
"What mean you?"
"I will make my meaning plain. Is Captain Hyde wearing a bow of your
orange ribbon?"
"Can I tell?"
"Yes. Do not lie to me."
"A lie I would not speak."
"Did you give him one? an orange one?"
"Yes. A bow of my St. Nicholas ribbon I gave him."
"Why?"
"Me he loves, and him I love."
"And he wears it at his breast?"
"On his breast I have seen it. Neil, do not quarrel with him. Do not
look so angry. I fear you. My fault it is; all my fault, Neil. Only to
please me he wears it."
"You have more St. Nicholas ribbons?"
"That is so."
"Go and get me one. Get a bow, Katherine, and give it to me. I will
wait here for it."
"No, that I will not do. How false, how wicked I would be, if two lovers
my colours wore!"
"Katherine, I am in great earnest. A bow of that ribbon I must have. Get
one for me."
"My hands I would cut off first."
"Well, then, I will cut _my bow_ from Hyde's breast. I will, though I
cut his heart out with it."
He turned from her as he said the words, and, without speaking to Joris,
passed through the garden-gate to his own home. His mother and Mrs.
Gordon, and several young ladies and gentlemen were sitting on the
stoop, arranging for a turtle feast on the East River; and Neil's advent
was hailed with ejaculations of pleasure. He affected to listen for a
few minutes, and then excused himself upon the "assurance of having some
very important writing to attend to." But, as he passed the parlour
door, his father called him. The elder was casting up some kirk
accounts; but, as Neil answered the summons, he carefully put the
extinguisher on one candle, and turned his chair from the table in a way
which Neil understood as an invitation for his company.
[Illustration: "Katherine, I am in great earnest"]
A moment's reflection convinced Neil that it was his wisest plan to
accede. It was of the utmost importance that his father should be kept
absolutely ignorant of his quarrel with Hyde; for Neil was certain that,
if he suspected their intention to fight, he would invoke the aid of the
law to preserve peace, and such a course would infallibly subject him to
suspicions which would be worse than death to his proud spirit.
"Weel, Neil, my dear lad, you are early hame. Where were you the night?"
"I have just left Katherine, sir, having followed your advice in my
wooing. I wish I had done so earlier."
"Ay, ay; when a man is seventy years auld, he has read the book o' life,
'specially the chapter anent women, and he kens a' about them. A bonnie
lass expects to hae a kind o' worship; but the service is na unpleasant,
quite the contrary. Did you see Captain Hyde?"
"We met near Broadway, and exchanged civilities."
"A gude thing to exchange. When Gordon gets back frae Albany, I'll hae a
talk wi' him, and I'll get the captain sent there. In Albany there are
bonnie lasses and rich lasses in plenty for him to try his enchantments
on. There was talk o' sending him there months syne; it will be done ere
long, or my name isna Alexander Semple."
"I see you are casting up the kirk accounts. Can I help you, father?"
"I hae everything ready for the consistory. Neil, what is the gude o' us
speaking o' this and that, and thinking that we are deceiving each
other? I am vera anxious anent affairs between Captain Hyde and
yoursel'; and I'm 'feard you'll be coming to hot words, maybe to blows,
afore I manage to put twa hundred miles atween you. My lad, my ain dear
lad! You are the Joseph o' a' my sons; you are the joy o' your mother's
life. For our sake, keep a calm sough, and dinna let a fool provoke you
to break our hearts, and maybe send you into God's presence uncalled and
unblessed.
"Father, put yoursel' in my place. How would you feel toward Captain
Hyde?"
"Weel, I'll allow that I wouldna feel kindly. I dinna feel kindly to
him, even in my ain place."
"As you desire it, we will speak plainly to each other anent this
subject. You know his proud and hasty temper; you know also that I am
more like yourself than like Moses in the way of meekness. Now, if
Captain Hyde insults me, what course would you advise me to adopt?"
"I wouldna gie him the chance to insult you. I would keep oot o' his
way. There is naething unusual or discreditable in taking a journey to
Boston, to speir after the welfare o' your brother Alexander."
"Oh, indeed, sir, I cannot leave my affairs for an insolent and
ungrateful fool! I ask your advice for the ordinary way of life, not for
the way that cowardice or fear dictates. If without looking for him, or
avoiding him, we meet, and a quarrel is inevitable, what then, father?"
"Ay, weel, in that case, God prevent it! But in sic a strait, my lad, it
is better to gie the insult than to tak' it."
"You know what must follow?"
"Wha doesna ken? Blood, if not murder. Neil, you are a wise and prudent
lad; now, isna the sword o' the law sharper than the rapier o' honour?"
"Law has no remedy for the wrongs men of honour redress with the sword.
A man may call me every shameful name; but, unless I can show some
actual loss in money or money's worth, I have no redress. And suppose
that I tried it, and that after long sufferance and delays I got my
demands, pray, sir, tell me, how can offences which have flogged a man's
most sacred feelings be atoned for by something to put in the pocket?"
"Society, Neil"--
"Society, father, always convicts and punishes the man who takes an
insult _on view_, without waiting for his indictment or trial."
"There ought to be a law, Neil"--
"No law will administer itself, sir. The statute-book is a dead letter
when it conflicts with public opinion. There is not a week passes but
you may see that for yourself, father. If a man is insulted, he must
protect his honour; and he will do so until the law is able to protect
him better than his own strength."
"There is another way--a mair Christian way"--
"The world has not taken it yet; at any rate, I am very sure none of the
Semples have."
"You are, maybe, o'er sure, Neil. Deacon Van Vorst has said mair than my
natural man could thole, many a time, in the sessions and oot o' them;
but the dominie aye stood between us wi' his word, and we hae managed
so far to keep the peace, though a mair pig-headed, provoking,
pugnacious auld Dutchman never sat down on the dominie's left hand."
"Then, father, if Captain Hyde should quarrel with me, and if he should
challenge me, you advise me to refuse the challenge, and to send for the
dominie to settle the matter?"
"I didna say the like o' that, Neil. I am an auld man, and Van Vorst is
an aulder one. We'd be a bonnie picture wi' drawn swords in oor shaking
hands; though, for mysel', I may say that there wasna a better fencer in
Ayrshire, and _that_ the houses o' Lockerby and Lanark hae reason to
remember. And I wouldna hae the honour o' the Semples doubted; I'd fight
myself first. But I'm in a sair strait, Neil; and oh, my dear lad, what
will I say, when it's the Word o' the Lord on one hand, and the scaith
and scorn of a' men on the other? But I'll trust to your prudence, Neil,
and no begin to feel the weight o' a misery that may ne'er come my way.
All my life lang, when evils hae threatened me, I hae sought God's help;
and He has either averted them or turned them to my advantage."
"That is a good consolation, father."
"It is that; and I ken nae better plan for life than, when I rise up, to
gie mysel' to His direction, and, when I lay me down to sleep, to gie
mysel' to His care."
"In such comfortable assurance, sir, I think we may say good-night. I
have business early in the morning, and may not wait for your company,
if you will excuse me so far."
"Right; vera right, Neil. The dawn has gold in its hand. I used to be
an early worker mysel'; but I'm an auld man noo, and may claim some
privileges. Good-night, Neil, and a good-morning to follow it."
Neil then lit his candle; and, not forgetting that courteous salute
which the young then always rendered to honourable age, he went slowly
upstairs, feeling suddenly a great weariness and despair. If Katherine
had only been true to him! He was sure, then, that he could have fought
almost joyfully any pretender to her favour. But he was deserted by the
girl whom he had loved all her sweet life. He was betrayed by the man
who had shared the hospitality of his home, and in the cause of such
loss, compelled to hazard a life opening up with fair hopes of honour
and distinction.
In the calm of his own chamber, through the silent, solemn hours, when
the world was shut out of his life, Neil reviewed his position; but he
could find no honourable way out of his predicament. Physically, he was
as brave as brave could be; morally, he had none of that grander courage
which made Joris Van Heemskirk laugh to scorn the idea of yielding God's
gift of life at the demand of a passionate fool. He was quite sensible
that his first words to Captain Hyde that night had been intended to
provoke a quarrel, and he knew that he would be expected to redeem them
by a formal defiance. However, as the idea became familiar, it became
imperative; and at length it was with a fierce satisfaction that he
opened his desk and without hesitation wrote the decisive words:
[Illustration: "In the interim, at your service"]
To CAPTAIN RICHARD HYDE OF HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE: SIR: A person of the
character I bear cannot allow the treachery and dishonourable conduct of
which you have been guilty to pass without punishment. Convince me that
you are more of a gentleman than I have reason to believe, by meeting me
to-night as the sun drops in the wood on the Kalchhook Hill. Our seconds
can locate the spot; and that you may have no pretence to delay, I send
by bearer two swords, of which I give you the privilege to make choice.
In the interim, at your service,
NEIL SEMPLE.
He had already selected Adrian Beekman as his second. He was a young
man of wealth and good family, exceedingly anxious for social
distinction, and, moreover, so fastidiously honourable that Neil felt
himself in his hands to be beyond reproach. As he anticipated, Beekman
accepted the duty with alacrity, and, indeed, so promptly carried out
his principal's instructions, that he found Captain Hyde still sleeping
when he waited upon him. But Hyde was neither astonished nor annoyed. He
laughed lightly at "Mr. Semple's impatience of offence," and directed
Mr. Beekman to Captain Earle as his second; leaving the choice of swords
and of the ground entirely to his direction.
"A more civil, agreeable, handsome gentleman, impossible it would be to
find; and I think the hot haughty temper of Neil is to blame in this
affair," was Beekman's private comment. But he stood watchfully by his
principal's interests, and affected a gentlemanly disapproval of Captain
Hyde's behaviour.
And lightly as Hyde had taken the challenge, he was really more
disinclined to fight than Neil was. In his heart he knew that Semple had
a just cause of anger; "but then," he argued, "Neil is a proud, pompous
fellow, for whom I never assumed a friendship. His father's hospitality
I regret in any way to have abused; but who the deuce could have
suspected that Neil Semple was in love with the adorable Katherine? In
faith, I did not at the first, and now 'tis too late. I would not resign
the girl for my life; for I am sensible that life, if she is another's,
will be a very tedious thing to me."
All day Neil was busy in making his will, and in disposing of his
affairs. He knew himself well enough to be certain, that, if he struck
the first blow, he would not hesitate to strike the death blow, and that
nothing less than such conclusion would satisfy him. Hyde also
anticipated a deathly persistence of animosity in his opponent, and felt
equally the necessity for some definite arrangement of his business.
Unfortunately, it was in a very confused state. He owed many debts of
honour, and Cohen's bill was yet unsettled. He drank a cup of coffee,
wrote several important letters, and then went to Fraunce's, and had a
steak and a bottle of wine. During his meal his thoughts wandered
between Katherine and the Jew Cohen. After it he went straight to
Cohen's store.
It happened to be Saturday; and the shutters were closed, though the
door was slightly open, and Cohen was sitting with his granddaughter in
the cool shadows of the crowded place. Hyde was not in a ceremonious
mood, and he took no thought of it being the Jew's sabbath. He pushed
wider the door, and went clattering into their presence; and with an air
of pride and annoyance the Jew rose to meet him. At the same time, by a
quick look of intelligence, he dismissed Miriam; but she did not retreat
farther than within the deeper shadows of some curtains of stamped
Moorish leather, for she anticipated the immediate departure of the
intruder.
She was therefore astonished when her grandfather, after listening to a
few sentences, sat down, and entered into a lengthy conversation. And
her curiosity was also aroused; for, though Hyde had often been in the
store, she had never hitherto seen him in such a sober mood, it was also
remarkable that on the sabbath her grandfather should receive papers,
and a ring which she watched Hyde take from his finger; and there was,
beside, a solemn, a final air about the transaction which gave her the
feeling of some anticipated tragedy.
When at last they rose, Hyde extended his hand. "Cohen," he said, "few
men would have been as generous and, at this hour, as considerate as
you. I have judged from tradition, and misjudged you. Whether we meet
again or not, we part as friends."
"You have settled all things as a gentleman, Captain. May my white hairs
say a word to your heart this hour?" Hyde bowed; and he continued, in a
voice of serious benignity: "The words of the Holy One are to be
regarded, and not the words of men. Men call that 'honour' which He will
call murder. What excuse is there in your lips if you go this night into
His presence?"
There was no excuse in Hyde's lips, even for his mortal interrogator. He
merely bowed again, and slipped through the partially opened door into
the busy street. Then Cohen put clean linen upon his head and arm, and
went and stood with his face to the east, and recited, in low,
rhythmical sentences, the prayer called the "Assault." Miriam sat quiet
during his devotion but, when he returned to his place, she asked him
plainly, "What murder is there to be, grandfather?"
"It is a duel between Captain Hyde and another. It shall be called
murder at the last."
"The other, who is he?"
"The young man Semple."
"I am sorry. He is a courteous young man. I have heard you say so. I
have heard you speak well of him."
"O Miriam, what sin and sorrow thy sex ever bring to those who love it!
There are two young lives to be put in death peril for the smile of a
woman,--a very girl she is."
"Do I know her, grandfather?"
"She passes here often. The daughter of Van Heemskirk,--the little fair
one, the child."
"Oh, but now I am twice sorry! She has smiled at me often. We have even
spoken. The good old man, her father, will die; and her brother, he was
always like a watch-dog at her side."
"But not the angels in heaven can watch a woman. For a lover, be he good
or bad, she will put heaven behind her back, and stand on the brink of
perdition. Miriam, if thou should deceive me,--as thy mother did,--God
of Israel, may I not know it!"
"Though I die, I will not deceive you, grandfather."
"The Holy One hears thee, Miriam. Let Him be between us."
Then Cohen, with his hands on his staff, and his head in them, sat
meditating, perhaps praying; and the hot, silent moments went slowly
away. In them, Miriam was coming to a decision which at first alarmed
her, but which, as it grew familiar, grew also lawful and kind. She was
quite certain that her grandfather would not interfere between the
young men, and probably he had given Hyde his promise not to do so; but
she neither had received a charge, nor entered into any obligation, of
silence. A word to Van Heemskirk or to the Elder Semple would be
sufficient. Should she not say it? Her heart answered "yes," although
she did not clearly perceive how the warning was to be given.
Perhaps Cohen divined her purpose, and was not unfavourable to it; for
he suddenly rose, and, putting on his cap, said, "I am going to see my
kinsman John Cohen. At sunset, set wide the door; an hour after sunset I
will return."
As soon as he had gone, Miriam wrote to Van Heemskirk these words: "Good
sir,--This is a matter of life and death: so then, come at once, and I
will tell you. MIRIAM COHEN."
With the slip of paper in her hand, she stood within the door, watching
for some messenger she could trust. It was not many minutes before Van
Heemskirk's driver passed, leading his loaded wagon; and to him she gave
the note.
That day Joris had gone home earlier than usual, and Bram only was in
the store. But it was part of his duty to open and attend to orders, and
he supposed the strip of paper to refer to a barrel of flour or some
other household necessity.
Its actual message was so unusual and unlooked for, that it took him a
moment or two to realize the words; then, fearing it might be some
practical joke, he recalled the driver, and heard with amazement that
the Jew's granddaughter had herself given him the message. Assured of
this fact, he answered the summons for his father promptly. Miriam was
waiting just within the door; and, scarcely heeding his explanation, she
proceeded at once to give him such information as she possessed. Bram
was slow of thought and slow of speech. He stood gazing at the
beautiful, earnest girl, and felt all the fear and force of her words;
but for some moments he could not speak, nor decide on his first step.
[Illustration: "Why do you wait?"]
"Why do you wait?" pleaded Miriam. "At sunset, I tell you. It is now
near it. Oh, no thanks! Do not stop for them, but hasten to them at
once."
He obeyed like one in a dream; but, before he had reached Semple's
store, he had fully realized the actual situation. Semple was just
leaving business. He put his hand on him, and said, "Elder, no time have
you to lose. At sunset, Neil and that d---- English soldier a duel are to
fight."
"Eh? Where? Who told you?"
"On the Kalchhook Hill. Stay not for a moment's talk."
"Run for your father, Bram. Run, my lad. Get Van Gaasbeeck's light
wagon as you go, and ask your mother for a mattress. Dinna stand
glowering at me, but awa' with you. I'll tak' twa o' my ain lads and my
ain wagon, and be there instanter. God help me! God spare the lad!"
At that moment Neil and Hyde were on their road to the fatal spot. Neil
had been gathering anger all day; Hyde, a vague regret. The folly of
what they were going to do was clear to both; but Neil was dominated by
a fury of passion, which made the folly a revengeful joy. If there had
been any thought of an apology in Hyde's heart, he must have seen its
hopelessness in the white wrath of Neil's face, and the calm
deliberation with which he assumed and prepared for a fatal termination
of the affair.
The sun dropped as the seconds measured off the space and offered the
lot for the standing ground. Then Neil flung off his coat and waistcoat,
and stood with bared breast on the spot his second indicated. This
action had been performed in such a passion of hurry, that he was
compelled to watch Hyde's more calm and leisurely movements. He removed
his fine scarlet coat and handed it to Captain Earle, and would then
have taken his sword; but Beekman advanced to remove also his waistcoat.
The suspicion implied by this act roused the soldier's indignation. "Do
you take me to be a person of so little honour?" he passionately asked;
and then with his own hands he tore off the richly embroidered satin
garment, and by so doing exposed what perhaps some delicate feeling had
made him wish to conceal,--a bow of orange ribbon which he wore above
his heart.
The sight of it to Neil was like oil flung upon flame. He could scarcely
restrain himself until the word "_go_" gave him license to charge Hyde,
which he did with such impetuous rage, that it was evident he cared less
to preserve his own life, than to slay his enemy.
Hyde was an excellent swordsman, and had fought several duels; but he
was quite disconcerted by the deadly reality of Neil's attack. In the
second thrust, his foot got entangled in a tuft of grass; and, in
evading a lunge aimed at his heart, he fell on his right side.
Supporting himself, however, on his sword hand, he sprang backwards with
great dexterity, and thus escaped the probable death-blow. But, as he
was bleeding from a wound in the throat, his second interfered, and
proposed a reconciliation. Neil angrily refused to listen. He declared
that he "had not come to enact a farce;" and then, happening to glance
at the ribbon on Hyde's breast, he swore furiously, "He would make his
way through the body of any man who stood between him and his just
anger."
[Illustration: The swords of both men sprung from their hands]
Up to this point, there had been in Hyde's mind a latent disinclination
to slay Neil. After it, he flung away every kind memory; and the fight
was renewed with an almost brutal impetuosity, until there ensued one of
those close locks which it was evident nothing but "the key of the body
could open." In the frightful wrench which followed, the swords of both
men sprang from their hands, flying some four or five yards upward with
the force. Both recovered their weapons at the same time, and both,
bleeding and exhausted, would have again renewed the fight; but at that
moment Van Heemskirk and Semple, with their attendants, reached the spot.
Without hesitation, they threw themselves between the young men,--Van
Heemskirk facing Hyde, and the elder his son. "Neil, you dear lad, you
born fool, gie me your weapon instanter, sir!" But there was no need to
say another word. Neil fell senseless upon his sword, making in his fall
a last desperate effort to reach the ribbon on Hyde's breast; for Hyde
had also dropped fainting to the ground, bleeding from at least half a
dozen wounds. Then one of Semple's young men, who had probably defined
the cause of quarrel, and who felt a sympathy for his young master, made
as if he would pick up the fatal bit of orange satin, now died crimson
in Hyde's blood.
But Joris pushed the rifling hand fiercely away. "To touch it would be
the vilest theft," he said. "His own it is. With his life he has bought
it."
[Illustration: Tail-piece]
[Illustration: Chapter heading]