_Trouble for Sue_
So far as Fred Lyle was concerned, it soon became apparent that Jack
need not consider him a rival, for he was scarce a week under the
Silverthorn's roof before the young sergeant had eyes and ears for no
one but Sue,--a discovery which Jack was the last one to make, and
which he took triumphantly to Kate with the remark, "I say, Kate, do
you know I believe Lyle's making up to Sue."
"Do you?" Kate returned, with laughter in her eyes. "And how long since
you made this wonderful discovery?"
"Oh, I've suspected it for some time, but I didn't think there was
really anything in it till to-day. Look here, did you know it?"
"Did I know it? Why, of course. Anybody but a blind bat who has only
eyes for a little whiffet of a girl like Marianne would see it.
Grandfather is in a rage over it."
"You don't say so!"
"Yes, and he's for getting him out of the house, neck and heels, as
speedily as possible."
"Pshaw! what's the matter with him? Of course nobody's good enough for
Sue, but the fellow's a gentleman, and she might do much worse."
"Precisely, but he's not a loyalist."
"He's loyal to his own convictions and to his father's teachings." Jack
was disposed to look very leniently upon this cousin of Marianne's,
since he had proved beyond doubt that he did not stand in Jack's way.
"You know grandfather and his prejudices. He will get father all
stirred up next. Dear me! we are all in something of a fix."
"What does Sue say?"
"Nothing."
"Does she--is she interested?"
"You know she has always declared herself more American than British,
and it is very likely that she has a warm spot for the young sergeant;
yet it is too early to say positively, and I don't suppose, as matters
stand, that it would break her heart to part with him. Still--"
"Yes, still--"
"It is mean of grandfather to be so hard on him, as if loving Sue were
a terrible crime. If he should do anything that would lead to Fred's
misfortune, it would be the surest way to increase Sue's regard for the
boy."
"He hasn't been talking to her about it, has he?"
"Indeed, he has, then. He tackled her in the kitchen this very morning.
Sue had very little to say,--you know her way of keeping silence when
she feels the most,--but I tell you the look on her face as she marched
out of the room made me know that she'd cross the border if she dared."
"With Fred Lyle?"
"Yes, or without him. Grandfather has taken the wrong way to break off
this affair, for I never saw Sue give Mr. Lyle such a look as she did
the next time they chanced to meet."
"Well, well, well!" Jack ejaculated. "It's a sort of a mess all around.
I'm good-natured, and I don't like to fuss, but I say no one has a
right to dictate to girls and boys as big as we are when there is no
moral question, only a difference of fool politics. Such things make a
fellow stubborn; it's what drove Royal from his father's side, and it
would drive me to the Yankees if grandfather were to try to force me
to his way of thinking. We are all fond of old grand-dad, but he can't
pull strings and make us all jump to his bidding like puppets. What
does father say about all this?"
"Oh, you know father. He just laughs and jokes about it and won't see
that there is any serious side."
"That's better than the other way. Well, Kate, we all have our
troubles, and what has turned out one for Sue, has relieved me of one
of mine. I shall not have any duel to fight except with Victor."
"Nonsense, you'll have no duels to fight. By the way, do you expect to
return to your regiment?"
"Yes, as soon as my parole is ended. There will be no fighting anyhow
for some time, for us volunteers, for we have been dismissed to our
homes, and the regulars have gone into winter quarters. By spring the
whole affair may be settled, and I most devoutly hope it will be."
But it was not settled by spring, and in the meantime there was a
parting between Sue and her lover,--a parting which no one witnessed,
and of which Sue would not speak. Major Silverthorn very curtly
announced to the young man that it was decided to return him to his own
side with some others exchanged. "We do not usually parole regulars,"
said the old gentleman, "and in your case it was an exceptional favor
that gave you any sort of freedom. Your exchange has been arranged, and
you will leave to-morrow."
In polite terms Fred expressed his thanks for the unusual consideration
shown him, but made no further comment.
Not long after this Royal took up his quarters at his grandmother's,
and Marianne passes her time between the Silverthorns and the home of
her grandmother, Mr. Silverthorn, in his jocose way, insisting that
she was still their prisoner, and, chaffing her about it, pretended
that she could leave them only on parole, making a great fuss over
it when she did. Victorine and Madame Desvouges fulfilled their
promise of visiting the Silverthorns, and Kate's gentle concern for
both of them quite won their hearts, so that one day the old lady, in
confidence, told Kate her hopes concerning her grandchildren. "If it
would but arrange itself so," she said plaintively, "I should have
no compunctions about the property. Victor marries Marianne; I give
him the farm; they are then both provided for. Victorine marries
Royal, and brings him the dot I have saved for her. You see then this
excellent plan; I provide at once for both my adopted children and my
grandchildren. My daughter thinks it a plan of most excellent wisdom,
and indeed I shall be desolated if it comes not about. True, you say;
but would one want a deformity for a wife? I reply, but behold the
angel face, the soul of such beauty, the life so pure, so unselfish
that one forgets there is not perfection of body. You, for example, who
have but lately met her, did she repel you? Were you shocked, abhorrent
of her, my poor Victorine?"
"No, no," Kate hastened to say. "I was not. She is, as you say,
beautiful, attractive, lovable."
"Ah, but that gratifies me. We are so accustomed to seeing her we
forget, and I said to myself but the other day: I will ask the young
demoiselles Silverthorn if they were repelled by her, if she to them
seemed impossible." She peered up into Kate's face with her bright dark
eyes, and Kate felt herself grow warm under the gaze. "You are such a
creature of excellent health, so robust and full of verve," Madame went
on, "that you, if any one, would feel the difference; and you do not
dislike to be near this child of affliction?"
"On the contrary, I find her a sweet, noble soul, one whom it is a
privilege to know."
Madame nodded with a satisfied air. Kate hesitated, and then asked
wistfully, "Your grandson, he, of course--he knows your desire in this?"
"Mon Dieu! no," cried the old lady. "We would be of the most unwise to
tell him now. He is at the perverse age. He is young; he will get over
it. We must be patient, that is all. I have made my will, and in that I
have expressed myself concerning the matter."
"And Marianne?"
"Ah, that is different. It is for a girl to have her marriage arranged
for her. She has been told by both her mother and myself, that she may
expect to marry Victor."
"And she accepts the arrangement?"
"Ah, well, she is young and full of the idea of living nowhere but in
her father's country; but Victor is a good boy; she is fond of him.
What more could she ask? When she is tired of her butterfly ways, and
desires to be settled as every woman should be, she will be amiable
enough. Oh, no, I have no fear for Marianne. And Victor is content;
he understands. He would not cage a wild bird and break its heart, he
says; but when it is tamed, that is different. She will not then wish
to hop beyond call, he tells me. He is very patient and prudent, is
Victor."
Kate kept her own counsel, but she took all this confidence to heart.
Marianne, a docile French girl, accepting the arrangements made for
her by mother and grandmother? No, indeed, they would find themselves
mistaken in the girl. Had she not once said: "Liberty of thought, of
speech, of action, that is to me the most glorious condition of which
we have to boast in our country. I am like my father in that. And yet,"
sighed Kate, "that same father wanted to coerce Royal, and he had
resented it, too. Neither Royal nor Marianne would submit to having
their lives arranged for them, and yet it would be a wise arrangement
in most directions. I don't think Marianne yet knows what love is,"
thought the girl. "She is still such a child; but when she does
care, it will be with all her heart. Poor Victorine, poor Sue, poor
Jack! I won't pity myself," said Kate, with a toss of the head and a
compression of the lips.
And that was how matters stood all winter. If Royal made advances,
Kate repelled them; if Jack one day felt that he had gained a little
in Marianne's good graces, the next she gave him a flout and a fling,
so that he was in the depths of despair. What Sue thought she kept
to herself, but that she had something to keep was evident by the
hardening of her face whenever her grandfather began a tirade against
the Yankees. Major Silverthorn did not spare words upon such occasions,
even when Marianne was present. Once or twice she began a protest,
but the sudden bringing together of Grandfather Silverthorn's heavy
eyebrows, and his high-handed methods of disposing of Marianne's
remarks, sealed her lips for all future controversy. Besides, Kate had
begged her not to open a discussion. "Grandfather is very bitter," she
said. "He suffered a good deal at the hands of those he called rebels,
and was driven from his home in the dead of winter by the Sons of
Liberty. There was wrong done on both sides, Marianne, but it doesn't
do any good to argue the question; and besides, it makes it much harder
for Sue. We want to spare her, you know." So, for Sue's sake, as well
as to prevent the irascible old man from berating Marianne herself, the
girl thought discretion the better part of valor, and kept silence.
Meanwhile it was pleasant enough at her grandmother's, and to avoid
Grandfather Silverthorn she stayed away more and more, spending her
time with Victorine at the loom, or helping her grandmother with her
various duties, or sometimes starting off with Victor for a long walk
or ride through the woods; again she might go skating with him, or dash
off for a sleigh-ride. Whatever else her grandmother forbade, it was
never a frolic in which Victor was concerned; and Marianne, knowing
this, took advantage of it, having but to make Victor her special
pleader to obtain consent for any outing. It pleased the girl well
enough, too, to have him with her, for Victor was a willing slave, and
allowed her to queen it over him magnificently, though sometimes he did
tease her and mock her.
Royal, in spite of the fact that he considered his grandmother's
house his real home, nevertheless spent most of his time at the
Silverthorn's, to his grandmother's displeasure and Kate's uneasiness.
When Marianne wanted to see these girl friends, she had no trouble in
finding an escort in her brother, and so seldom called upon Victor
to take her. Royal was not much of a talker, except at times. He was
either gay and volatile or gloomy and morose. Marianne knew enough to
select a time when the lively mood was in force to prefer her requests,
and was seldom refused.
He was ready enough one winter afternoon to accept her suggestion to
take a sleigh-ride. "We can stop at the Silverthorn's and get the
girls," Marianne proposed, "then we'll take a little ride in the cold,
and be ready with big appetites for supper."
"Very well," responded Royal, with alacrity. "We will go. Bundle up
warm. We'll perhaps stop somewhere and get supper, so we'll take the
big sleigh. I've no doubt that Jack will be glad to go with us."
Marianne gave a little lift of her chin. "Oh! Jack! must he always go?"
"Why not? He is a good fellow, I am sure, and jolly company; and,
besides, he is my friend."
"Oh, well, of course," Marianne returned lamely. She ran up to the room
she shared with Victorine and donned a fur jacket and cap, pulling the
flaps of the latter well down over her ears, and was ready to start
off by the time Royal had the sleigh at the door; for in spite of his
grandmother's protests, he generally managed to secure her consent to
the use of anything he wanted. They found Kate and Sue quite in the
humor for a frolic, and Jack was nothing loath. So off they started,
through the woods and over the hard snowy road; Kate snuggled down by
Royal's side on the front seat, and Jack with Sue and Marianne behind
these two. Marianne had insisted that Sue should occupy the middle
place, and in this order they decided it.
"You are so quiet, Sue," said Marianne, when they were well started.
"What is wrong?"
"Grandfather has been in one of his fierce moods to-day," Jack
explained. "Sometimes he gets too personal. I don't mind it, but Sue
does and has reason to."
"I think he is a most unpleasant, tyrannical old gentleman," Marianne
said, with fervor.
"And that is the reason you keep out of his way," Jack said.
"Of course. I don't intend to place myself in disagreeable company if
I can avoid it. One cannot always choose one's company, but there are
times when it is possible. Never mind, Sue, you and I will skip across
the river some day and leave the wicked old Britishers."
"Of whom I am one, I suppose," returned Jack, a little too ready to
take offence. He looked so unlike a wicked old anything, with his
boyish good-humored face, that even Sue laughed.
"You are spoiling Jack's disposition," she said.
"You may be wicked, but you are not old," Marianne told him, demurely.
"I should prefer that you were the latter if you could be but one."
"What if I were both, wherein could I be better?" Jack asked.
"You could cross the river and join our army," said Marianne, quickly.
"And add to my other sins that of being a traitor. You would like me to
do that?"
"Well, no, I don't suppose I would, come to think of it. No, I see
there is no way to improve your sad condition. You are hopelessly
beyond benefiting. It is too bad that you committed yourself, or
otherwise you could join our side and not be a traitor. I should like
to hear you shout, 'Free trade and sailors' rights,' and see you trying
to avenge the massacre of our men by your Indians." Jack compressed his
lips, but said nothing. It was Marianne's habit to make these little
flings, and to give him to understand that she endured him simply for
the sake of his sisters and of her brother. Having accomplished her
purpose in annoying him, Marianne laughed and whispered to Sue, "'Free
trade and sailors' rights'; that's Cousin Fred's cry, you know." Sue
made no reply except to give Marianne's hand a quick pressure.
They were approaching a comfortable farmhouse, the owners of which were
ready to entertain friends at quick notice, to pop a meat pasty in the
oven, to warm up a fowl already roasted, and to have a warm meal ready
for whoever might need it. There seemed a little embarrassment visible
as the sleighing-party entered, but as the supplies in this part of the
country were getting low, the visitors attributed the confusion to this
fact.
"Don't bother about a hot supper for us, Mrs. Hunter," said Royal. "A
dish of porridge to warm us will be quite as much as we expect, and
more than we deserve."
"We will be able to give you something more, I hope," the good woman
replied. "Will you go to the other room, girls, and lay off your
things?"
"I will stay and help you," Kate said. "Here, Sue, carry in my cloak
and hood." Sue hung the heavy cloak over her arm and followed Marianne
into the next room.
"Just put them on the bed," Mrs. Hunter directed them.
The two girls obeyed and deposited their wraps upon the plump white
bed; then they stood before the small mirror to arrange their
disordered ringlets, by the dim light of a candle. The room opened upon
a porch on one side, and into the kitchen on the other. There was a
small closet by the chimneypiece, and the door of it stood ajar. Sue
turned away from the glass. "I have an uncomfortable feeling as if some
one were looking at me," she remarked. "Did you ever have that creepy
feeling, Marianne?"
"I don't know. Not just that. Perhaps some one is looking in the
window. It is so dark outside that we couldn't see if any one was
there."
Sue gave a swift glance at the window, and drew back. Then she looked
around and gave a suppressed scream. "Oh, Marianne, there is some one
there in the closet. I saw the door move."
"It's only the wind. Don't be scary, Sue. You are not given to being so
nervous."
"I know--but--"
"Come, I'll open the door and show you." She advanced toward the small
door of the closet, but it was suddenly flung open, and a man stood
before them, raising a silencing finger. "Cousin Fred!" Marianne
exclaimed, in a whisper.
"Fred!" murmured Sue. "What are you doing here?"
"I was on my way to see you," he told her. "I could not stand it any
longer. I may be ordered away at any moment, and the thought that I
might never see you again was too much for me. The Hunters, I learned,
were secretly friends to our side, and they sheltered me. I meant to
try to get word to you somehow, and fortune has favored me. How can I
see you for a little while without suspicion from those outside? Your
brother, and yours, Marianne, would have a right; and it would be their
duty to take me."
"They are calling us now," said Sue, in perturbation. And just then
Kate's voice was heard at the door.
"What are you girls doing so long in there?" she inquired.
"We'll be there presently," Sue answered faintly. "Oh, what excuse can
we make?" She turned to Marianne.
Immediately Marianne flung herself on the bed. "I am suddenly ill,
Sue. Tell them, and you must stay here with me. I'll manage it. Go ask
Mrs. Hunter if she can make me a cup of ginger tea. Go back into your
hiding-place, Cousin Fred."
He stepped into the closet, and Marianne set up such a moaning and
groaning as brought Kate to her side. "Poor child!" she exclaimed
sympathetically, "you shouldn't have taken that long ride; it was far
enough to our house without this added distance. You have taken cold, I
am afraid."
"Don't let me keep you," said Marianne, in a weak voice. "Go back to
Mrs. Hunter. Sue will stay with me."
Kate retired, and presently Mrs. Hunter came bustling in, all concern.
Marianne sat up and whispered something to her. "I am not really ill,"
was what she said, "but I must make an excuse for Sue and me to remain
after the others have gone. Will you mind keeping us here to-night. It
is for Fred and Sue, you understand, Mrs. Hunter."
The good woman nodded assent. "Keep you? Of course, as long as you want
to stay. I was young once myself, my child."
"And not so long ago," returned Marianne. "Say to them in there that I
must be quiet, and that you have given me an herb drink, and if I can
get to sleep I shall feel better."
"That I will do, and the herb drink will do you no harm, either. I will
keep them all out and send them home in good order."
"We will settle the other matters when they have gone," Marianne
decided.
Mrs. Hunter went out, carefully shutting the door behind her, and they
heard her make her report according to Marianne's directions.
"I will pretend I am asleep, Sue," said Marianne, "and you can then go
and eat your supper. In doing that there will be less suspicion. Then
you must insist that you will stay with me and that we will return in
the morning. Now go. I can't help it if it is a deceit; there is no
other way." For answer Sue bent over and kissed her; and Marianne,
left to herself, cuddled down in the big feather-bed, drawing a warm
comfortable over her. She did not dare to speak to her cousin lest
their whispered conference be overheard.
It was not long before Sue and Kate returned. "She is awake," said
Kate, as Marianne opened her eyes from her feigned nap. "Are you
feeling better, dear?"
"Yes," said Marianne, in a feeble tone.
"But she must not go out to-night into the cold," said Mrs. Hunter, who
had followed the others into the room.
"Then I shall stay with her," Kate declared.
"No, Sue promised that she would," Marianne told her.
"Oh, well," Kate made reply, a little hurt. But Marianne drew her down
and whispered:--
"Royal will be so disappointed if you do not return."
Kate shook her head, but smiled and made no further demur. So
presently the depleted party drove off, and the two girls were left to
themselves.