Headquarters, 14 June, 1782.
Dear Miss Janice,--In writing this I but act as Mrs.
Washington's scribe, she having an invincible dislike to the use
of a pen. She hopes and begs that you will favour us with the
honour of your company for a time at Headquarters, and to
this I would add my own persuasions were I not sure that hers
will count above mine. However, let me say that it will be a
personal gratification to me if you give us now the pleasure I
have several times counted upon in the past. Thinking to
make more certain of your granting this request, and that you
may make the journey without discomfort, Mrs. Washington
sends her coach.
I most sincerely regretted not seeing you at Yorktown, the
more that Lord Cornwallis assured me when he dined with
me on the evening after the surrender, that he would secure
your presence at the banquet he tendered to the French and
American officers; but I was still more grieved when told the
reason for your refusal to grace the occasion by your presence.
The sudden sickness of poor Mr. Custis, which compelled me
to hasten away from York, and the affecting circumstance
of his untimely death threw Mrs. Washington and Mrs.
Bassett, who were both present, into such deep distress that I
could not find it in my heart to leave Eltham, once the funeral
rites were performed. The Marquis has since assured me that
nothing was neglected which could be of comfort or service to
your mother, and I trust that he speaks informedly. I have
just learned of your loss, and hasten to tender you both Mrs.
Washington's and my own sympathy on this melancholy
occasion.
Be assured that your company will truly gratify both me and
the partner of all my Domestic enjoyments, and that I am, my
dear young lady, with every sentiment of respect and esteem,
Yr most obedt hble servt
Go Washington.
"'T is the very thing I'd have for ye, Jan," exclaimed the
squire.
"Oh, dadda, I'll not leave you."
"That ye shall, for I'll be busy with this scheme of Bagby's,
and the tavern is no place for ye, child, let alone what ye'll be
forever dwelling on if ye have no distraction."
"An' his Excellency," said the messenger, "done tell me
to say dat he done holds you' parole ob honour, an' dat, if you
doan' come back with me in de coach, he done send de
provost gyard to fotch youse under arrest. What 's mo, Miss,
dat big villin, Blueskin, will be powerful joyed to see youse
again."
LXIV
A SETTLING OF OLD SCORES
On a night of the most intense darkness a strange-looking
craft was stealing slowly up the Raritan, quite
as much helped in its progress by the flood-tide as
by the silent stroke of the oars, about which were
wound cloths where they rubbed against the thole-pins. The
rowers knelt on the bottom of the boat, so that nothing but their
heads projected above the gunwale, which set low in the water,
and to which were tied branches of trees, concealing it so completely
that at ten feet distance on any ordinarily clear night it
would have been difficult to know that it was not a drifting limb.
Lying at full length in the bottom of the boat were two
men, one of whom from time to time moved impatiently.
"Will we never get there?" he finally whispered.
"Slow work it is," replied the other, in the lowest of voices,
"but it has to be done careful."
"I understood you the river was open once more."
"Ay. We had word the regiments had been withdrawn,
to go north with the main army; but this is only the second
night the boats have ventured in, and cautious we've always
had to be."
The note of a crow came floating over the water, and at
the sound the last speaker raised himself on his elbow and
deliberately began counting in a low voice. As he spoke the
number "ten," once again came the discordant "caw, caw,"
and instantly the counter opened his mouth and sent forth
an admirable imitation of the cry of a screech-owl. Counting
once again to ten, he repeated the shriek, then listened.
In a moment the first splash of oars reached them.
"This way," softly called the man, and put out his hand
to prevent a small boat colliding with the larger one.
"Thought I heard a bird just now," remarked the solitary
occupant.
"If you did, 't was a king bird."
"I have n't much to-night," announced the new arrival,
as he handed a small packet into the boat. "It contains a
paper from No. 2, giving the decisions of the last council
of war, and the line of march they have adopted for next
week."
The one in the larger boat pulled up a cleverly fitted board
in the bottom of the boat, and taking out a letter, slipped the
just received parcel into the cavity and dropped the plank
back into place. "There's a letter for you," he said, passing
it to the new-comer. Without another word the stranger
shoved off and in a moment was lost in the darkness.
"Was n't that Joe Bagby?" questioned the man's companion.
"'Sh! We don't mention no names, if it can be avoided."
"You need not fear me. I am in the general's confidence,
and know as well as you that No. 2 is Major-General
Parsons of the Connecticut line."
"That 's more than I knew," muttered the boatman; "so
you see, Colonel Hennion, 't is as well not to mention names."
In silence the boat drifted onward, save for an order presently
given that the rowers turn in toward the left bank.
"Seems like I hearn suthin'," suddenly came a voice out of
the darkness.
"'T is only we, fishin' for what 's to be caught!" said the
boatman.
"No danger of yer catchin' nuthin' here," asserted the
unseen speaker.
"Pull into the pier, boys! We 're got your son aboard,
Hennion."
A low exclamation came from the man standing on the rude
wharf that suddenly loomed into view. "Yer duz n't mean
my Phil
"Ay, dad," answered the colonel, as he rose and climbed
out of the boat; "'t is me."
"Lordy me, if I ever expected ter see yer ag'in, Phil," cried
the father, as he threw his arms about him. "This is a surprise
ez duz my ole bones a heap of good. Naow say yer've
come ter tell me thet I may make yer peace with the state, an'
yer'll come back ter Boxely fer good. Terrible lonesome I've
bin, lad, all these years yer ye bin off."
"Nay, dad, my heart 's too much in the service to ever let
me get interested in turnips or cabbages again. What I've
come for is to make you yield to Mr. Meredith's request, and
if possible to get a word with Janice. Tell me he's mistaken,
dad, in what he wrote. You never refused--"
"Look here, Hennion," growled the boatman, "we can't
waste all night while you--"
He was in turn interrupted by a sharp click, the spit of a
port fire sounded, and instantly came a glare of red light,
which brought those on the pier into full view, and showed to
them two boats full of soldiers on the river, and another party
of them rising from behind a fence a few rods away.
With a scream of terror, Squire Hennion started down the
wharf, hoping to escape before the troops closed in.
"Halt!" commanded some one; and when the old man
still ran, he ordered "Fire."
"Bang!" went a musket on the word; but Hennion reached
the end of the pier, and turned down the river bank. "Bang,
bang," went two more; and the runner staggered, then pitched
forward on his face.
"I surrender," announced Philemon, as the soldiers came
crowding on to the wharf. "Where is your commander?"
"I am sorry to see you here, Hennion," said Brereton's
voice. "You are the last man I wanted to take prisoner
under such circumstances."
"Wilt let me go to my father?" steadily requested the British
colonel. "I give my word not to escape."
"Let him go free," ordered Brereton; and together they
walked down to the prostrate body, which an officer had
already turned on its face, so that he might search the
pockets.
As the two came up, the squire opened his eyes. "They've
dun fer me, Phil," he moaned. "Yer ole dad 's gone ter the
well once too offen, an' a durn fool he wuz ter go on, when he
know'd they wuz arter them ez wuz consarned in it."
As he spoke, the keel of one of the boats which had rowed
in, grated on the river bottom. An officer, springing ashore,
joined the group, and saluting, reported: "General Brereton,
when you fired the light, it revealed, close upon us, a small
boat stealing up the river, in which we captured Mr. Bagby.
He declares he was out fishing; but he had no tackle, and the
bowsman swears that as we approached he saw him put something
into his mouth and swallow it."
"Bring him here," ordered the commander; and Bagby, his
hands and feet tied, was more speedily than politely spilled
into the shallow water and dragged ashore.
"I'll pay you military fellows up!" he sputtered angrily.
"Attacking and abusing citizens as is engaged in lawful occupations.
You wait till the Assembly meets. Hello! Well,
I'm durned, what 's happened to Squire Hennion?" he ejaculated.
"You don't mean to say he's got his deserts at last?
Now, I guess you see what your buying of Greenwood 's
brought you. No man makes an enemy of Joe Bagby but
lives to regret it."
A look of intense malignity came on the dying man's face,
and pushing his son, who was kneeling beside him, away,
he raised himself with an effort on one elbow. "So it
wuz yer ez betrayed me, wuz it," he cried, "yer ez took yer
share in it daown ter the time ez we split over Greenwood,
an' naow goes an' plays the sneak? Duz yer hearn that, Phil?
Ef yer care fer me one bit, boy, bide yer chance an' pay
him aout fer what he's done ter--" He beat the air wildly
with his free arm, in a vain attempt to steady himself, and then
once more pitched forward on his face, the blood pouring
from his mouth.
The sun had been up an hour when three companies of
Continentals, guarding five prisoners, marched into Brunswick,
and at the word of command halted on the green. The sight
was enough to draw most of the villagers to doors or
windows; but when the rumour spread like wild-fire that among
those prisoners were Joseph Bagby and Philemon Hennion,
every inhabitant who could, promptly collected about the
troops, where, as the soldiers and officers paid no attention to
their questions, they spent their time in surmises as to what
it meant, and in listening to the Honourable Joseph's threats
and fulminations against the military power.
Among those who thus gathered was Mr. Meredith; and
the moment he appeared Colonel Hennion called to Brereton,
who was busily engaged in conferring with the officer in actual
command of the half battalion.
"General Brereton," he requested, "may I have a few words
in private with Squire Meredith?"
"Withdraw your guards out of ear-shot, Captain Blaisdell,"
ordered Brereton.
"Why, Phil, this is a sad plight to find ye in," said the
squire, regretfully, as he held out his hand, forgetful that the
prisoner's cords prevented his taking it.
"'T is worse than you think, squire," answered Philemon,
calmly; "I came but to see my father about your wish, but,
caught as I was, they will never believe it, and will doubtless
hang me as a spy the moment a court-martial has sat."
"Nay, lad, 't is not possible they--"
"'T is what we should do in the same circumstances, so
't is not for me to complain. 'T was not this, however, of
which I desired to speak. My father was killed this morning,
and his death makes it possible for me to end your difficulties.
We had word in New York that the governor had pardoned
you; is't so?"
"Ay."
"Then 't is all right, if we but act quick enough to complete
it, ere I am sent to the gallows. Find a justice of the
peace without delay, and let him draw deeds from me to--
to Janice, of both Greenwood and Boxely, and bring them to
me to sign
"Surely, Phil, 't is--" protestingly began the squire.
"Waste not a moment," importuned Philemon. "If 't is
delayed till I am convicted, the state may claim that they
were in escheat, but for these few hours I have a good title,
and if ever they seek to invalidate the deeds, set up the mortgages
on Boxely that you hold, as the consideration."
"But--"
"In God's name, squire, don't lose the opportunity by
delay! 'T is best, whatever comes; for even if by the most
marvellous luck I can convince the court that I am no spy,
and so go free, the moment the legislature meets, they will
vote a bill of forfeiture against me; so 't is the one means
to save the property, whatever comes."
"Ye have the sense of it, lad," acceded Mr. Meredith,
"and I'll do as ye tell me, this instant. But I'll do all that's
possible to save ye as well, and if ye but go free, ye shall be
not a penny the worse off, that I swear to ye."
"And if not, 't is what I would do with the lands, were I
dying a natural death, squire."
"Don't lose hope, lad," said the squire, his hand on Phil's
shoulder. "Once the parson has drawn the deeds, I'll see
Washington himself; and we'll save ye yet." Then he hurried
away towards the parsonage.
During this dialogue other occurrences had been taking place,
which very much interested yet mystified the crowd of spectators.
When the conference between the general and major had
ended, Brereton walked to the doctor's house and entered it.
The major meantime went over to the constable, and in response
to something he said, the town official took out his keys, and
unlocked the stocks, a proceeding which set both soldiers and
townsfolk whispering curiously.
"Free the prisoner Bagby's hands and feet, Corporal Cox,
and set him in," commanded the major.
"What in the 'nation is comin'!" marvelled one of the
observers. "Of all rum ways o' treatin' a suspect, this 'ere
is the rummiest."
Another pause followed, save for a new outburst from Joe,
concerning the kinds of vengeance he intended to shortly
inaugurate; but presently Brereton and the doctor came
across the green, the latter carrying a bottle and spoon in his
hand.
"This is the one," said the general; and then, as the doctor
stepped forward and poured the spoon full from the bottle,
he ordered, "Open your mouth, Mr. Bagby."
"This is tyranny," shrieked Joe, "and I won't do no such
thing." He shut his mouth with a snap and set his jaws
rigidly.
"Hold his head," commanded Brereton; and the corporal
took it firmly and bent it back so that the helpless man
looked skyward. "Snuff," said Jack, and a second officer,
pulling out a small box, stepped forward, and placed a pinch
in Bagby's nose.
"A-chew!" went Joe, and as his mouth flew open, the officer
inserted the barrel of his pistol, so that when he tried to
close his jaws again they only bit on steel. Instantly the
spoon was put to his lips, and the contents emptied down
his throat.
"How long will it take?" the general asked.
"The lobelia ought to act in about five minutes," replied
the doctor.
Silence ensued, as soldiers and crowd stared at the immovable
Joseph, whose complexion slowly turned from ruddy to
white, and from white to greenish yellow, while into his eyes
and mouth came a hang-dog look of woebegone misery and
sickness.
LXV
PEACE IN SIGHT
The occupants of Greenwood were still at breakfast
that same morning, when word was brought to the
commander-in-chief that Mr. Meredith desired
speech with him.
"Set another place, Billy, and bid him to come in," ordered
the hostess.
"I'll tell him, Lady Washington," cried Janice, springing
up, and after she had nearly throttled her father on the porch,
he was led in.
"My thanks to ye, Lady Washington," said the squire, once
the introduction was made, "but I have broken fast already,
and have merely come to intercede with his Excellency on
a sad matter." In the fewest possible words he explained
Philemon's situation. "The lad assures me that he came but
to serve me, and with never a thought of spying," he ended.
"I trust therefore that ye'll not hold him as one, however
suspiciously it may appear."
"The matter shall have careful consideration at my hands,
Mr. Meredith," replied Washington.
"All the more, I trust, that ye are good enough to take
an interest in my Jan, who is his promised bride."
Both Washington and his wife turned to the girl, and the
former said,--
"What, Miss Janice, is this the way thou hast kept thy promise
to me to save thy smiles and blushes for some good Whig?"
"Janice Meredith! you are the most ungrateful creature
that ever I knew!" asserted Mrs. Washington, crossly.
The girl only looked down into her lap, without an attempt
at reply, but her father took up the cudgels.
"Nay!" he denied, "many a favor we owe to Mr. Hennion,
and now he has topped them all by signing deeds within the
hour that gives to the girl both Greenwood and Boxely."
Janice looked up at her father. "'T is like him," she
said, chokingly. "Oh, General Washington, will you not be
merciful to him?"
"What is done must depend wholly on General Brereton's
report, Miss Janice," answered Washington, gravely.
"Oh, not on him!" besought the girl. "He has reason to
dislike Major Hennion, and he is capable of such bitter
resentments."
"Hush, child, have you no eyes?" cried Mrs. Washington,
and Janice faced about to find Brereton standing behind her.
Not a feature of Jack's face showed that he had heard her,
as he saluted and began,--
"The manoeuvre was executed last night, your Excellency,
and I have the honour to hand you my report."
Washington took the document and began an instant
reading of it, while the new arrival turned to give and
receive a warm greeting with the hostess. "You'll eat
some breakfast, Jack," she almost begged, with affectionate
hospitality.
"Thank you, Lady Washington, I--I--some other morning,"
answered the officer.
An awkward silence fell, yet which no one attempted to
break, as the commander-in-chief slowly conned each page
of the report. Once finished, he turned to the squire, and
said, "I must ask, Mr. Meredith, that you go into the parlour,
where later I will see you. I have certain questions to put to
General Brereton." Mr. Meredith gone, he asked,--
"What was the paper you recovered from this Bagby?"
"'T was a slip of tissue silk, which proves beyond doubt
that he has been supplying the British with information,
though unluckily there is nothing to show from whom in our
army he received his information."
"'T is unfortunate, for we have long known that a leak existed
in our very councils. However, 't is something gained to have
broken the channel of communication, and to have brought
one traitor to the gallows. You will deliver the prisoners into
the hands of the provost-marshal, sir, and be at headquarters
at two this afternoon, prepared to give your testimony and
papers to the court I shall order."
Brereton saluted, and made a movement of departure, but
Washington spoke again,--
"In this report, sir, you speak of having taken Lieutenant
Colonel Hennion a prisoner of war. Under the circumstances
in which he was captured 't is a strange definition to
give to his footing."
Jack's bronzed face reddened slightly. "I so stated it,
your Excellency, because I overheard the colonel tell his
father that he had but stolen within our lines to do Mr.
Meredith a service, and having myself read the letter that
induced him to take the risk, I had every reason to believe
that he spoke nothing but the truth. Yet I knew that no
court-martial would take such a view, and so gave him that
quality in my report, to save him from a fate he does not
merit."
"Once, sir, you were guilty of a deceit," said Washington,
sternly, "and the present conditions are enough similar to
make me suspicious. Are you certain that the fact that Miss
Meredith's happiness is concerned in this officer's fate, has had
nothing to do with the quality you have given to his status?"
Despite the tan, General Brereton's cheeks paled. "My
God, your Excellency!" he burst out. "It has been one long
struggle from the moment I found him my prisoner, until my
report was safe in your hands not to--not to send him to the
gallows, as I could by mere silence so easily have done. That
I reported so promptly was due to the fact that I dared not
delay, lest the temptation should become too strong."
Washington's eye had never left Brereton during his outbreak,
and at the end he said: "You will remain at headquarters,
and report to me again, sir, in half an hour, after I
have duly considered the facts."
Making no reply, Jack saluted, and passed out of the room.
As he reached the doorway, Janice, who had risen, said:
"I pray you, General Brereton, to forgive me the grave
wrong I have just done you in both thought and speech."
Silently Jack bowed, and closed the door.
"I should think thee 'd be well ashamed of thyself; miss,"
declared Mrs. Washington, fretfully.
"I am, Lady Washington," replied the girl, humbly, "but
believe me, that wrong as I was in this instance, I am not so
wholly to blame as I seem, for one example of General
Brereton's temper which he gave me, proves that he can carry
his resentment to all lengths, and
"And is it because the man has a temper that you have
slighted his suit?" interrupted the matron, peevishly. "Child,
child, don't you know that every man that is worth his salt
has a warm constitution? Why, the tales and warnings that
were brought to me of the general's choleric nature when he
was wooing me were enough to fright any woman. And true
they were, for once roused, his wrath is terrible. Yet to me
he has ever been the kindest and most amiable of husbands."
Washington smiled, as he said, "Miss Janice will know who
deserves the credit for that. But my wife is right. A man
is not apt to vent his wrath on the woman he loves, unless
she gives him extreme cause."
"Bitter cause we gave to General Brereton, I own, but--
but I can never think that had he truly loved me he would
have refused his aid in our extremity."
"Refused thee aid!" snapped Jack's partisan. "Has he
done anything but help thee in every way he could? Who
was it brought thy poor mother off that dreadful ship? Who
was it has teased General Lafayette with such unending favours
for thee, that the marquis asked me what was the source of
General Brereton's interest in one Mr. Meredith? Who
only last week wrote me a letter that would have melted a
stone--anything, I believe, but thy heart--begging me to
offer thee a home, that thou might'st escape the tavern discomfort
and crowd? I declare, thy ingratitude nigh makes
me regret my having wasted any liking upon thee."
"Oh, Lady Washington," cried Janice, "not a one of these
did I know of; and if you but knew what gladness it brings me
to learn that, once he knew we had insulted him unwittingly,
he forgave us, and put his resentment away."
"Then you'll reward him as he deserves?" delightedly exclaimed
the match-maker.
"I am promised, Lady Washington," replied the girl,
gravely, "and were I not, I could never forget his once
cruelty
"What did he?"
"I cannot bear to tell, now he has, by his kindness, endeavoured
to atone for it."
"I make no doubt 't is more of his masked generosity.
Never will I believe that loving you as I know he does, he
could be hard-hearted or cruel to you."
"'T was not--'t was worse than if his anger had fallen on
me, Lady Washington. He refused to aid my father, and
but for his Excellency's untellable generosity and--"
Washington, who had been rereading the report, looked up,
and interrupted: "Did General Brereton tell you that it
was my act, Miss Janice?"
"No, your Excellency, 't was from Governor Livingston
that we learned of the debt we owed to you, for which no
thanks can ever--"
Once again Washington interrupted. "There are no thanks
due to me, Miss Janice," he said, "for, much as I may have
wished to service you, my public duties made it unwise.
Your gratitude is wholly due to Brereton."
"I do not understand--What do you mean?" exclaimed
the girl. "He--'t was your letter, so the governor said--"
"'T was my letter, but his act," replied Washington; and
in a few words explained. "General Brereton expected, and
should have been court-martialled and shot for what he did,"
he ended; "but he had served me faithfully, and so I refrained
from making his misconduct public, and punished him
no further than by demanding his resignation from my staff.
You lost me a good friend and servant, Miss Janice, but now,
with the war in effect ended, I scarce feel regret that his action,
however blamable, spared you the loss of your father."
"Now, what do you say, miss?" inquired Mrs. Washington,
triumphantly.
All the reply Janice made was to let her head fall forward
on the table, as she burst into tears.
"There, there, my child!" cried the matron, putting her
arms about and raising the girl, so that the down bent head
might find a resting-place on her bosom. "I did not mean
to pain thee."
"Oh, Lady Washington," sobbed Janice, as she threw her
arms about the dame's neck, "I--I am so miserable, an--
an--and so happy!"
Ten minutes later, Janice, with pale cheeks, but determined
air, sought her father in the parlour, and going on her knees
at his feet, said,--
"I have that to tell, dadda, which I fear will anger and pain
you greatly." Then in a few words she repeated to him what
Washington had told her.
"And why should that hurt me, lass? I own I treated the
general somewhat scurvily, and that he has repaid it in different
kind, but 't will be no grief to apologise and thank him
for what he did."
"'T was not that of which I am apprehensive, but when I
wrote to General Brereton, and besought his aid, I promised
that I would wed him if he would but save you, and--and,
oh, dadda, please be not angry with me, but I--I feel I must
fulfil my pledge, if he asks it of me."
"And how of your promise--and mine--to Phil?"
"I came to you, ere seeking to see him, to explain--"
The squire shook his head doubtingly. "I can't lay blame
on ye, Jan, since I owe my very life to what ye did. Yet 't is
bitter to me to break faith with Philemon."
"I feel as guilty, dadda, but I think he will be generous,
and give us back our promise, when I tell him all the facts."
"And 't is nigh as hard," went on the father, "to think of
letting ye wed General Brereton, though I do owe my life to
him."
"Ah, dadda, you will not punish him for the wrong his
parents did him?"
"'T is not that, Jan, but because he is a rebel to--"
The girl gave a little laugh, as if a weight were taken from
her thoughts, and she flung her arms about her father's neck
and kissed him. "Why, dadda," she cried, with the old
roguishness, "how can he be a rebel, now that they've
won?"
The squire pulled a wry look. "Little I dreamed I'd
ever break faith, or make friends of the enemies of my king,
but the times are disloyal, and I suppose one must go with
them. If ye can persuade Phil to release us, Jan, have your
way."
Again his daughter kissed him, but this time tenderly, with
all the archness gone. "Thank you, dadda, for yielding," she
said, "for 't would have been horrible to me had you not."
The squire kissed her in return. "Better one rebel in the
family than two," he responded with a laugh, which suggested
that whatever his compunctions, he knew at heart that the
outcome was for the best, and was already reconciled to it.
"Thou 'rt too good a lass, Jan, to make into more of a rebel
than this same Brereton will no doubt make thee."
"He'll make no rebel of me to my darling dadda, that I
promise," asserted Janice, joyfully.
Mr. Meredith laughed still more heartily. "I'll rest content
if ye don't declare independence of your old dad, and
allegiance to him, within one month of marriage, Jan."
As he ended, came a knock on the door and an officer
entered. "His Excellency directs me to say, Miss Meredith,"
he announced, "that the provost-marshal has orders to bring
Colonel Hennion to you, whenever you are ready to see him."
"I'll see him now," replied the girl.
"Poor lad!" lamented the squire.
"Oh, dadda, what can I say to him?" grieved Janice.
"I know not, lass," replied the father, as he hastened to
leave the room.
It was a hard interview the girl had with Colonel Hennion,
but she went through with it bravely, telling all the circumstances.
"'T is not merely that I owe him the fulfilment of
the promise I made him before that to you was given, Phil,"
Janice ended, "but though I thought my love for him was
dead, the moment I heard of how he had risked life and
station to spare me grief; I--I--" There she ceased
speaking, but her eyes and cheeks told eloquently what her
tongue refused to put in words.
Philemon, with a sad face, took her hand. "I'll not make
it the harder for you by protests or appeals, Janice," he said,
"for, however it may pain me, I wish to spare you."
"Oh, don't, please," she sobbed. "If you--if you would
only blame me."
"I can't do that," he replied simply. "And--and 't is as
well, perhaps. General Washington just sent me word that I
am only to be treated as a prisoner of war, but even when I
am exchanged I must henceforth be an exile, with only my
sword to depend upon; so it would have been no life for
you."
"Oh, Phil, you'll take back Greenwood and Boxely,
won't--"
"Only to have them taken by the state? Keep them, as I
would have you, Janice, and if ever I am invalided, and the
laws will let me, I'll come back and ask you for Boxely, provided
I can bear the thought of--of--of a life of rust. Till
then God prosper you and good-by."
For some time after Philemon left the room the girl wept,
but by degrees the sobs ended, and she became calmer. Yet,
as the tears ceased, some other emotion replaced them, for
thrice, as she sat musing, her cheeks flushed without apparent
reason, several times her brows wrinkled, as if some question
were puzzling her; and once she started forward impulsively,
some action determined, only to sink back, as if lacking
courage. Suddenly she sprang to her feet, and, apparently
afraid to give herself time for consideration, she ran, rather
than walked, into the garden. Here she picked a single
blossom from a rose bush, and such sprays of honeysuckle as
she could find, and made them into a bunch. Kissing the
flowers as if they were the dearest thing in the world, she
hurried out of the garden, and glanced about. Seeing a
soldier on the road, she hailed him and asked him whither he
was going.
"Nowhere in pertickerler, miss."
"Dost know where General Brereton is to be found?" she
asked boldly, though blushing none the less for some reason.
"I just seen him down ter Colonel Dayton's quarters."
"Wilt favour me by taking him these flowers?" Janice
requested, holding them out with one hand, while her other
tendered a Spanish milled dollar, her eyes dropped groundward,
as if to hide something.
"Calkerlate I might; and who'll I say sent 'em?"
"I--say nothing at all--but just give him the bunch."
"Don't hardly worth seem carryin'," said the soldier,
glancing at the flowers with open contempt, "an' sartin it
ain't worth no sich money ter take 'em." Lest she would
agree with him, however, he set off with celerity. "Like as
not he'll give me a reprimand fer troublin' him with a gal's
nonsense," he soliliquised, as he walked. "Swan ef I ain't
most tempted ter throw 'em in the ditch."
Fortunately he did not commit the breach of faith, though
there were distinct qualities of shame and apology in his voice
and manner, when he walked up to a group of officers sitting
under a tree, and said to one of them,--
"A gal gave me this, general, ter take ter you, an' she
would hev it, though I told her she'd no business ter be
botherin' yer with sich plumb foolishness."
The flowers were snatched rather than taken from his
hand. "Where was she when she gave them to you?"
demanded Brereton.
"I seen her go back inter the garding over ter Headquarters
House, sir."
The general, without a word of explanation or apology to
his fellow officers, started away almost at a run. Halting suddenly
after he had gone some fifty feet, he fumbled in his
pocket, and pulling out three or four coins, he tossed back a
gold piece to the man; then hastened away.
"Waal!" ejaculated the soldier, as he stooped and picked
it up. "A hard dollar from a gal was bad enough, but I
did n't expect ter see the general go clean crazy like that. A
louis, as I'm a livin' sinner!
When Jack entered the hedge, one glance he took, and then
strode to the garden seat. "I know you would not torture
me with false hopes, yet I--I dare not believe the message I
would give the world to read in these," he said hoarsely.
The girl put her hand gently on his arm. "They say,
Jack," she replied, her eyes upturned to his, "whatever you
would wish they might."
On the words, her lover's arms were about her.
"Then they say that I am forgiven and--"
"Oh, Jack," cried Janice despairingly, "can you ever forgive
me--"Can I ever atone--ever thank you for all--"
"Hush, my sweet. Put the past, as I will, out of mind
for ever."
"I will, I will--but, oh, Jack, I must tell you how I have
suffered--how my heart nearly broke--so that you may know
how happy I am!"
"Oh, sweetheart," cried Brereton, clasping her tightly.
"Do you mean--can the flowers truly say that you really
love me?"
"They can, but never how much."
"Then tell me yourself."
"No words can."
"Ah, sweetheart, try," besought Brereton.
"Then stoop and let me whisper it," said the girl, and
obediently Jack bent his head. But what she had to tell was
told by her lips upon his.
It was Billy Lee who finally interrupted them. "You'll
'scuse me, Gen'l an' Missy Janice," he called, apologetically,
from the opening in the hedge, "but Lady Washington dun
send me to 'splain dat if she delay de dinner any mo' dat Gen'l
Brereton suttinly be late at de cote-martial." And as a
second couple made a hurried if reluctant exodus from
paradise, he continued, "I dun tender youse my bestest
felicitations, sah. Golly! Won't Missis Sukey and dat Blueskin
dun be pleased."
"She will be when she and Peg are bought and safe back
at Greenwood, Billy, as they soon will be," predicted
Brereton.
In the dining room stood the commander-in-chief and
Mrs. Washington, and as Jack and Janice entered it through
one of the windows, the latter caught the girl in her arms,
and kissed her warmly.
"Oh, Lady Washington," cried the maiden, ecstatically,
"how can I ever thank you!"
"That is my duty, Janice, not yours," asserted Brereton,
taking the matron's hand and kissing it.
Janice, her eyes starry with happiness, crossed to General
Washington. "Oh, your Excellency," she begged, her hand
on his arm, "there is but one flaw in my gladness, and 't is
that for my sake he lost your trust and affection. Will you--
oh, won't you forgive him, as he has me, and let my joy be
perfect?"
Washington smiled indulgently into the winsome face, and
turning to Brereton, held out his hand. "You have secured
an able pleader," he said, "and I cannot find it in my heart
to give her nay at any such time. Indeed," he added, as
Jack eagerly took the proffered peace-offering, "'t is to be
feared, my boy, that had she but made her prayer to me
instead of you, I should have found it difficult not to be
equally faithless to my duty."
Janice stooped and kissed the two hands as they clasped
each other, then, as her father entered the room, she sped to
him, and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him
as well.
"Mr. Meredith," said Jack, tendering his hand a little
doubtfully, "a bondservant of yours ran off while yet there
was four years of service due to you. He is ready now to
fulfil the bond, nor will he complain if you enforce the legal
penalty of double time."
"'T is lucky for me, general," answered the squire, heartily,
"that ye acknowledge my claim, for I take it that, my lass
having sworn a new allegiance, I shall need a hold on you, if
I am to retain any lien on her."
"Nay, Mr. Meredith," said Washington, "you need not
fear that the new tie will efface the old one. We have ended
the mother country's rule of us, but 't is probable her children
will never cease to feel affection for the one who gave
them being; and so you will find it with Miss Janice."