My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
SIDNEY.
When the painter, who followed Francis Heywood from the boat, saw the
affecting situation of the parties, and discerned clearly, at a
glance, that they were not only well acquainted with each other, but
apparently suffering from very deep and embarrassing emotions, he
withdrew. There was a something in this meeting of Francis and
Katharine, under present circumstances, so mournful, that Jane
Lambert, from a sympathy with their sacred feelings, walked to a short
distance from the spot, and left them together. They stood alone; they
were both pale; both trembling; the greeting of the embrace, and the
utterance of each other’s names, had already passed in the presence of
Jane. Silence was first broken by Francis. “I bless the leading of my
better angel for bringing me here this evening. Oh, Katharine, how I
have longed for an interview with you: that blessing is come; it is a
boon of Providence; we meet again: once more I have heard your lips
pronounce my name; once more I gaze upon the living form which has
dwelt with me as a bright shadow; the comfort of my wanderings and
toils; the cherished idol of my lonesome hours; the household image
that gladdened my solitary lodging. Nay, do not seek to silence me; do
not avert your eyes from me; let not displeasure cloud your glorious
brow. I have loved you long, faithfully, and well. I hail this meeting
as an omen of Heaven’s favour: the hour will come that I may dare ask
thee of thy father without shame or fear.”
“Francis, that hour will never come; it was an unhappy hour in which
we first became acquainted.”
“Oh, say not so: from that sweet hour I date a happiness that cannot
die: why look so grave upon me? You cannot quench my love:--it grew as
does the flower which with a constancy looks ever to the sun. Thou
art a sun to me; and till I am cut down by the swift scythe of war, or
wither in decay, thus will it ever be.”
“Oh, Francis, who hath bewitched you? Why did you return to England?
Why did you leave the green savannas of the New World, and your pure
and peaceful labours, for scenes of strife and of rebellion?
Away--afar--separated from me by the stormy ocean--and too painfully
conscious myself that the course of our true love never could run
smooth--I had a comfort in your absence. We are divided in time, was
my thought--but not for ever. There is a high and distant region,
where we may meet again to part no more;--but now, Francis--it is not
too late--put off these arms--return to America. Here, now, let us
take our last and long farewell. Return to your father, and give me
back the happiness of knowing that he who loves me may be, without a
crime, beloved again. Yes--I have loved you well. I have known that
our union was impossible:--to honour a parent’s will is the duty of a
child. But hear me, Francis:--if all such obstacles were by some magic
power removed,--if fortune crowned you with all those gifts of wealth
and station, which so generally secure the consent of fathers and the
approval of the world,--never would I accept the hand of that man, who
had raised his sword against his king.”
While Katharine was delivering this earnest, fond remonstrance, with
all the tenderness of a woman, but with a tone of decision towards the
close at once solemn and mournful, Francis stood pale and attentive,
with eyes that regarded her countenance admiringly. He remained silent
for more than a minute after she had ceased from speaking, as if
waiting to hear more; then coming closer to her, he took her hand,
gazed on her with intense affection, and slowly answered,--
“With due deliberation of my deed, I took commission of the
Parliament, and swore the oath prescribed; and I will keep it,
Katharine, as a soldier should. You live at home, as women use to do,
and therefore cannot know the truth of this great nation’s quarrel
with its king. Spirits there are in this bad world, to whom their own
security and peace bring no content, while any are debarred a common
right. Such lead the people now; such, standing up in arms, demand for
all, true liberty--and I am with them. The anointed head of England’s
king is to me, as to you, sacred, and I would defend it from the
swords of my own squadrons should any dare to threaten it. You have
none near you, my beloved Katharine, to show you things in their true
colours, and your gentle and pious fear of evil misleads your better
judgment.”
“Francis, I thank God I live apart from the great world, and hear but
little of their teaching; but this I know, nations are families, and
he that slays his brother in any quarrel commits a sin, and he that
puts forth his hand against a nation’s father is tempted to a crime so
like to parricide, that the laws do visit treason with the same
punishment. I’ll pray for thee, cousin,--pray that some power divine
may turn thy deceived heart,--may touch it with the spirit of peace,
and love, and holy fear. Lay not the flattering unction to your soul,
that the cause of true religion, or of true liberty, can be promoted
by the sword of rebellion. It will turn into your own generous bosom
hereafter, and pierce you through with sorrows.”
“Well, Katharine, a nation is a family; but if some of the children do
poison a father’s mind against others, and these last rise up to
punish their treachery, at whose door lieth the sin?”
“My heart is too heavy, Francis, to deal with you in argument. Sure I
am, that you feel persuaded in your own mind of the truth of that view
which lures you on to misery. Oh, that I could move thee. Francis,
from the tender age at which I kneeled upon a mother’s lap, and lisped
my infant prayer, I was taught to love and to reverence the church in
which I was baptized; to worship in her courts; to kneel before her
altars; and now I may not see her in the dust without a pang.”
“Katharine, I would sooner this arm should rot than that it should
violate a church, or desecrate one pillar of the temple; but all that
are called Israel are not Israel. There are unseemly spots upon the
raiment of the King’s daughter. She will come forth more glorious for
purification. Fear not, my gentle cousin, fear not, all will yet be
well.”
“Not so--not so; my heart more truly tells some fatal end. What scarf
is that upon thy shoulder? Where is thy king? Doth not his sacred head
even now pillow upon thorns? His throne! his crown! where are they? by
whom assailed? by whom defended?”
“The true enemies of the King, the true foes of the church, are
gathered about the royal person; have poisoned his ear; have turned
the generous blood of a princely heart to the black and bitter stream
that swells the veins of tyrants. The best friends both of the church
and of the King march to free them and to reinstate them in the love
of all the people.”
“Oh, that it were so, Francis--were truly so! Is Falkland in your
ranks? Oh, that I had a tongue of persuasion to win you back again!
Oh, that you were riding among your king’s defenders!”
“Katharine, by the sweet sacredness of my deep and constant love for
you, ask me not that which I could never do with honour. Beneath the
cope of heaven there walks no being whose wish is such a law to me as
thine. My services are pledged--my colours chosen. My heart is in the
cause. If thou couldst give to me thy precious self in marriage, as
the mighty price of my desertion, I were unworthy of thee--we should
be unworthy of each other. Our fall would be beyond the common lapse
of false mankind. Even in our wedding garments our love would die.”
“Lord of my constant heart, forget my words:--I know not what they
meant--I know not how I spake them. Sorrow, and fear, and love, and
dark forebodings, do half bewilder me. I would not have thee other
than thou art in any thing. Thy heart is no traitor’s heart. Delusion,
bright as is the garment of an archangel, goes before thee; and in
Heaven’s chosen squadrons you shall be one day marshalled. Whene’er
thou fallest in the battle, I shall know it:--the stars will tell it
me: Francis, thou wilt be taken away from me,--I know it:--a presage
dark and cold overshadows me.”
“Nay, love, that fear is idle; ’tis a passing weakness. Nor time, nor
space, nor life, nor death, can e’er divide our loves. In all I think,
in all I do, you are present with me. Spirits are not confined:--in
lonely forest haunts, across the wide Atlantic, I have had thee with
me, Katharine, _visibly with me_; and I do know by the mysterious
sympathy between us, that thou hast seen me sit with thee, beneath thy
favourite cedar, when ocean rolled between us. This is the high and
glorious privilege of love like ours. Come to my heart:--be folded
there in one such fond embrace as may live in memory’s cup to be a
daily nectar.” He pressed her majestic form to his manly breast, and
bowed his head upon her shoulder. Just then a trumpet sounded from the
city. He strained her yet closer to his heart, then cast his eyes
around with eager glance, and made signal with his hand till Jane
observed him and came up:--to her he passed his pale and silent charge
with soft and reverent action, and, with the quick farewell of
soldiers’ partings, broke suddenly away.