BARBARA MAY BE A BARONESS.
“O! she is a golden girl!
But a man, a MAN should woo her,
And when she seems to fly away,
He should like storms pursue her!”—_Anonymous._
The next morning, Sir Parke Morelle, with his favorite servant and his
baggage, made up for a long sea voyage, arrived from Devonshire. When
informed that passage for the party had been engaged on Miss Brande’s
vessel, the Petrel, he at first demurred at the idea of risking their
lives in a craft commanded by a woman. But in the course of half an
hour’s conversation, Lord Montressor convinced him that the inevitable
dangers of a sea voyage could in no way be enhanced to them through
their sailing with Barbara Brande, who was, in all respects, admirably
well adapted to her chosen position.
His lordship then imparted to the Baronet the fact of their accidental
discovery of Estelle’s place of abode, and also of their fixed
resolution to keep that discovery a secret until they should arrive at
the Headland—a plan that the baronet heartily approved.
Lord Dazzleright rendered himself very officious and busy! Never was so
zealous and serviceable a friend. He insisted that Sir Parke and
Montressor had quite enough business to occupy them on shore, and that
he himself should see to the embarkation of their baggage. But Lord
Dazzleright, assuredly, proved himself incompetent, or else willfully
negligent of his self-assumed duties; for the manner in which he
contrived to spread the business of one day over an entire week, was
highly exasperating to the prompt and energetic Barbara. For instance,
one day he would see a trunk safely on board, and, having done so, would
remain on deck by the hour, watching that handsome, falcon-eyed,
commanding young Amazon, who had no time to talk to him; who took no
notice of him; in short, who cared no more for _him_—Lord
Dazzleright—than she did for the old waterman that had brought him to
the vessel, or for any other decent poor man. This sort of indifference
was something new to the lion of the London salons! It was novel,
piquant, provoking, incomprehensible. He mentally termed her a
barbarian, without capacity for appreciating a handsome, brilliant Baron
of the Exchequer! Nevertheless, upon the pretext of seeing safely on
board the vessel some trunk, box, packet or hamper, he visited the
Petrel every day. And he was always treated in something like the
following cavalier style. Hat in hand, he would step on deck,—where he
ever found Barbara busily engaged—and, walking up to her, would say—
“Good-morning, Miss Brande! I have brought some boxes belonging to my
friend, Sir Parke.”
“Good-morning, sir—Willful! here! see to getting up this gentleman’s
freight!” and without another word, away she would go to attend to some
other matters, in some other part of the vessel—unceremoniously leaving
“the observed of all observers” of the fashionable drawing-rooms to bite
his nails for vexation on the deck of the vessel. He called her “A
savage! positively, a young savage! destitute of the very first
principles of civilization!”—notwithstanding which, under the pretense
of taking excellent care of some precious piece of baggage or other, he
continued his daily visits to the Petrel. Barbara’s patience, that had
lasted six days of the week, gave way on the seventh, “which was the
Sabbath,” when she saw at the usual hour a boat come alongside,
containing Lord Dazzleright and a quarter cask.
“Good-morning, Miss Brande,” he said, as he stepped on deck. “This is
some pure port wine, for Sir Parke’s own use——”
“Good-morning, sir!” said Barbara, shortly—“Willful! see that this wine
is got up and stowed away.”
Then, turning to Lord Dazzleright, she said, with great severity—
“Sir, this is the first time that I have ever received freight on board
my vessel upon the Sabbath day, and I hope it will be the last; and I
only take it in now rather than send you back with it.”
“The inconceivable young bearess!” thought Lord Dazzleright, but to her
he said—“I am very sorry, Miss Brande, I did not know your rule.”
“Sir, the rule was not one of my making; it was not I who wrote—‘Thou
shalt keep holy the Sabbath day.’”
“I beg pardon—pray forgive me,” said the Baron very humbly.
“Ask pardon, sir, of Him whose commandment you have set at naught.”
“The exasperating young Barbarian! I wonder if I should have got a
sharper sermon on Sabbath-breaking, or received a better lesson on
humility, in any chapel in London,” said the Baron to himself.
“Is there any thing else to come on board?” asked Barbara.
“To-day?—no, Miss Brande.”
“To-morrow, then?”
“Yes, Miss Brande, there are Lord Montressor’s trunks.”
“Well, suppose that you just permit Lord Montressor’s servants to
complete this business of transportation. I think they understand the
work better, and will get through it sooner,” said Barbara bluntly
turning away.
“Miss Brande,” exclaimed Dazzleright, going after her, “I was presented
to you by our mutual friend, Lord Montressor. My character and position
are not unknown to you. I hope, in addition to that, you believe me to
be an honest and well-meaning man. I trust therefore that you will not
be offended when I confess to you, that the great esteem and respect
with which you have inspired me, brings me daily to the Petrel. If there
were any more regular way of approaching you, I should gladly avail
myself of it—as it is—I am forced to this, hoping to cultivate your
acquaintance.”
“With what view?” inquired Barbara, coolly turning and facing him.
“With the view that we may become better friends, Miss Brande.”
“You are mad,” said Barbara, walking away and leaving him to digest this
“flat.”
“I AM!” exclaimed Dazzleright, in a rage, as he went to the starboard
gangway and beckoned the waterman to bring his boat alongside. As he
descended into that boat he heard her clear ringing voice—commanding—
“Willful! call all hands on deck. I am going to read the Morning
Service.”
“Umph! Umph! oh-h-h!” muttered Lord Dazzleright, in a succession of
inward grunts. “What a young barbarian! Excepting that she seems an
orthodox Christian, she is a most unmitigated young savage! She appears
to have no more appreciation of social advantages than a swordfish—which
in character she resembles! Did the young Vandal know that a
possibility—a mere possibility was hinted—that she might become Lady
Dazzleright?” So angry was the Baron, that on landing, he went straight
to Lord Montressor and informed him that his lordship’s servants would
have to see to the embarkation of the remainder of the baggage. And from
that day, Lord Dazzleright went no more with box or bundle to the
Petrel.
But, nevertheless, upon the day before she was expected to sail—without
having informed his friends of his intention—Lord Dazzleright boarded
the Petrel, desired to see the “Captain,” expressed his wish to take
passage to America, and inquired if he could have a berth on that
vessel; Barbara informed him plainly that he could _not_, that the cabin
was already inconveniently crowded.
Whereupon Lord Dazzleright expressed his willingness to put up with a
hammock swung anywhere—in the steerage for instance.
Barbara told him there was not a hammock to spare.
Then would Miss Brande take him as freight? he asked, smilingly.
No—the hold was packed from keel to deck, and could not stow another
hundred-weight.
“Well! Miss Brande would not certainly be so unkind as to refuse him a
roost on the rigging; he could sleep on the top,” he persevered.
“Lord Dazzleright, since you force me to say it, there is not an inch of
space on board the Petrel at your disposal. Furthermore, under any
circumstances, I should decline you as a passenger. Nor is it possible
that you can ever have a berth in my vessel unless you should chance to
be shipwrecked in our sight, in which case we should be obliged to pick
you up,” said Barbara, with great severity.
“Then I’ll go and get myself shipwrecked forthwith!” exclaimed Lord
Dazzleright.
“You perceive now, sir, I am busy. Good-morning. Avast there, Paul! what
are you about!” and suddenly breaking off, Barbara hurried forward to
look after her hands.
“A Barbarian! a Savage! a Goth! a Vandal! a Cannibal! a Bearess! and the
handsomest, most piquant, and provoking young creature I ever met with
in my life! Upon my honor, I do not know which is the most
inexplicable—that I should become infatuated with this young woman, or
that she should repulse me! By my life, I do not understand it, unless
she is rabid and has bitten me, and I am in process of becoming mad!”
said the “glass of fashion,” as with a crest-fallen air he dropped
himself into the boat and was rowed to the shore.
The same evening it happened that Lord Dazzleright attended a ball at
Almacks, where he was as usual the “cynosure of neighboring eyes,” the
rich prey for which maneuvering mammas laid their plans, and mincing
maidens laid their nets.
But with the usual perversity of human nature, Baron Dazzleright
obstinately refused to become enamored of any willing Lady Clara or
Geraldine among them and perseveringly sighed after the dark-browed,
eagle-eyed, lion-hearted girl of the sea, who cared less for his
baronial coronet than for her little brother’s tarpaulin hat; less for
the title Baroness than for that of Sister Barbara; and still less to
follow the phantom of pleasure through the mazes of fashion than to
guide her “Stormy Petrel” through the wild waves of the pathless ocean!
But if this Vesta of the sea was all sufficient unto herself,—her
admirer was no longer independent of her. She had revealed to him a
phase of character as attractive, as fascinating, as it was novel and
unparalleled! Compared with the vapid, insipid, insincere butterflies of
fashion, this Barbara Brande was so full of vital force, of truth,
courage, independence, and self-reliance! To crown all, she was a real
and thoroughly conscientious Christian. He could not choose but think of
her, and the longer he reflected, the more he approved and admired her.
Leaving Almacks at an early hour, he went to Gerard’s to seek Lord
Montressor, whom he found busily engaged in writing.
“Ah, you are occupied. I will not disturb you.”
“No—only writing to Slater, my bailiff, at Montressor; I have done now,”
said his lordship, rapidly folding, directing, and sealing the letter.
“Now I am at your service.”
Lord Dazzleright threw himself into a chair, and cast his hat into a
corner.
“What is it? What can I do for you, Dazzleright?”
“You are going on board to-morrow. You are in the confidence of Miss
Brande. You will be in her company for some two or three months. Just
use that opportunity to impress upon her rather hard head, that your
friend Dazzleright is a well-meaning man, not utterly unworthy of her
consideration, even if he _has_ had the misfortune to be successful in
life!”
“Why?”
“Because if ever I marry a woman—her name will be Barbara Brande!”
“EH!”
“If ever I marry a woman her name will be Barbara Brande.”
“You are mad!”
“Just what she said! But—if ever I marry a woman, her name will be
Barbara Brande! Now I will tell you what I want you to do—just let her
know in a delicate manner, that I am an honest man, who, in spite of his
coronet, is not totally beneath her notice.”
“Prove that to her yourself in person.”
“Ahem! I think I see her giving me the opportunity! My friend, as long
as I keep a _very_ respectful distance, and merely touch my hat on
meeting her, Miss Brande treats me with the same decent civility that
she accords to the boatmen, hucksters and porters of the Docks. But just
as soon as I presume to advance and aspire to a higher degree of
consideration, she puts me down as quietly as though I were the Tom,
Dick or Harry aforesaid. And when I gave her to understand the honesty
of my ‘intentions,’ as the dowagers would say—she told me I was mad.”
“Miss Brande was right in repulsing you. What has the all-accomplished,
all-praised Baron Dazzleright in common with that free, wild,
irresponsible maiden of the ocean?”
“What?—nothing at all, of course! And that is the very reason why he
wants her, and why he must have her as the complement of himself. Every
quality of Barbara’s nature will become a new possession to me.”
“But the difference of rank——”
“_Peste!_ am I not ‘a son of the people,’ as the French would say?
Should I not take to wife ‘a daughter of the people’? And, in one word,
if I cannot get Barbara Brande to help me found a noble dynasty—why,
then, the first Lord Dazzleright will also be the last of his
illustrious line!”
Lord Montressor arose and clapped his hand into the palm of his
friend’s, saying cordially:
“You are right! I did but try you! You are altogether right! And _she_
was also right in repelling your advances—for great reserve and firm
repulsion are ever necessary as shield and lance for a woman in her
strange position. But—barring your professional quibbling—you are worthy
of her, and if I do not find a way of convincing her of that fact—and
smoothing the path for your next overtures—why you may then set me down
as an incompetent diplomatist, that is all.”
“I thank you, Montressor. Well, that is just all I had to say to you for
this evening. I will not keep you out of bed any longer, for you will
have to rise early to be on board in time, as the vessel sails with the
early tide. The sky promises fine weather for to-morrow,” said
Dazzleright, going to the window and looking out. “Well, Heaven grant
it! Good-night, my friend!” he exclaimed, returning and offering his
hand.
“Good-night, Dazzleright—but not good-bye,” answered Montressor,
cordially pressing his offered hand.
“Oh, no, no! certainly not! I shall meet you at St. Catherine’s Docks
to-morrow morning, and say good-bye only on the deck of the Petrel. _Au
revoir!_”
“To our meeting!”