Mollie Greydon could not arise on the morning after the interview
between her father and Roderick Barclugh. She sank into a low fever and
for two months she lingered between life and death while being nursed
by her faithful friend, Segwuna. In her delirium she talked about the
Assembly at the French Ministers and oft repeated:
“The dance is the language of love.”
Then she would see the horses galloping down the road beside the
Delaware where she outdistanced Roderick Barclugh on her thoroughbred,
“Prince.”
She would pass her hand over the bed-covering and pat it with such a
loving and gentle touch as she said:
“Noble Prince, noble Prince, you are such a fine horse, Prince. If he
does not love me, you do, don’t you, Prince?
“You were naughty, Prince, to run away from him that day. If I had only
let him say what was in his heart that day, I would have been so happy.
Yes, I would have been so happy! so happy!” And Mollie went to sleep
from mere exhaustion.
Segwuna and Mollie’s mother were seated beside her canopied bed and
their eyes filled with tears as they watched the darling of their
hearts suffering such anguish. It can come to one only once in a
lifetime.
Many times Doctor Greydon and Mrs. Greydon held lengthy consultations
when the disease took its insidious hold on the now wasted frame of
their beautiful daughter. It was such a delicate thread that held all
that was dear to them on earth. The image of little Mollie, their only
darling child, as she gladdened their souls with her childish prattle
passed through their minds. For hours at a time, they would sit and
watch silently at the bedside and in silence pray to the One that knows
the hearts of all: “to deliver from our midst the Dread Messenger that
hovers over our child.”
Mrs. Greydon would sometimes tearfully say: “William, maybe it was all
for the best that Mr. Barclugh came to us, for God can send him back as
a messenger from our Colonies and tell the truth to our cousins beyond
the sea. That is what Segwuna says and she is almost endowed with the
intelligence of the supernatural.”
“Yes, yes, my dear, if Mr. Barclugh is the gentleman that I think he
will tell the truth, and how our child would rejoice in any good that
he could do for our country. I would give almost any personal sacrifice
if I could restore my little Mollie to her strength. Yes, I would give
up my own life for hers,” and the great, strong patriot turned his head
and his voice choked and the noble heart of the man was overcome with
his emotions.
The long days and the longer nights of the vigil for the dear one
dragged along and along and the father and the mother seemed to age
perceptibly under the strain. But Segwuna never lost her hope. She
would say in her sweet voice:
“The Great Spirit of Segwuna’s fathers will watch over our little one
and bless her days with happiness.”
The malady had its course and one morning Mollie awoke and said in a
whisper, for she was very weak:
“Mama, where have I been?”
“You have been sleeping sweetly, my dear,” replied the mother softly:
“Oh, I had such a sweet dream. I saw his face, and he looked at me with
such kindly eyes,” came from Mollie as though an angel were speaking,
and she closed her eyes and smiled as though she were an infant again.
“God be praised,” whispered her mother. “My darling girl may be saved.”
Now the days seemed brighter and the nights shorter. Mollie began to
gather strength. In a week she was able to see her father and talk to
him for five minutes while she held his hand in hers.
In three weeks she was able to drive in the carriage on mild days. But
her heart seemed heavy. She watched for the mail. She thought that he
could not have given her up without a word. Weeks grew into months and
the spring came and the summer passed yet no word from the one she knew
was dearer to her than life.
But on a bright day in October, nearly a year from the time when Mollie
was taken ill, a large, brawny man approached the portico where Mollie
was seated, and raising his hat, he asked:
“Is this Dorminghurst?”
“Yes,” replied Mollie.
“I have a letter here for Miss Greydon.” And the hardened hand of the
man placed a packet in Mollie’s fingers.
“Why, it is from Mr. Barclugh!” exclaimed Mollie.
“Where did you get it, sir?” asked Mollie.
“I brought it from the inlet on the Jersey coast. It came from New York
by sloop,” answered the man, who was one of the fishermen Barclugh had
employed when he fled.
“Are there any fees, sir?”
“None whatever. I was charged to deliver it into the hands of Miss
Mollie Greydon. I have done so and my duty ends. Good day. I must
return,” was the short and unceremonious message of the boatman and he
left as mysteriously as he came.
But here it was, the word from Roderick Barclugh at last: A large
package emblazoned with a crest and the motto standing out in strong
contrast:
“Post Nubes Lux”
Mollie opened it with nervous hand and she gazed at the bold
handwriting of Roderick Barclugh with an anxious face.
Devon Court, Devonshire,
August 17, 178--
“My dear Madam:
“True to my pledge to your honored father I have changed my attitude
toward the Colonies. Mostly from your precious lips I have learned
to love your country and the principles that they are struggling to
maintain. I am happy to inform you that the Colonies will very soon
be free and independent States. The report that I have made to my
superiors is enclosed and the conclusion has been made according
to the information in my report that a war of extermination is
impracticable and that England will honor the Colonies to establish
which she has contributed the best blood in her realm and will wish
them Godspeed.
“Now as to my part in the unfortunate drama of Arnold’s treason I can
only say: ‘Forget it and forgive me.’
“If it had succeeded my only desire was to share with you the honors
that I might have claimed.
“My dear Madam, I love you with all my soul. Your affection is more
to me than my country, my title, or even my life. If you would only
consent to be my wife I will go whithersoever thou sayest or do
whatsoever thou biddest. Be mine and we will be forever happy.
“Since my return to England my older brother has died and the title
has fallen to me. My fortune is now ample and we can live quietly on
our estates. The world has little to attract me outside of domestic
happiness.
“With the sentiments that I have always held in my heart, and which
no worldly conditions can change, believe me to be
“With sentiments of my tenderest love, your faithful and obedient
servant,
“Roderick Barclugh.
“Miss Mollie Greydon,
Dorminghurst, Penn., N. A.”
As the motto on Barclugh’s seal says, “After darkness there is light,”
so Mollie read and re-read his sweet words with increasing delight. Her
soul was athirst for what he said. But what would papa say?
After many family councils in the Doctor’s office, at last Doctor
Greydon gave his consent under one condition, which was: that Roderick
Barclugh would come to America and take the ups and downs of a common
American and rear his family as free American citizens.
Mollie wrote her lover after she had time to consider the meaning of it
all, as follows:
Dorminghurst,
October 30, 178--
“My dear Mr. Barclugh:
“I regret that my words can not properly convey my sentiments in
support of your noble acts in giving justice to our struggling
Colonies. My father feels grateful to you for what you have done.
“As to the part that you took in the drama of war, our Segwuna says
that you were a messenger sent by the Great Spirit to learn the truth
about our people and to convey it across the sea.
“My feelings for you have always been of the tenderest nature and I
know that I could love and honor you as your noble spirit deserves.
“There is only one consideration that I can ask before I pledge you
my honor and my life:
“My people left England to escape the perfidy of aristocratical
distinctions in society. If you were plain Roderick Barclugh and
could come and live our simple life in America, my heart would
rejoice to be your bride. But for me to return to England, a titled
person, I would be sacrificing the principles of three generations
of my forefathers and I should always feel guilty of treachery to my
dearest family ties. Thus it would be a mistake to try to make me
happy and we had better bide apart although it would break my heart.
“But if you could come to America and we should be wedded simply as
Roderick Barclugh and Mollie Greydon my heart would rejoice and I am
sure God would prosper us in our journey through life.
“With my tenderest affection and esteem,
“As ever yours,
“Mollie Greydon.
“Sir Roderick Barclugh, Bart,
“Devon House,
“Devonshire, England.”
In the course of two months, Sir Roderick Barclugh received the answer
that Mollie penned, and when he read its contents, he kissed the paper
that held the precious words, and as soon as the war closed, after
Cornwallis’s surrender, he immediately took steps to transfer his
baronetcy to his next of kin and made all arrangements to wed Mollie
Greydon in the following spring.
He did not forget to do justice to Mrs. Arnold and her children before
he left England or resigned his title.
He secured a pension for Mrs. Arnold of three hundred pounds sterling
yearly and one hundred pounds yearly for each of Arnold’s children. He
felt the responsibility for Arnold’s rash deed to a very great degree.
In the balmy days of June following, the old mansion of Dorminghurst
was gay with the prospects of the wedding of its jewel.
The old hemlocks seemed greener than ever and the lover’s walk and the
old mill had its attractions for Mollie and Roderick in the prenuptial
days.
The wedding was celebrated in high pomp (for the Greydons had
practically gone back to the established church) by the Reverend Mr.
White, the Chaplain of Congress.
The war was over and the people were united. The drama of the strife
was past. Peace and its pursuits held sway.
Roderick Barclugh and his bride emigrated over the Alleghanies and took
up lands in the blue-grass region of Kentucky, where they lived in
happiness and contentment, rearing a large family.
Their love for fine horses brought the line of thoroughbreds that
distinguishes the soil of the State of “the dark and bloody ground.”
The descendants of the Barclughs have spread throughout the valleys of
the Ohio and the Mississippi, and they have ever shone in the councils
of our nation, being noted for their integrity, loyalty and patriotism.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.