TREACHERY
Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself. —Shakespeare.
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live. —Shakespeare.
Circumstances favored the wishes of Aylesford even more than he had
dared to hope, for that evening, at the tea-table, Kate announced her
intention of riding over, on the following morning, to Uncle
Lawrence’s. She had heard of the destruction of Widow Bates’
dwelling, and understanding that the houseless family was sheltered at
Mr. Herman’s for the present, desired to ascertain in what way she
could best assist them.
Aylesford had been watching for an opportunity, the whole afternoon, to
fulfill his promise to the outlaw; but none had offered. He, therefore,
heard this announcement with pleasure. But, in order to prevent
suspicion from afterwards resting on himself, he ventured to suggest
that it was scarcely safe for Kate to venture out.
“Surely,” were his words, as he looked at Mrs. Warren rather than at
his cousin, “if the refugees are so daring as to burn houses on
Sunday, they will not be afraid to rob, and perhaps insult, a
defenceless lady on Tuesday.”
“Suppose you go with me, Charles,” said Kate looking up.
To understand this frank offer, it is necessary to recall the fact that,
as but one person, beside the actors, had witnessed the rencontre
between Aylesford and Major Gordon, and as Uncle Lawrence had wisely
kept his own counsel, Kate was ignorant of the affair. She naturally
concluded, therefore, that her cousin’s threat had been an idle one.
In his calmer moments he had, she reasoned, repented of his angry
violence. She accordingly resolved to exhibit, by a conciliatory manner,
her appreciation of this conduct.
Aylesford, for a moment, was embarrassed, but less by the offer than by
the tone in which it was made. He attributed it, however, to its true
cause. “She would be very far from being so affable,” he moodily
thought, “if she knew all.”
“I am sorry,” he said, “that I cannot accompany you,” addressing
his cousin. “But I leave, as early as possible, for the mouth of the
river.” And as he spoke, he looked around to see that none of the
servants were within hearing.
“For the mouth of the river,” exclaimed Mrs. Warren and Kate in the
same breath. “Deary me, what now’s the matter?” added the aunt.
Aylesford made no direct reply, but began whistling the Jacobite air,
“Over the water to Charlie.”
“What does he mean?” said Mrs. Warren, looking in alarm at Kate.
“I suppose he is going to join his Majesty’s troops,” answered our
heroine. “But surely,” she added, addressing her cousin, “you
choose a roundabout path.”
It must be confessed that Kate’s heart beat high even at the suspicion
that Aylesford was going within the royal lines; for in that case he had
concluded, she reasoned, to abandon his pretensions to her hand. She
waited, therefore, for his reply with deep interest.
“What if his most gracious Majesty’s forces,” said her cousin,
speaking low, and again glancing cautiously around, “were coming half
way to meet me? What if there was a royal expedition at this moment
lying in the bay below?”
“I hope not,” answered Kate, turning pale. “I sincerely hope
not.”
“And why not?” asked Aylesford. “Is my fair cousin so much of a
rebel to her king as to wish for the defeat of his Majesty’s cause.”
“Deary me!” said Mrs. Warren, lifting her hands, “Kate a rebel.
How can it be? Who told you so?” she added, confusedly, looking from
one to the other. “It isn’t so, Kate, is it?”
“I never said it was,” answered our heroine composedly. “I merely
expressed regret at the possible arrival of a royal expedition against
the bay, because it would lead to bloodshed, and bring the horrors of
war almost to our very doors, and lo! Charles,” she added, with
something of haughty contempt, “cries out that I am a rebel.”
“I knew Kate wasn’t a rebel,” said Mrs. Warren, looking
appealingly to Aylesford. “You don’t really mean to say she is one,
nephew? You were only jesting?”
“I cry Kate’s pardon,” answered Aylesford, whose object was not to
irritate, and who had now hastened to repair his error. “As you say,
aunt, I was only jesting. But, in serious earnest, a royal expedition
has probably anchored in the bay by this time; and, as I am tired of an
aimless life,” he glanced meaningly at Kate as he spoke, “I intend
seizing the opportunity to offer my sword to his Majesty.”
“Oh! my dear boy, don’t think of it,” cried his aunt in alarm.
“You’ll be killed, I know you will; and then what will become of
us.”
“Never fear for me, aunt,” replied Aylesford. “I am no more
unfortunate than others, at least in war,” he added, significantly
looking at Kate. “The chances are ten to one that I’ll escape even a
wound. And then, you know, I’ll naturally rise in the service; all
officers who serve faithfully do; so that, by the time these revolted
colonies are subdued, I’ll probably be a Colonel. Let us hope, some
day, to attend a levee of his Majesty, I accompanying you in the uniform
of that rank. Besides, aunt, I’m but doing my duty. No Aylesford
should refuse to draw sword for his king. I’ve no doubt Cousin
Danville has often wondered why I did not serve.”
This last allusion, adroitly introduced, calmed the good lady’s fears,
and reconciled her to the scheme more than anything which had gone
before. She still, however, looked undecided.
“What do you think of it, Kate?” she said, in perplexity. “It does
look odd, doesn’t it, that none of our family are in arms for the
King?”
Kate, during the time Aylesford was speaking, had been carefully
counting the grounds in her tea-cup. She was persuaded that this sudden
scheme of her cousin’s had its origin entirely in her refusal. She
could not but feel a pang at being the cause of his exile, yet her
reason told her that it was the best for both him and her; and
therefore, on being thus appealed to, she looked up and said—
“If Charles thinks he ought to go, under all the circumstances,” and
she emphasized these last words, “it is not for us to thwart him.
There is certainly both honor and wealth to be had in the service of
King George; while here there is nothing at all to engage a man of
spirit. And if any Aylesford joins the royal standard,” she added,
laughingly, striving, for her aunt’s sake, to give a gayer tone to the
conversation, “it must be Charles, unless you choose, aunt, to enlist,
_a la_ Joan of Arc, or I go a soldiering, like a vivandiere in the
French army.”
“Well, you two children will have it your own way,” said Mrs.
Warren, with a sigh. “All I hope is that we shall soon see you back
again, Charles, with a royal army. Who knows but his Majesty may make
you Governor of New Jersey, when the war’s over?” she added,
abandoning herself to her favorite castle-building.
“Who knows?” answered Aylesford.
“But Kate said nothing. She was again studying the contents of her
cup. After awhile she looked up.
“You really go to-morrow, Charles?” she said.
“Really and positively. I shall only wait to see you in the saddle,
that is if you still persist in your determination.”
“I see no reason,” answered Kate, frankly, “why I should not. The
very fact that a royal expedition is down the river will make it all the
safer here; for the refugees will flock there like vultures to a feast.
They are but carrion warriors at best,” she added, contemptuously,
“and only devour generally the prey that stronger and braver ones have
pulled down.”
Aylesford thought that he had remonstrated enough for his purpose, so he
said no more, not wishing to hazard Kate’s undertaking, by arousing
his aunt’s fears.
“I will attend you as far as the church,” he said; “for my way
will lie down that side of the river.” He deemed it best to do this,
in order to be sure, before he finally left Sweetwater, that Kate would
fall into the ambush prepared for her. “But,” he added, lowering his
voice and looking across to Kate, as his aunt turned for a moment, “a
word from you will change all my plans.”
“It cannot be, Charles,” answered Kate, in the same low tone. But
her eyes thanked him for his forbearance.
Aylesford was not so degraded but that he felt a pang of shame. It was
not too late, he reflected for a moment, to retreat. But the thought
passed as instantaneously as it came. Before he could reply, Mrs. Warren
again turned and spoke; and directly afterwards they all rose from the
table.
“Why here is Aunt Chloe!” cried Kate, approaching the window. “She
has come to see you, cousin; for it was but the other day she was asking
when you would come home.” And she ran out into the porch.
“How is yer, honey?” said the old nurse. “’Pears to me yer gets
more beautiful ebbery day, ‘deed yer does.” Kate blushed, as she
answered—
“Ah, aunty, you know how to flatter. But you’ve heard, I suppose,
that Cousin Charles has returned. And here he comes.”
“Glad to see yer, Marse Charles,” was the old creature’s greeting.
“It does yer old mammy’s eyes good, ‘deed it does. I heerd
yesterday dat yer was come; but dis ole rheumatiz kept me at home. Dey
do say dat dar is sometin’ dey sell at de Forks dat’ll cure it,
sartin sure. Yer hasn’t got a dollar, Marse Charles, or haf a crown,
has yer, for poor ole aunty?”
Aylesford laughingly handed her the gratuity. After a few kind words
from Kate, Aunt Chloe kept on to the kitchen, where, seated in the
high-backed settle, within the ample fire-place, and with her short
clay-pipe in her mouth, she prepared to have a gossip with the magnates
of that apartment, about the fire in the woods, the new preacher, the
return of Aylesford, and other current topics of interest.