A CLOUD ON THE HORIZON
A quickened conscience is not the best of soporifics, and Revere was a
long time in getting to sleep. The miserable situation into which he
had plunged himself, however, was alleviated by the consciousness, of
which nothing could deprive him, that Emily loved him. And he
persuaded himself that when a girl, such as he fancied her, loved, she
loved forever. Which was true. There was much comfort for him in the
idea. He could not, however, take the joy that should have been his in
the realization of this glorious fact until his affairs with Josephine
had been adjusted. As for Emily, she, too, mingled her grief at the
pre-engagement with joy in Richard's love, but with less confidence in
its permanence; and, like his, her hours were sorely troubled.
The next morning she carefully avoided seeing him except in the
presence of others, and the topics they were both dying to discuss
remained unbroached until a messenger from the village, a servant of
the inn, delivered a note to Revere. The admiral and Emily were on the
porch with him when the missive was handed to him. Barry was busy at
something down on the ship. He had reported to the admiral early in
the morning that there were some repairs that he wished to make which
would probably take him the whole of the day. However, nobody, unless
it was the admiral, missed him, in which lay the pity of it all.
Revere started with surprise as he glanced at the address on the
envelope.
"Why!" he exclaimed, involuntarily, "it is from my mother! Can it be
possible that she is here?"
"A lady guv it to me to bring to you," said the messenger. "She come
to the tavern late last night, an' said as how she didn't want to
disturb you until mornin'."
"Your mother!" exclaimed Emily. "Why--what can she--how does it----"
As she spoke Richard tore open the letter and glanced at its contents.
"She has heard some garbled account of my adventure," he said to
Emily, "and she was worried, and has come over here to see me. That's
all."
"Did she come alone?"
"Er--no; not exactly."
"Who is with her?" with dawning suspicion.
"Miss Remington."
"Oh!" with great surprise.
"Well, I must go to her at once, I suppose," said Revere, doubtfully.
"Of course," coldly and disdainfully.
"My lad," said the admiral, "the inn is but a poor place for ladies of
quality and gentlefolk to stay. Present my compliments to your mother
and her young friend, and beg them to honor me by accepting our
hospitality while they abide in this latitude. Tell them, I beg of
you, that my age and infirmities prevent me from extending the
invitation in person, but that my granddaughter will call upon them
later and invite them in my behalf."
"Oh, grandfather! I--I----"
"My mother will be delighted to receive Miss Emily," broke in Richard,
quickly. "I have no doubt that her plans contemplate remaining here
longer than a day, and I think she will be glad to accept your
hospitality. She will be honored, I am sure. Meanwhile, I must go. May
I have your boat, Miss Emily? I suppose that is the quickest way to
the village?"
"Certainly, Mr. Revere."
"And will you not walk down to the landing with me?"
She hesitated, longing yet reluctant.
"Of course she will. Go with him, Emily," said the admiral,
decisively.
"Richard," said the girl, as soon as they were out of earshot of the
porch, "they have come about that letter."
"Yes," answered Revere, dejectedly, forgetting in his confusion that
they had arrived the night before; "I suppose so. I didn't think it
possible that it could have reached them by this time. My man must
have made good time. Oh, dear; what shall I do? Was ever innocent man
placed in so miserable a position?"
"Oh, Richard, you are involved innocently--you say you could not help
loving me----"
"I couldn't."
"But you had no right to involve me, sir. But there, I won't reproach
you. She won't give you up; you will have to keep your word, that's
all."
She spoke with infinite sadness.
"You have loved me, anyway, and that's a great deal. I ought to be
thankful for that, I suppose," she continued.
They were sheltered now from the observation of every one,--but Barry
from the ship,--and she put her handkerchief up to her eyes and sobbed
out the following in broken sentences:
"I've thought it out all night long, Richard. You saved that girl's
life; she has a claim on you. I know she loves you deeply; and of
course she won't give you up. I--I wouldn't myself," she wailed. "I
hope you will be very hap--hap--happy with her and--you will forget
all about this. Oh, Dick, Dick!"
"My heavens! Emily, you nearly drive me distracted! I tell you I
couldn't be happy with an arch-angel if she were not you! She must
give me up! She shall! I don't really suppose she will hesitate a
moment. Why, if she could see you she would know in a glance that I
could not help falling in love with you."
"Probably she thinks she's as nice as I am," she continued, through
her tears. "She would look upon me as an ignorant little country girl.
She would wonder how you could possibly fall in love with me. I wonder
about it myself. You do love me, don't you?" anxiously.
"Of course I do. I have told you a thousand times, and I mean it! I
mean it more every time I tell you, and I want to tell you more every
time I see you. I won't marry Josephine Remington, and that's all
there is about it!"
"You must!" decisively.
"If you say that again, Emily, we will quarrel right here," sternly.
"Perhaps that would be best. If we quarrelled it would be easier to
break it off."
"Well, we won't quarrel, then. But what I am going to do I cannot say.
I'll just tell the truth and stick to it. I wish--oh, I wish--they
hadn't come! I do not want to see her at all."
"But you must go, and go right away!"
"Oh, very well. The sooner it is over the better, perhaps. Good-by,
Emily."
"Good-by, Richard," heartbrokenly.
"Won't you kiss me good-by? You have not kissed me since last night.
You have not let me see you alone this long morning," reproachfully.
"No," answered Emily, with sad decision; "I do not believe I shall
kiss you. We are not yet engaged, and you may not belong to me, after
all. I think I would better not."
"Oh, all right, then," with a savage simulation of unconcern.
"You are not angry, are you?" timidly.
"No, I am not angry; but I am awfully----"
"You see I am afraid it's the end and another kiss would make
it--harder."
She spoke slowly, with a note of interrogation in her voice. For
answer he clasped her in his arms and kissed her fervently again and
again. She remained weakly struggling for a moment, but finally
returned his caresses. Presently, however,--after she had been well
kissed, by the way,--her determination came back to her. She burst
from his arms with a violent effort, exclaiming,--
"There, go! And I suppose you will be with them all day?"
"I will come back to you as soon as I can get away."
"Oh, Dick, I suppose I will have to go over there in the afternoon and
invite them here. What will your mother think of me? I don't believe I
ever met a high-born, high-bred lady in my life. I wouldn't know what
to do."
"Do just as you always do; be yourself; and if my experience is any
criterion, she will adore you as I do. Good-by."