FREED!
In the same little parlor of the inn in which he had lunched with
Emily the day before, Revere awaited the entrance of his mother and
Josephine. His mother entered first and immediately clasped him in
fond embrace.
"Oh, Richard!" she exclaimed, tearfully; "I have been so miserable
about you! You never said a word about the gravity of your accident,
and I only learned about it accidentally. You are not suffering, are
you? You have sustained no serious consequences?"
"No, mother dear; I'm all right. In fact, I feel better than I have
felt for six months. It really did me good. It was awfully good of you
to come to see about me, though. I should have written and told you
all about it and assured you that nothing serious was the matter, but
I thought it would alarm you if I did; if I dwelt upon it too fully,
that is. I'm very glad to see you; but there was no real necessity for
your coming."
"Richard," she answered, hesitatingly, with a long sigh of regret, "I
did not come only on that account. To be perfectly frank with you,
Josephine--you have not yet greeted her."
She stopped abruptly. He turned and faced Josephine, who had stood
constrainedly in the door-way, apparently an unwilling witness of the
meeting.
"Oh," he said to her; "how do you do, Josephine? I'm awfully glad to
see you."
He had hitherto always signalized meetings of this kind by kissing
her, generally upon the forehead or cheek. With a vivid recollection
of his present situation, however, he hesitated awkwardly, and then
concluded that it would be better to act as if nothing had happened.
But to his great surprise the objection came from the young lady
herself. As if she had divined something of his mental attitude, she
drew back her head and thrust out her hand. He took it, feeling very
much embarrassed, yet greatly relieved.
"What a greeting," said his mother, "between--but I forget. Josephine
has something to say to you, Richard. She has made a decision which is
a source of lasting grief to me, and will be to all who know you. I am
sure it will be a great shock to you. Prepare yourself, my poor boy."
"Didn't you get my letter, Josephine?" said Richard, impetuously.
"No; I didn't receive any letter."
"Oh, then, you didn't----"
"Didn't what?"
"Well, er--nothing. What was it you wanted to say to me?"
"Richard," said the girl, "I may as well be frank with you. I----" She
hesitated and turned her face away. "I want to break our engagement."
"Want to break our engagement!" he exclaimed, dazed at this
development. "Why--I----"
"Yes," she said, honestly; "frankly, I do not believe that I care
enough for you to marry you."
"But, Josephine----"
"Yes, yes; I know what you would say. I thought I loved you; but since
I have come to know--Mr. Van Dorn, I am sure----"
"Josephine Remington, you don't mean to tell me that you have thrown
me over for Charlie Van Dorn? Why, he----"
"Richard, don't say another word! I love Mr. Van Dorn, and he loves
me, and I have promised to be his wife," with great dignity.
"Great heavens!" answered Richard, trying desperately to keep his
happiness at this announcement out of his voice and out of his face;
and yet he had to confess that he felt extremely annoyed at being
rejected in this summary manner for a man who he conceived to be in
every way inferior to himself.
He rejoiced, certainly; but the situation had elements of
unpleasantness. For a moment or two these had predominated, but as he
realized that he was free, he could hardly keep from shouting for joy.
Indeed, he felt that his face would betray his secret, and he
instinctively turned away from the two women, who were intently
watching him, and covered it with his hand as he did so.
"Oh, Richard!" cried Josephine, contritely, "I'm so sorry; I didn't
think you cared so much. I thought you felt as I do about the
engagement,--only that it was an agreed thing, and everybody more or
less expected it,--not that we loved each other very much--I'm so
sorry."
"My poor boy!" said his mother, coming up and laying her hand tenderly
on his bowed head; "this is nearly as great a disappointment to me as
it must be to you, although, of course, my grief cannot be like yours.
Josephine, why didn't you wait a little longer? And in his weak state,
too!"
"Never mind," said Revere, smiling--they thought him smiling bravely,
by the way!--"I dare say I shall get over it; and if Josephine really
loves Charlie Van Dorn, who is a splendid fellow, of course it is very
much better that she should tell me frankly than feel that she must
remain bound by an engagement in which her heart does not enter. Let
us say no more about it. I will take my medicine like a man," he
continued, mendaciously; "and I congratulate you, Josephine, on your
pluck. I presume that I may kiss you now, just as I have done before,"
he said, touching his lips to her forehead as he spoke.
"Yes, Richard. But I am sure they were never very lover-like kisses at
best."
"Not like Van Dorn's, eh!" said Richard, smiling.
"Richard, how can you jest about so serious a subject?" exclaimed his
mother. "Poor boy!" she said aside to Josephine; "I fear his nerves
are shattered."
"They are, mother, they are," exclaimed Richard, rapturously, giving
her a bear-like hug; "but it's all right."
"Then, you don't care so very much, after all?" said Josephine, in her
turn disappointed at the equanimity, not to say levity, with which her
quondam lover received the news of her engagement to another man.
"Care? Of course I care! There, don't say anything more about it.
Mother, did they tell you that my life was saved by a--er--a young
woman?"
Ah, Richard, where was Barry then?
"A young woman!" exclaimed his mother, peering at him through her
lorgnette in her very best Boston manner. "What sort of a person is
she?"
"She is not a person at all, mother," he answered, hotly and
inconsequentially; "she is a charming young girl, the granddaughter of
one of the most distinguished officers in the United States navy. And
she is as beautiful as she is brave and good."
"And who may this distinguished man be?" asked his mother, doubtfully.
"Admiral Charles Stewart, of the _Constitution_."
"Mercy!" she exclaimed. "Is he yet alive? I remember hearing of him
when I was a little girl."
"He is very much alive and his granddaughter lives with him over
yonder," he answered, pointing out of the window across the bay toward
the old white house embowered in the trees on Ship House Point. "That
is his home, and he bade me say to you that he would be honored to
have you and Josephine accept his hospitality while you are here. He
begs to be excused for his apparent discourtesy in not coming to
invite you in person, but he is unable to leave the house, he is so
old and feeble. His granddaughter, however, will call this afternoon
and extend the invitation, if it will be agreeable to you."
"I do not think we should stand on ceremony, Josephine, under the
circumstances, and we will go ourselves and call upon the admiral
immediately," said Mrs. Revere. "I should like to see this young lady
and thank her for Richard. How shall we get there, Dick?"
"I will row you over if you will allow me. There is a road by land,
but this is a quicker and pleasanter way."
"Excuse me, Richard; I think we would better go by land. I presume you
can get some sort of a carriage. I confess I am not fond of boats at
best, and since you were wrecked in the _Josephine_ I have a horror of
venturing on them."
"Very well, mother; I will make all the arrangements, and meanwhile go
back to the admiral and tell him to expect you."
"Do so," said his mother; "we will go and make ready. Come,
Josephine."
"Presently," answered Miss Remington; "I wish to speak to Dick a
minute."
"Richard," said his whilom fiancee, when they were alone, "are you in
love with that girl?"
"Well, er----"
"Answer me honestly!"
"I think it is very likely that I shall be, Josephine," he responded
at last. "You see, since you have thrown me over I----"
"Dick Revere, I believe you are in love with her now; I don't believe
you care a single bit whether I throw you over or not."
"Care!" exclaimed Revere. "I care immensely, I want to assure you,
Josephine. But I really do not see, since you have thrown me over,
that you have any right to object to my falling in love with anybody
else, have you?"
"Oh, very well," said Josephine, petulantly; "no doubt what you say is
true; but one thing is certain: I am just as anxious to see that girl
as your mother is."
"Just about as anxious, I suppose," laughed Revere, "as I should be to
see Charlie Van Dorn if I hadn't seen him until I am sick of the sight
of him!" he said, meanly. "Well, prepare yourself, Miss Josephine
Remington; you will see something charming when you do see 'that
girl'! Good-by!"