The Old Dominion

by Mary Johnston

  *CHAPTER XVII*

  *LANDLESS AND PATRICIA*

  For one moment the parties to this midnight encounter stared at eachother with starting eyeballs; the next, down came the curtain ofdarkness between them.

  With a cry of terror Patricia seized and clung to Landless's arm,trembling violently, and with her breath coming in long, gasping sobs.Exhausted by the previous terrors of the night, this last experiencecompletely unnerved her--she seemed upon the point of swooning.Divining what would soonest calm her, Landless hurried her out of thewood and down the shore to the bank, beneath which lay the sleepingslaves. Here she sank upon the sand, her frame quivering like an aspen."That dreadful face!" she said in a low, shaken voice. "It is burnedupon my eyeballs. How came it there? Was it--dead?"

  "No, no, madam," Landless said soothingly. "'Tis simple enough. Themurderer is in hiding within these woods, and we stumbled upon hislair."

  She gazed fearfully around her. "I see it everywhere. And may he notfollow us down here? Oh, horrible!"

  "He is not likely to do that," said Landless, with a smile. "You mayrest assured that he is far from this by now."

  She drew a long breath of relief. "Oh! I hope he is!" she criedfervently. "It was dreadful! No storm could frighten me as did thatface!" and she shuddered again.

  "Try not to think of it," he said. "It is gone now; try to forget it."

  "I will try," she said doubtfully.

  Landless did not answer, and the two sat in silence, watching out thedreary night. But not for long, for presently Patricia said humbly:--

  "Will you talk to me? I am frightened. It is so still, and I cannotsee you, nor the slaves, only that horrid, horrid face. I see iteverywhere."

  Landless came nearer to her, and laid one hand upon the skirt of her wetrobe. "I am here, close to you, madam," he said; "there can nothingharm you."

  He began to speak quietly and naturally of this and that, of what theyshould do when the day broke, of Regulus's wound, of the storm, of thegreat sea and its perils. He told her something of these latter, for heknew the sea; piteous tales of forlorn wrecks, brave tales of dangersfaced and overcome, of heroic endurance and heroic rescue. He told hertales of a wild, rockbound Devonshire coast with its scattered fishervillages; of a hidden cave, the resort of a band of desperadoes, halfsmugglers, half pirates, wholly villains; of how this cave had been longand vainly searched for by the authorities; of how, one night, a boyclimbed down a great precipice, scaring the sea-fowl from their nests,and lighted upon this cavern with the smugglers in it, and in theirmidst a defenseless prisoner whom they were about to murder. How he hadshouted and made wailing, outlandish noises, and had sent rocks hurtlingdown the cliffs, until the wretches thought that all the goblins of landand sea were upon them, and rushed from the cavern, leaving their workundone. Whereupon, the boy reclimbed the cliff, and hastening to thenearest village, roused the inhabitants, who hurried to their boats, anddescending upon the long-sought-for cave, surprised the smugglers, cutthem down to a man, and rescued the prisoner.

  The man who told these things told them well. The wild tales ran like astrain of sombre music through the night. His audience of one forgother terror and weariness, and listened with eager interest.

  "Well--" she said, as he paused.

  "That is all. The ruffians were all killed and the prisoner rescued."

  "And the boy?"

  "Oh, the boy! He went back to his books."

  "Did you know him?"

  "Yes, I knew him. See, madam, it has quite cleared. How the moonwhitens those leaping waves!"

  "Yes, it is beautiful. I am glad the prisoner escaped. Was he afisherman?"

  "No; an officer of the Excise--a gallant man, with a wife and manychildren. Yes, I suppose he prized life."

  "And I am glad that the smugglers were all killed."

  Landless smiled. "Life to them was sweet, too, perhaps."

  "I do not care. They were wicked men who deserved to die. They hadmurdered and robbed. They were criminals--"

  She stopped short, and her face turned from white to red and then towhite again, and her eyes sought the ground.

  "I had forgotten," she muttered.

  The hot color rose to Landless's cheek, but he said quietly:--

  "You had forgotten what, madam?"

  She flashed a look upon him. "You know," she said icily.

  "Yes, I know," he answered. "I know that the perils of this night haddriven from your mind several things. For a little while you havethought of, and treated me, as an equal, have you not? You could nothave been more gracious to,--let us say, to Sir Charles Carew. But nowyou have remembered what I am, a man degraded and enslaved, a felon,--inshort, the criminal who, as you very justly say, should not be let tolive."

  She made no answer, and he rose to his feet.

  "It is almost day, and the moon is shining brightly. You no longer fearthe face in the dark? I will first waken the slaves, and then will pushalong the shore, and strive to discover where we are."

  She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Wait," she said, putting outa trembling hand. "I have hurt you. I am sorry. Who am I to judgeyou? And whatever you may have done, however wicked you may have been,to-night you have borne yourself towards a defenseless maiden as trulyand as courteously as could have done the best gentleman in the land.And she begs you to forget her thoughtless words."

  Landless fell upon his knee before her. "Madam!" he cried, "I havethought you the fairest piece of work in God's creation, but harder thanmarble towards suffering such as may you never understand! But now youare a pitying angel! If I swear to you by the honor of a gentleman, bythe God above us, that I am no criminal, that I did not do the thing forwhich I suffer, will you believe me?"

  "You mean that you are an innocent man?" she said breathlessly.

  "As God lives, yes, madam."

  "Then why are you here?"

  "I am here, madam," he said bitterly, "because Justice is not blind.She is only painted so. Led by the gleam of gold she can see wellenough--in one direction. I could not prove my innocence. I shallnever be able to do so. And any one--Sir William Berkeley, your father,your kinsman--would tell you that you are now listening to one whodiffers from the rest of the Newgate contingent, from the coiners andcheats, the cut-throats and highway robbers in whose company he isnumbered, only in being hypocrite as well as knave. And yet I ask youto believe me. I am innocent of that wrong."

  The moonlight struck full upon his face as he knelt before her. Shelooked at him long and intently, with large, calm eyes, then said softlyand sweetly:--

  "I believe you, and pity you, sir. You have suffered much."

  He bowed his head, and pressed the hem of her skirt to his lips.

  "I thank you," he said brokenly.

  "Is there nothing?" she said after a pause, "nothing that I can do?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing, madam. You have given me your belief andyour divine compassion. It is all that I ask, more than I dared dreamof asking an hour ago. You cannot help me. I must dree my weird. Iwould even ask of your goodness that you say nothing of what I have toldyou to Colonel Verney or to any one."

  "Yes," she said thoughtfully. "If I cannot help you, it were wiser notto speak. I might but make your hard lot harder."

  "Again I thank you." He kissed the hem of her robe once more, and roseto his feet with a heart that sat lightly on its throne.

  The day began to break. With the first faint flush Landless woke theslaves, who at length yawned and shivered themselves into consciousnessof their surroundings. "What are we to do now?" demanded Patricia.

  "We had best strike through that belt of woods until we come to somehouse, whence we may get conveyance for you to Verney Manor."

  "Very well. But oh! do not let us enter the forest here where we sawthat fearful face. Let us walk along the shore until the light growsstronger. It is stil
l night within the woods."

  Landless acquiesced with a smile, and the four--he and Patricia infront, the negroes straying in the rear--set out along the shore. Theair was chill and heavy, but there was no wind, and the unclouded skygave promise of a hot day. In the east the rosy flush spread anddeepened, and a pink path stretched itself across the fast subsidingwaters. The wet sand dragged at their feet, and made walking difficult,moreover Patricia was chilled and weary, so their progress was slow.There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her lips had a weary,downward curve; her golden hair, broken from its fastenings, hung indamp, rich masses against her white throat and blue-veined temples, andamidst the enshrouding glory her perfect face looked very small andwhite and childlike. The magnificent eyes carried in their clear, browndepths an expression new to Landless. Heretofore he had seen in themscorn and dislike; now they looked at him with a grave and wonderingpity.

  As the sun rose, the shipwrecked party left the shore, and entered theforest. A purple light filled its vast aisles. Far overhead bits ofazure gleamed through the rifts in the foliage, but around them was theconstant patter and splash of rain drops, falling slow and heavy fromevery leaf and twig. There was a dank, rich smell of wet mould androtting leaves, and rain-bruised fern. The denizens of the woodlandwere all astir. Birds sang, squirrels chattered, the insect worldwhirred around the yellow autumn blooms and the purpling clusters of thewild grape; from out the distance came the barking of a fox. Thesunlight began to fall in shafts of pale gold through openings in thegreen and leafy world, and to warm the chilled bodies of the wayfarers.

  "It is like a bad dream," said Patricia gayly, as Landless held back agreat, wet branch of cedar from her path. "All the storm and darkness,and the great hungry waves and the danger of death! Ah! how happy weare to have waked!"

  Her glance fell upon Landless's face, and there came to her a suddenrealization that there were those in the world, to whom life was not onesweet, bright gala day. She gazed at him with troubled eyes.

  "I hope you care to live," she said. "Death is very dreadful."

  "I do not think so," he answered. "At least it would be forgetfulness."

  She shuddered. "Ah! but to leave the world, the warm, bright, beautifulworld! To die on your bed, when you are old--that is different. But togo young! to go in storm and terror, or in horror and struggling as didthat man who was murdered! Oh, horrible!"

  The thought of the murdered man brought another thought into her mind.

  "Do you think," she said, "that we had better tell that we saw themurderer at the first house to which we come, or had we best wait untilwe reach Verney Manor?"

  Landless gave a great start. "You will tell Colonel Verney that?"

  She opened her eyes widely. "Why, of course! What else should we do?Is not the country being scoured for him? My father is most anxiousthat he should be captured. Justice and the weal of the State demandthat such a wretch should be punished." She paused and looked at himgravely as he walked beside her with a clouded face. "You say nothing!This man is guilty, guilty of a dreadful crime. Surely you do not wishto shield him, to let him escape?"

  "Not so, madam," said Landless in desperation. "But--but--"

  "But what?" she asked as he stopped in confusion.

  He recovered himself. "Nothing, madam. You are right, of course. ButI would not speak before reaching Verney Manor."

  "Very well."

  Landless walked on, bitterly perplexed and chagrined. The strife anddanger of the night, the intoxicating sweetness of the morning hourswhen he knew himself believed in and pitied by the woman beside him, haddriven certain things into oblivion. He had been dreaming, and now hehad been plucked from a fool's paradise, and dashed rudely to theground. Yesterday and the life and thoughts of yesterday, which had butnow seemed so far away, pressed upon him remorselessly. And to-morrow!He did not want Roach to be taken. Always there would have been dangerto himself and his associates in the capture of the murderer, but nowwhen the vindictive wretch would assuredly attribute his disaster to theman to whom the lightning flash had revealed his presence on the shoresof the bay, the danger was trebled. And it was imminent. He had littledoubt that another night would see Roach in custody, and he had no doubtat all that the scoundrel would make a desperate effort to save his neckby betraying what he knew of the conspiracy--and thanks to Godwyn'slists he knew a great deal--to Governor and Council.

  Patricia began to speak again. "It imports much that men should seethat there is no weakness in the arm the law stretches out to seize andpunish offenders. My father and the Governor and Colonel Ludlow believethat there is afoot an Oliverian plot-- What is the matter?"

  "Nothing, madam."

  "You stood still and caught your breath. Are you ill, faint?"

  "It is nothing, madam, believe me? You were saying?"

  "Oh! the Oliverians! Nothing definite has been discovered as yet, butthere is thunder in the air, my father says, and I know that he and theGovernor and the rest of the council are very watchful just now. Butyesterday my father said that those few hundred men form a greatermenace to the Colony than do all the Indians between this and the SouthSea."

  They walked on in silence for a few moments, and then she broke out."They are horrible, those grim, frowning men! They are rebels andtraitors, one and all, and yet they stand by and shake curses on theheads of true men. They slew the best man, the most gracious sovereign;they trampled the Church under foot, they made the blood of the nobleand the good to flow like water, and now when they receive a portion oftheir deserts, they call themselves martyrs! They, martyrs! Roundheadtraitors!"

  "Madam," interrupted Landless with a curious smile upon his lips, "didyou not know that I was, that I am, what you call a Roundhead?"

  "No," she said, "I did not know," and stood perfectly still, lookingstraight before her down the long vista of trees. He saw her facechange and harden into the old expression of aversion. The slaves cameup to them, and Regulus asked if 'lil Missy wanted anything. "No,nothing at all," she answered, and walked quietly onward.

  Landless, an angry pain tugging at his heart, kept beside her, for theywere passing through a deep hollow in the wood where the gnarled andprotruding roots of cypress and juniper made walking difficult, andwhere a strong hand was needed to push aside the wet and pendent massesof vine. Regulus, fifty yards behind them, began to sing a familiarbroadside ballad, torturing the words out of all resemblance to English.The rich notes rang sweetly through the forest. Down from the farsummit of a pine flashed a cardinal bird, piercing the gloom of thehollow like a fire ball thrown into a cavern. Landless held aside acurtain of glistening leaves that, mingled with purple clusters offruit, hung across their path. Patricia passed him, then turnedimpulsively. "You think me hard!" she said. "Many people think me so,but I am not so, indeed.... And there are good Puritans. MajorCarrington, they say, is Puritan at heart, and he is a good man and agentleman.... And you saved my life.... At least you are not likethose men of whom I spoke. You would not plot against the good peacewhich we enjoy! You would not try to array servant against master?"

  It was a direct question asked with large, straight-forward eyes fixedupon his. He tried to evade it, but she asked again with insistence,and with a faint doubt lurking in her eyes, "If these men are plotting,which God forbid! you know nothing of it? You have great wrongs, butyou would take no such dastard way to right them?"

  Landless's soul writhed within him, but he told the inevitable lie thatwas none the less a lie that it was also the truth. He said in a lowvoice, "I trust, madam, that I will do naught that may misbecome agentleman."

  She was quite satisfied. He saw that he had regained the ground lost byhis avowal of a few minutes before, and he cursed himself and cursed hisfate.

  Soon afterwards they emerged from the forest upon a tobacco patch, fromthe midst of which rose a rude cabin, in whose doorway stood a womanserving out bowls of loblolly to half a dozen tow-headed child
ren.

  Half an hour later, Patricia, rested and refreshed, took her seat behindthe oxen, which the owner of the cabin had harnessed up, with muchprotestation of his eagerness to serve the daughter of Colonel Verney,emptied her purse in the midst of the open-mouthed children, and badekindly adieu to the good wife. Darkeih curled herself up in the bottomof the cart, and Landless and Regulus walked beside it.

  In two hours' time they were at Verney Manor, where they found none butwomen to greet them. Rendered uneasy by the storm, Woodson haddespatched a messenger to Rosemead, who had returned with the tidingsthat no boat from Verney Manor had reached that plantation. Theoverseer had ill news with which to greet the Colonel and Sir Charleswhen at midnight they arrived unexpectedly from Green Spring. Sincethen every able-bodied man had deserted the plantation. There were noboats at the wharf, no horses in the stables. The master and SirCharles were gone in the Nancy, the two overseers on horseback. ASabbath stillness brooded over the plantation, until a negro womanrecognized the occupants of the ox-cart lumbering up the road. Thenthere was noise enough of an exclamatory, feminine kind. The shrillsounds penetrated to the great room, where, behind drawn curtains,surrounded by essences, and an odor of burnt feathers, with Chloe to fanher, and Mr. Frederick Jones to murmur consolation, reclined MistressLettice. As Patricia stepped upon the porch, Betty Carrington flew downthe stairs and through the hall, and the two met with a littleinarticulate burst of cries and kisses. Mistress Lettice in the greatroom went into hysterics for the fifth time that morning.