CHAPTER LV. "THE LOVE OF A MAID FOR A MAN"
The next morning, when Dr. Barry had gone, Mrs. Manners propped me up inbed and left me for a little, so she said. Then who should come inwith my breakfast on a tray but my lady herself, looking so fresh andbeautiful that she startled me vastly.
"A penny for your thoughts, Richard," she cried. "Why, you are as graveas a screech-owl this brave morning."
"To speak truth, Dolly," said I, "I was wondering how the commodore isto get away from the Texel, with half the British navy lying in waitoutside."
"Do not worry your head about that," said she, setting down the tray;"it will be mere child's play to him. Oh but I should like to see yourcommodore again, and tell him how much I love him.
"I pray that you may have the chance," I replied.
With a marvellous quickness she had tied the napkin beneath my chin, notso much as looking at the knot. Then she stepped to the mantel and tookdown one of Mr. Wedgwood's cups and dishes, and wiping them with herapron, filled the cup with fragrant tea, which she tendered me with hereyes sparkling.
"Your Excellency is the first to be honoured with this service," saysshe, with a curtsey.
I was as a man without a tongue, my hunger gone from sheerhappiness--and fright. And yet eating the breakfast with a relishbecause she had made it. She busied herself about the room, dusting hereand tidying there, and anon throwing a glance at me to see if I neededanything. My eyes followed her hither and thither. When I had finished,she undid the napkin, and brushed the crumbs from the coverlet.
"You are not going?" I said, with dismay.
"Did you wish anything more, sir?" she asked.
"Oh, Dorothy," I cried, "it is you I want, and you will not come nearme."
For an instant she stood irresolute. Then she put down the tray and cameover beside me.
"Do you really want me, sir?"
"Dorothy," I began, "I must first tell you that I have some guess atthe sacrifice you are making for my sake, and of the trouble and dangerwhich I bring you."
Without more ado she put her hand over my mouth.
"No," she said, reddening, "you shall tell me nothing of the sort."
I seized her hand, however it struggled, and holding it fast, continued:
"And I have learned that you have been watching with me by night, andworking by day, when you never should have worked at all. To think thatyou should be reduced to that, and I not know it!"
Her eyes sought mine for a fleeting second.
"Why, you silly boy, I have made a fortune out of my cookery. And fame,too, for now am I known from Mary-le-bone to Chelsea, while before myname was unheard of out of little Mayfair. Indeed, I would not havemissed the experience for a lady-in-waiting-ship. I have learned a dealsince I saw you last, sir. I know that the world, like our Continentalmoney, must not be taken for the price that is stamped upon it. And asfor the watching with you," said my lady, "that had to be borne withas cheerfully as might be. Since I had sent off for you, I was in dutybound to do my share toward your recovery. I was even going to addthat this watching was a pleasure,--our curate says the sense of dutyperformed is sure to be. But you used to cry out the most terrifyingthings to frighten me: the pattering of blood and the bumping of bodieson the decks, and the black rivulets that ran and ran and ran and neverstopped; and strange, rough commands I could not understand; and thename of your commodore whom you love so much. And often you would repeatover and over: 'I have not yet begun, to fight, I have not yet begun tofight!'"
"Yes, 'twas that he answered when they asked him if he had struck," Iexclaimed.
"It must have been an awful scene," she said, and her shouldersquivered. "When you were at your worst you would talk of it, andsometimes of what happened to you in London, of that ride in Hyde Park,or--or of Vauxhall," she continued hurriedly. "And when I could bear itno longer, I would take your hand and call you by name, and often quietyou thus."
"And did I speak of aught else?" I asked eagerly.
"Oh, yes. When you were caliper, it would be of your childhood, of yourgrandfather and your birthdays, of Captain Clapsaddle, and of Patty andher father."
"And never of Dolly, I suppose."
She turned away her head.
"And never of Dolly?"
"I will tell you what you said once, Richard," she answered, her voicedropping very low. "I was sitting by the window there, and the dawn wascoming. And suddenly I heard you cry: 'Patty, when I return will you bemy wife?' I got up and came to your side, and you said it again, twice."
The room was very still. And the vision of Patty in the parlour ofGordon's Pride, knitting my woollen stocking, rose before me.
"Yes," I said at length, "I asked her that the day before I left for thewar. God bless her! She has the warmest heart in the world, and the mostgenerous nature. Do you know what her answer was, Dorothy?"
"No." 'Twas only her lips moving that formed the word. She was twistingabsently the tassel of the bed curtain.
"She asked me if I loved her."
My lady glanced up with a start, then looked me searchingly through andthrough.
"And you?" she said, in the same inaudible way.
"I could answer nothing. 'Twas because of her father's dying wish Iasked her, and she guessed that same. I would not tell her a lie, foronly the one woman lives whom I love, and whom I have loved ever sincewe were children together among the strawberries. Need I say that thatwoman is you, Dorothy? I loved you before we sailed to Carvel Hallbetween my grandfather's knees, and I will love you till death claimsme."
Then it seemed as if my heart had stopped beating. But the snowy apronupon her breast fluttered like a sail stirring in the wind, her head washigh, and her eyes were far away. Even my voice sounded in the distanceas I continued:
"Will you be the mistress of Carvel Hall, Dorothy? Hallowed is the daythat I can ask it."
What of this earth may excel in sweetness the surrender of that proudand noble nature! And her words, my dears, shall be sacred to you, too,who are descended from her. She bent forward a little, those deep blueeyes gazing full into my own with a fondness to make me tremble.
"Dear Richard," she said, "I believe I have loved you always. If I havebeen wilful and wicked, I have suffered more than you know--even as Ihave made you suffer."
"And now our suffering is over, Dorothy."
"Oh, don't say that, my dear!" she cried, "but let us rather make aprayer to God."
Down she got on her knees close beside me, and I took both of her handsbetween my own. But presently I sought for a riband that was around myneck, and drew out a locket. Within it were pressed those lilies of thevalley I had picked for her long years gone by on my birthday. And shesmiled, though the tears shone like dewdrops on her lashes.
"When Jack brought you to us for dead, we did not take it off, dear,"she said gently. "I wept with sorrow and joy at sight of it, for Iremembered you as you were when you picked those flowers, and howlightly I had thought of leaving you as I wound them into my hair. Andthen, when I had gone aboard the 'Annapolis', I knew all at once thatI would have given anything to stay, and I thought my heart would breakwhen we left the Severn cliffs behind. But that, sir, has been a secretuntil this day," she added, smiling archly through her tears.
She took out one of the withered flowers, and then as caressingly put itback beside the others, and closed the locket.
"I forbade Dr. Barry to take it off, Richard, when you lay so whiteand still. I knew then that you had been true to me, despite what I hadheard. And if you were to die--" her voice broke a little as she passedher hand over my brow, "if you were to die, my single comfort would havebeen that you wore it then."
"And you heard rumours of me, Dorothy?"
"George Worthington and others told me how ably you managed Mr. Swain'saffairs, and that you had become of some weight with the thinking men ofthe province. Richard, I was proud to think that you had the courage tolaugh at disaster and to become a factor. I believe," she
said shyly,"twas that put the cooking into my head, and gave me courage. And when Iheard that Patty was to marry you, Heaven is my witness that I tried tobe reconciled and think it for the best. Through my own fault I had lostyou, and I knew well she would make you a better wife than I."
"And you would not even let Jack speak for me!"
"Dear Jack!" she cried; "were it not for Jack we should not be here,Richard."
"Indeed, Dolly, two people could scarce fall deeper in debt to anotherthan are you and I to my Lord Viscount," I answered, with feeling. "Hishonesty and loyalty to us both saved you for me at the very outset."
"Yes," she replied thoughtfully, "I believed you dead. And I should havemarried him, I think. For Dr. Courtenay had sent me that piece from theGazette telling of the duel between you over Patty Swain--"
"Dr. Courtenay sent you that!" I interrupted.
"I was a wild young creature then, my dear, with little beside vanityunder my cap. And the notion that you could admire and love any girl butme was beyond endurance. Then his Lordship arrived in England, brimmingwith praise of you, to assure me that the affair was not about Pattyat all. This was far from making me satisfied that you were not inlove with her, and I may say now that I was miserable. Then, as we weresetting out for Castle Howard, came the news of your death on the roadto Upper Marlboro. I could not go a step. Poor Jack, he was very honestwhen he proposed," she added, with a sigh.
"He loved you, Dorothy."
She did not hear me, so deep was she in thought.
"'Twas he who gave me news of you, when I was starving at Gordon's."
"And I--I starved, too, Richard," she answered softly. "Dearest, I slidvery wrong. There are some matters that must be spoken of between us,whatever the pain they give. And my heart aches now when I think of thatdark day in Arlington Street when I gave you the locket, and you wentout of my life. I knew that I had done wrong then, Richard, as soon asever the door closed behind you. I should have gone with you, for betterfor worse, for richer for poorer. I should have run after you in therain and thrown myself at your feet. And that would have been best formy father and for me."
She covered her face with her hands, and her words were stifled by asob.
"Dorothy, Dorothy!" I cried, drawing her to me. "Another time. Not now,when we are so happy."
"Now, and never again, dear," she said. "Yes, I saw and heard all thatpassed in the drawing-room. And I did not blame, but praised you forit. I have never spoken a word beyond necessity to my father since. Godforgive me!" she cried, "but I have despised him from that hour. WhenI knew that he had plotted to sell me to that detestable brute, workingupon me to save his honour, of which he has not the smallest spark; thathe had recognized and denied you, friendless before our house, and sentyou into the darkness at Vauxhall to be murdered, then he was no fatherof mine. I would that you might know what my mother has suffered fromsuch a man, Richard."
"My dear, I have often pitied her from my soul," I said.
"And now I shall tell you something of the story of the Duke ofChartersea," she went on, and I felt her tremble as she spoke that name."I think of all we have Lord Comyn to thank for, next to saving yourlife twice, was his telling you of the danger I ran. And, Richard, afterrefusing you that day on the balcony over the Park, I had no hope left.You may thank your own nobility and courage that you remained in Londonafter that. Richard," she said, "do you recall my asking you in thecoach, on the way from Castle Yard, for the exact day you met my fatherin Arlington Street?"
"Yes," I replied, in some excitement, "yes." For I was at last to comeat the bottom of this affair.
"The duke had made a formal offer for me when first we came to London.I think my father wrote of that to Dr. Courtenay." (I smiled atthe recollection, now.) "Then his Grace persisted in following meeverywhere, and vowed publicly that he would marry me. I ordered himfrom our house, since my father would not. At last one afternoon he cameback to dine with us, insolent to excess. I left the table. He sat withmy father two hours or more, drinking and singing, and giving orders tothe servants. I shut my door, that I might not hear. After a while mymother came up to me, crying, saying that Mr. Manners would be brandedwith dishonour and I did not consent to marry his Grace,--a mostterrible dishonour, of which she could not speak. That the duke hadgiven my father a month to win my consent. And that month was up,Richard, the very afternoon you appeared with Mr. Dix in ArlingtonStreet."
"And you agreed to marry him, Dolly?" I asked breathlessly.
"By the grace of Heaven, I did not," she answered quickly. "The utmostthat I would consent to was a two months' respite, promising to givemy hand to no one in that interval. And so I was forced to refuse you,Richard. You must have seen even then that I loved you, dear, thoughI was so cruel when you spoke of saving me from his Grace. I could notbear to think that you knew of any stain upon our family. I think--Ithink I would rather have died, or have married him. That day I threwChartersea's presents out of the window, but my father made theservants gather them all which escaped breaking, and put them in thedrawing-room. Then I fell ill."
She was silent, I clinging to her, and shuddering to think how near Ihad been to losing her.
"It was Jack who came to cheer me," I said presently.
"His faith in you was never shaken, sweetheart. But I went to Newmarketand Ampthill, and behaved like the ingrate I was. I richly deserved thescolding he had for me when I got back to town, which sent me runningto Arlington Street. There I met Dr. James coming out, who asked me if Iwas Mr. Carvel, and told me that you had called my name."
"And, you goose, you never suspected," says she, smiling.
"How was I to suspect that you loved a provincial booby like me, whenyou had the choice of so many accomplished gentlemen with titles andestates?"
"How were you to perceive, indeed, that you had qualities which theylacked?"
"And you were forever vowing that you would marry a nobleman, my lady.For you said to me once that I should call you so, and ride in the coachwith the coroneted panels when I came home on a visit."
"And I said, too," retorted Dolly, with mischief in her eyes, "do youremember what I told you the New Year's eve when we sat out by thesundial at Carvel Hall, when I was so proud of having fixed Dr.Courtenay's attentions? I said that I should never marry you, sir, whowas so rough and masterful, and thrashed every lad that did not agreewith you."
"Alas, so you did, and a deal more!" I exclaimed.
With that she broke away from me and, getting to her feet, made me a lowcurtsey with the grace that was hers alone.
"You are my Lord and my King, sir," she said, "and my rough Patriotsquire, all in one."
"Are you happy, Dolly?" I asked, tremulous from my own joy.
"I have never been happy in all my life before, Richard dear," she said.
In truth, she was a being transformed, and more wondrous fair than ever.And even then I pictured her in the brave gowns and jewels I would buyher when times were mended, when our dear country would be free. All atonce, ere I could draw a breath, she had stooped and kissed me ever solightly on the forehead.
The door opened upon Aunt Lucy. She had but to look at us, and her blackface beamed at our blushes. My lady threw her arms about her neck, andhid her face in the ample bosom.
"Now praise de good Lawd!" cried Mammy; "I knowed it dis longest time.What's I done tole you, Miss Dolly? What's I done tole you, honey?"
But my lady flew from the room. Presently I heard the spinet playingsoftly, and the words of that air came out of my heart from long ago.
"Love me little, love me long, Is the burthen of my song. Love that is too hot and strong Burneth soon to waste. Still, I would not have thee cold, Nor too backward, nor too bold. Love that lasteth till 'tis old Fadeth not in haste."
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