CHAPTER IV.
A SONG OF A SINGLE NOTE.
The next morning, very soon after breakfast, Maria came down stairsready to visit her friend. She was dressed like a schoolgirl in a littlefrock of India chintz, her black hair combed backward and plaited in twolong, loose braids. One morning she had tied these braids with redribbon, and been scornfully criticised by her grandmother for "makin' ashow of herself." The next morning she had tied them with blue, and beenheart-pained by her grandfather's sigh and look of reproach; so thismorning they were tied with ribbons as black as her hair, and as sheturned herself before the long mirror she was pleased with the change.
"They make my braids look ever so much longer," she said with a prettytoss of her head; "and grandmother can not say I am making a show ofmyself. One must have ribbons of some color, and black is reallydistinguished. I suppose that is the reason Uncle Neil wears so muchblack cloth and velvet."
To these thoughts she ran gaily down stairs. The Elder was readingRivington's _Royal Gazette_; Madame had a hank of wool over two chairs,and was slowly winding it. She looked at Maria with a littledisappointment. Her hat was on her head, her books in her hand, and sheunderstood where the girl was going; yet she asked: "Is it Agnes Bradleyagain, Maria?"
"Yes, grandmother. I said no lessons yesterday. We were watching thesoldiers pass, and the people, and I was expecting Neil, and thereseemed no use in beginning then. I told Agnes I would say extra lessonsto-day."
"And I'm doubting, even with the 'extra,' if the lessons amount tomuch."
"Oh grandmother! I have learned a page of 'Magnall's Questions,' andstudied a whole chapter in 'Goldsmith's History' about King John."
"King _who?"_ asked Madame, suspiciously. "I never heard tell o' a KingJohn. David, and Robert, and James I ken; but John! No, no, lassie!There's nae King John."
"Maria means John of England," explained the Elder. "He was a vera badking."
"John of England, or George of England!" answered Madame disdainfully,"kings are much of a muchness. And if he was a bad king, he was a badman, and ye ought to put your commandments on your granddaughter, Elder,to learn naething about such wicked men. Ye ken as well as I do, thatthe Almighty forbid the children o' Israel even to _inquire_ anent thedoings of thae sinners, the Canaanites. And it is bad enough to hae tothole the evil doings o' a living king, without inquiring after thecrimes o' a dead one."
"I will give up my history if you wish it, grandmother. I care nothingabout King John."
"Maria must learn what other people learn," said the Elder. "She has tolive in the world, and she has sense enough to make her own reflections.Give me a kiss, dearie, and study King John if you like to, he was a badman, and a bad king, but----"
"Others worse than him!" ejaculated Madame.
"Give me a kiss, darling grandmother, one for myself, and one for Agnes;she always asks for it."
"Oh, you flattering lassie!" But the old lady gave the two kisses, andwith a sweeping courtesy, Maria closed the door and went humming downthe garden walk: _"Who Saw Fair Pamela?"_
She had not gone far before she met Moselle, the only slave Bradleypossessed. She was in her Sunday clothing, and she said Missee had givenher a whole day's holiday. In that case Agnes would be alone, and Mariahastened her steps onward. The little house was as calm and peacefullooking as usual, the windows all open, the mignonette boxes on theirsills in full bloom; the white shades gently stirring in the wind. Thedoor was closed, but on the latch, and Maria turned the handle and wentinto the parlor. It was empty, but the ruffle Agnes was gathering was onthe table, and Maria took off her bonnet and laid it and her books downon the cushioned seat within the window recess. As she lifted her headan astonishing sight met her eyes. In the middle of the yard there was avery handsome young man. He was bareheaded, tall, and straight as aramrod, and stood with one hand on his hip and his face lifted to thesunshine. Maria's heart beat quick, she lifted her bonnet and books,retreated to the front door, and called "Agnes" in a clear, eagervoice.
In a moment or two, Agnes came in at the opposite door. "Maria!" shecried, "I am glad to see you. Is your uncle with you? No? That is well.Come with me to the kitchen. I have given Moselle a holiday. Maria, Ihave a friend--a very dear friend. I am cooking him some breakfast. Comeand help me."
Agnes spoke in a hurried, excited manner very unusual to her, and as shedid so, the two girls went into the little outside kitchen. The coffeewas ready, the steak broiled, and as Agnes lifted the food shecontinued, "yes, I have a friend this morning. He is going to eat in thesummer-house, and you will help me to wait upon him. Will you not,Maria? Oh, my dear, I am so happy!" And Maria, who remembered only toovividly the bare-headed youth she had seen for a moment, gladly acceptedthe office. A spirit of keen pleasure was in the dingy little kitchen,and the girls moved gaily to it. "You shall carry the coffee, and I willcarry the steak," said Agnes; "the bread and the china are alreadyplaced." So laughing and chatting, and delighted with their service thetwo girls entered the summer-house.
"Harry," said Agnes, "this is my friend, Maria Semple; and Maria, thisis Harry Deane." And Harry looked with frank eyes into Maria's eyes, andin a moment they knew each other. What was this strange impression madeby a look? Not a word was spoken, but the soul salutation throughmeeting eyes was a far more overwhelming influence than any spoken wordcould have evoked. Then came the current forms of courtesy, and thehappy tones of low laughter slipping in between the mingling of voices,or the soft tinkling of glass and china, and everyone knows that as soonas talking begins the divine gates close. It mattered not, Maria knewthat something wonderful had happened to her; and never in all hersubsequent life could she forget that breakfast under the clematisvines.
Swiftly the hot, still hours of the mid-day passed. The city was torpidin the quivering heat. There was no stir of traffic--no lumbering soundof loaded wagons--no noise of shouting drivers--no footsteps of hurryingmen. The streets were almost empty; the very houses seemed asleep. Onlythe cicadas ran from hedge to hedge calling shrilly; or now and then asolitary trumpet stirred the drowsy air, or, in the vicinity of theprisons, the moaning of the dying men, made the silence terribly vocal.
"Let us go into the house," said Agnes, "it will be cooler there." Andthey took Maria's hands and went to the shaded parlor. Then Harry drewsome cool water from the well, and as they drank it they remembered themen in the various prisons and their pitiful need of water at all times.
"They are the true heroes," said Agnes; "tortured by heat and by cold,by cruel hunger and more cruel thirst, in all extremities of pain andsorrow, they are paying their life blood, drop by drop, like coin, forour freedom."
"And when our freedom is won," answered Harry, "we will give to the deadtheir due. They, too, have saved us."
"Do you think, Harry, this French alliance is going to end the war?"
"Those who know best say it will. But these Frenchmen are givingWashington no end of trouble. They are mostly military adventurers. Theyworry Washington for promotion and for increase of pay; they have onlytheir own interest in view. They scorn our privations and simplicity,and their demands can only be gratified at the expense of nativeofficers whose rights they unjustly wish to invade. Yet I am told thatwithout French money and French help we should have to give up thestruggle. I don't believe it. Starving and demoralized as our army is,there are many who will never give up while Washington is alive to leadthem."
"If I was a rebel," said Maria, "I should want our freedom won by ourown hands only. The French are coming here at the last hour, and theywill get all the credit. Do you think it is for love of freedom theyhelp the Americans? If so, why do they not give freedom to France? Shehas the most tyrannical and despotic of governments; Uncle Neil says so;and yet she pretends to thrill with indignation because England violatesthe liberties of her colonies. France had better mind her own affairs,or, as grandmother says, she will scald herself with other people'sbroth."
"God made the French, and He may understand them,
I do not," answeredHarry. "Fancy the French government allowing our Declaration ofIndependence to be translated and scattered broadcast all over thecountry! No wonder that Lafayette smiled grimly when he heard of it; nowonder he said that 'the principles of government we had announcedwould soon be heard from in France.' He can see the results, but theking and queen--who catch up every fashion and every enthusiasm withchildish levity--do not imagine any one will have the audacity to applyAmerican principles of government to the French monarchy. 'Give me goodnews from our dear American republicans,' is always Marie Antoinette'sgreeting to Franklin, and he himself is one of her prime favorites."
"Oh, he is a cunning old man," said Maria. "I have heard grandfathertalk about him. I am sure he is disagreeable; yet the French have hispicture on their snuff-boxes and rings and brooches. It is suchfoolishness. And Uncle Neil--who is a very clever lawyer--says some verydisparaging things about this famous Declaration. It is at least mostinconsistent."
Harry looked his dissent, and Agnes said: "Perhaps you did notunderstand your uncle, Maria."
"I am not quite a fool, Agnes. In one respect I am cleverer than Mr.Jefferson. Imagine an assembly composed largely, like himself, ofslave-owners, saying 'that all men were created equal, and were given byGod an unalienable right to liberty.' And do you think if I were king orqueen of France I would scatter a paper in every house telling mymiserable, starving subjects, that 'whenever a government did not dowhat it ought to do, it was the right of the people to alter or abolishit.' Indeed, I think King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette will be sorrysome day for teaching their people American ideas of government."
"What do they say in England about the French alliance?" asked Agnes.
"The Parliament declares we have not only rebelled against themother-country, but also mortgaged ourselves to her enemy; and that ifwe are to become an accession to France, self-preservation requiresEngland to make that accession of as little value as possible. That doesnot sound very bad, Agnes, but it means killing men, women and children,burning houses, ravaging land, and making life so wretched that deathwill be preferable. Now you understand such expeditions as Matthew's andTryon's. So I say with Miss Semple, it is a pity for many reasons we hadto beg foreign help; especially from the three nations who arehereditary foes of England."
"The French did not help you much at Newport," said Maria scornfully.
"They left us in the very oncoming of the battle; as soon as Lord Howecame in sight--sailed away to the West Indies, where they had plans oftheir own to carry out. The indignation of our army was beyonddescription; no one but Washington could at this time have kept peacebetween the French and American soldiers. Their jealousy was flaming,and Washington could not help saying he wished there was not a foreignerin the army but Lafayette. But when Necessity compels, it becomesDestiny, eh, Agnes?"
"Yes. I think England must now be in a very dangerous predicament,Harry."
"She has thirteen colonies in revolt; France, Spain, Holland, unitingagainst her, and a large majority of her own people conspicuously in ourfavor. Our old mother-country! I am sorry for her, for she _is ours_,and we are her sons, even though we have been compelled to rebel againsther."
"I think it is England that has rebelled against us," said Agnes. "Shehas repudiated our chartered rights, and made us aliens to the laws andprivileges which are our natural heritage. England is traitor toAmerica, and I don't see why you should be sorry for her."
"Can you take the English blood out of my heart? No. I want ourIndependence, that we must have, nothing less will now satisfy us; but Idon't want to see three other nations, who have no business in ourfamily quarrel, badgering the old mother. If you had a liking for somenoble old mastiff, and saw him attacked by three strange dogs, how wouldyou feel?"
"Well, Harry, if the mastiff was hurting me, I might feel obliged to thestrange dogs. I do not wonder that France, Spain, and Holland shouldtake this opportunity to fight England; but I do wonder that Englishmen,living in England, should be on our side."
"They have been so from the very first. The King has found it impossibleto get soldiers to fight us. They regard us as their countrymen. Theyrefuse to acknowledge the war as an 'English' war; they call it 'TheKing's War'; and they look upon our victories as triumphs forrepresentative government. I saw a letter from Judge Curwen of Boston,in which he says he visited a large factory in Birmingham where theywere making rifles to be used by the English troops in America; and hefound that the proprietor, as well as every man thus employed, wasenthusiastically on our side. Fox spoke of an English success on LongIsland as 'the terrible news from America'; and many say that the Whigparty, of which he is the leader, adopted blue and buff for theircolors, because Washington had chosen them for his troop. In both housesof Parliament we have many powerful friends, and the American cause isspoken of throughout England as the cause of Liberty."
"Oh, you must be mistaken!" cried Maria. "Grandfather says things verydifferent; and if England is for us, why does the war go on? Whose faultis that."
"It is the fault of King George; the most stupid of men, but with a willas indomitable as the beasts of the desert. Not even King Charles was sodetermined to ruin himself and the nation. He is cruel as he isimmovable. It is _The King's War_, my mistresses, and only the King'sfriends and sycophants and the clergy defend it."
"And what will those Englishmen who would not lift a finger against usdo against our allies?"
"Do? They are preparing with joyful enthusiasm to fight their oldenemies. It made my heart throb to hear how they were jumping to arms,at the mere idea of a French and Spanish fleet in the English Channel."
"You are half an Englishman, Mr. Deane," said Maria.
"No," he answered warmly; "I am out and out, from head to foot, anAmerican! I was born here, bred here, and I shall live and die here; nordo I wish to live in any other country. But brave men and free men feelwith a gigantic throb each other's rights and wrongs, even acrossoceans--thus we are brothers. And the roots of my being are somewhere inEngland; I can not cut myself loose from them; I do not wish to. Thefeeling belongs to the unknown side of human reasons--but it governsme."
"I thought," said Maria, "you would talk about nothing but Washington,and you have hardly named him. Is he as great a man as we are told heis? Or does he have faults like the rest of poor mortals?"
"Indeed, Miss Semple, he is so great a man I have forgotten whether hehas a fault. He is such a man as men build their love round while heleads them on the way to immortality. Often I have seen the whole armyshaken, confused, hopeless; but Washington never shrank, or slipped, orcompromised; he looked unswervingly to the end. He is the Moses ofAmerica; our people's hope, our young men's idol, our old men's staffand sword. And even physically, who would compare our god-likeWashington with this?" and he took from his pocket-case a pen-and-inksketch of King George, taken at the beginning of the war and showed itto the girls.
They looked at it curiously, and Maria said: "Surely, Mr. Deane, that isnot a true likeness; it is what you call a pasquil--a lampoon--to makeridiculous his Majesty."
"It is not intended as a lampoon. But I never see it without thinking ofthe mighty ghosts of the great Henrys, and the armed Edwards, and then Iwonder if they are not watching, with anger and amazement, the idioticfolly of this German."
"I must really go home now," said Maria. She spoke as if she had all atonce become aware of the gravity of the words she was listening to. "Ishould not have stopped so long. Grandmother is not well."
And she thought Agnes was not sorry to bid her good-bye; "but that isnatural," she reflected, "I suppose I should feel the same. She musthave a great many things to tell such a lover. I dare be bound I havebeen much in the way."
Her feelings were captious and impetuous, and she walked rapidly tothem, in spite of the heat. Somehow she was not pleased with Agnes, andHarry Deane also had bid her but a formal farewell. And yet not formal,for when he held her hand a moment, he laid it open within his own, andsaid with a
look she could not forget, "my life lies there. I have putit in your hand myself, knowingly, willingly." And she had clasped hishand and answered gravely:
"It is as safe there as it would be in the hand of your mother--or ofAgnes."
It was not Harry that she was fretted at, it was Agnes. She felt that insome way Agnes had deceived her. She had not said secrecy would includehours of rebel conversation--"and I wonder at myself for listening toit," said the little woman angrily. "I suppose it was Mr Deane--men talkwomen down. I know I should not have let Agnes talk in that way tome--just as if I believed all he said! If Uncle Neil had been there, hewould have scattered every word to the four winds with little trouble.And," she continued, with rising temper, "I don't think Agnes actsfairly to Uncle Neil. He is her devoted lover, and she knows it, shemust know it. People don't walk slowly up and down in the moonlight andnot know such things. I am, they say, only a child, but I have walkedwith Captain Macpherson in the moonlight, and I know how amiable itmakes me feel. I am disappointed in Agnes!" and she really felt at thatmoment as if her friend had done her some great wrong. So much easier isit to blame others than to look deep down into our own hearts for thereason of dissatisfaction. For whenever we are disappointed, we aredisappointed with ourselves, though we may not admit it.
When she entered the Semple garden she was encompassed with thedelicious perfume of carnations. Then she remembered that they were hergrandfather's favorite flower, and that before the war his garden hadbeen a wonder and delight with their beauty and fragrance. And in somesubtle way, the flowers made an avenue for a spiritual influence, morein accord with the natural uprightness of the girl's nature. She sighedand sauntered through the scented space, and as she did so, began tomake her confession. "Perhaps it was my fault--perhaps I was just alittle jealous--it is not pleasant to be the outside one; if CaptainMacpherson, or even that stupid Lord Medway had been my servantI should not have felt so small; but that was not the fault ofAgnes--nevertheless, Agnes ought not to treat Uncle Neil badly."
It was a kind of inconsequent reasoning, but it restored her toherself, and she entered the house very cheerfully, looking into theparlor first of all, to see whom she could find to talk to. All therooms down stairs were sweet with the same enthralling odor ofcarnations; but they were dusky, silent and empty; and she went to hergrandmother's room on the second floor. "Are you awake, deargrandmother?" she asked, as she tapped gently on the door.
"Come in, dearie," was the answer, and Madame raised herself from thebed as Maria entered and went to a large chair by the open window. "Itis hotter than needs be," she said, "and I have had company."
"Who has been here, grandmother?"
"Mrs. Jermyn brought us an invitation to the Bayards. It is for a threedays' visit."
"I am so happy. I have heard about Colonel Bayard's fine house on theHeights; you will surely go, grandmother?"
"I can not go, Maria; but Mrs. Jermyn offered to take you in her party;and to that I am agreeable. Madame Jacobus will go with you, and I amvera fond o' Madame Jacobus. She is not an ordinary woman; she has hadromantics in her life, and the vera look o' her sets you thinking o' allsorts o' impossibilities. Tell her Madame Semple keeps good mind o' her,and would be glad to see her again;" then she added sharply, "Mrs.Gordon was with her. I was quite taken aback. I was all in a tremble atfirst."
"She is so anxious to be friends with you; can't you forgive her,grandmother? It is a long time since."
"Maria Semple, no one is mair willing than I am, to let byganes bebyganes. But mind this, there are folks simply unlucky to you, and notintending it; and Adelaide Gordon and Janet Semple are best apart. Sheis one o' them women who bring happenings and events, and I notice theyare not pleasant or favorable. You will hae heard say, Maria, _wha_ itis, that sends a woman, where he canna go himsel'. Cousin Gordon meansno harm--but."
"Indeed, she really likes you. She talks to me of the days she livedwith you, and of all your kindness to her. It was Katherine VanHeemskirk that behaved badly. I don't think I like that person--and Iwant you to forgive Mrs. Gordon."
"I have forgiven Mrs. Gordon, Maria. Do you think I would put the Lord'sprayer behind my back for Adelaide Gordon? And I couldna dare to say itand not forgive her; but to love your friend, and look to yoursel' isnaout o' the way o' wisdom."
"When am I to go, grandmother?"
"Mrs. Jermyn will call for you at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Howabout thae lessons, and the 'extras' you were speaking o'?"
"It is such warm weather. I think I ought to have my holiday now; andwhat about my frocks, grandmother? Shall I not have to pack my smalltrunk?"
This subject was, of course, paramount, and Madame went to Maria's roomwith her, and the proper garments were selected and packed. Very soonthe whole house was infected with the hurry and excitement of the littlelady, and the Elder tried to join in the discussion and employment; itbeing one of his pet ideas that he had a pretty taste about women'sclothing. But his first suggestion that the simple frock of India chintzMaria was wearing was a most becoming morning gown, met with such adecided rebuff he had no courage left for further advice. For Marialooking scornfully down at its short simplicity asked, "Why do you notadvise a white ruffled pinafore also, grandfather? Then I would be fitfor an infant school. I am a young lady now," she continued, as shespread out its three breadths to their utmost capacity, showing in theact the prettiest little feet, shod in bronze leather with red rosetteson the instep. And when a man finds his opinions out of date, what canhe do but retire with them into silence?
The quiet that fell upon the house after Maria's departure was agrateful respite. The old people sat down with a sigh of relief, andwhile they praised their granddaughter's sweet nature, and talkedproudly of all her excellences, they were not sorry to be at rest for aday or two. Neither was the Elder sorry to casually notice the absenceof Maria to certain royalist upstarts who had won wealth through theirchicaneries, but who had not been able to win the social notice theycraved.
"Elder Semple may be pinched, now and then, for a few sovereigns," hethought, "but he and his can sit down with the highest of the King'sservants and be counted one o' them. And it will be lang ere the Paynesand the Bradleys and many others I could name, will get that far!"
Such reflections gave to the old gentleman's steps something of thecarriage of his more prosperous days; he looked outward and upward inhis old manner, and thus saw Mr. Cohen, the Jewish trader, standing inhis shop door. He asked pleasantly after his health, and by so doingbrought a few good words on himself, which somehow went warmly to hisheart. In this amiable temper he passed the famous saddlery shop. JohnBradley was just dismissing a customer. He was wearing his apron of blueand white ticking, and had a paper cap upon his head, and he lookedprecisely what he was--a capable, self-respecting workman. Semple hadalways permitted a polite salutation to cover all claims on his courtesythat Bradley might have; but this morning he said with a friendly air,"How's all with you, Mr. Bradley? Will you tell your charming daughterthat her friend, Miss Semple, has gone wi' a party o' our militaryfriends to the Bayards' for a three days' visit?"
"Agnes will miss her friend, Elder."
"Yes, yes! They went off this morning early, up the river wi' music andsinging. Young things, most o' them, Mr. Bradley, and we must makeallowances."
"If we must, we must, Elder. And God knows, if it isn't the lute and theviol, and the tinkling feet of the foolish maidens, it is the trumpet,and the sword, and the hell of the battlefield. Evil times we are fallenon, sir."
"But they are to bring us good times. We must not doubt that. Myrespects, sir, to Miss Bradley, who has a voice to lift a soul on thewings of melody, heavenward. Good day, sir."
Semple went forward a little dashed, he hardly knew why; and Bradleywas chagrined. He had tried to say something that should not onlyrepresent himself, but also acknowledge the kindness he was sensible of;but he had only blundered into commonplaces, and quite against his will,shown much of his roughest side. Wh
y did he include the Elder'sgranddaughter among the tinkling feet of foolish maidens? She was thefriend of his own child also. He felt that he had had an opportunity andmismanaged it, and a sense of his inabilities in all social mattersmortified and fretted him all the day afterward.
Maria was expected home in three days, but she did not come. Her partywent directly from the Bayard house to Hempstead, where Colonel Birchwas entertaining a large company from the city; so it was fully a weekbefore the young lady returned to New York. In the meantime Destiny wasnot asleep, and affairs in which Maria was interested did not lie stillwaiting for her reappearance.
Maria had left a message for Agnes with her uncle, and he resolved totake it personally that evening. But as he was drinking his tea theElder said, "I saw Mr. Bradley this morning, and I sent word by him tohis daughter anent Maria's absence." Neil did not make any answer, buthis mother noticed the sweep of color up and down his dark face, and shewas on the point of saying, "you hae taken the job out o' hands thatwould hae done it better, gudeman." But the wisdom and kindness ofsilence was granted her; yet the Elder felt his remark to beunpropitious, and sighed. There were so many subjects these days that hemade mistakes about; and he had a moment's recollection of his oldauthoritative speech, and a wonder as to what had happened him. Was itthat he had fallen out of the ranks of the workers of the world? Or, wasit because he was growing old? He was silent, and so pathetic in hissilence, that Neil observed it and blamed himself.
"Father," he said, "pardon me! I was thinking. I have been with MajorCrosby all day about the Barrack Department finances, and that is notwork to be talked about. It is well you told Mr. Bradley of Maria'sabsence."
"I wonder you did not go with Maria; you had an invitation."
"Yes, I had an invitation, but I had engagements of more importance withBrigadier Skinner and Treasurer McEvers. McEvers is to pay me with woodfrom a rebel tract granted him. So when the cold weather comes we shallnot require to count the sticks; we can at least keep warm."
He rose with these words and went to his room. He told himself that hewould there consider a visit to Miss Bradley, and yet he knew that heintended to make it no matter what considerations came up for hisdeliberation. Not for a moment did he deceive himself; he was well awarethat for the first time in his life he was really in love. He admittedfrankly that his early passion for the pretty Katherine Van Heemskirkhad been a selfish affair; and that his duel with Captain Hyde wasfought, not so much for love of Katherine, as for hatred and jealousy ofhis rival. He had never loved Katherine as he loved Agnes, for it wasthe soul of Agnes that attracted him and drew him to her by agravitation, like that which one star exerts upon another. His firstlove he had watched grow from childhood to maidenhood; he could count onhis fingers the number of times he had seen Agnes Bradley; and yet fromthis slender experience there had sprung an invincible longing to say toher, "O, Soul of my Soul, I love you! I need you!"
Yet to make Agnes his wife at this time was to make sacrifices that hedurst not contemplate. They included the forfeiture of his socialposition, and this loss was certain to entail the same result on hispolitical standing and emoluments. His father was connected with hisfinancial affairs, and to ruin himself meant also ruin to the parents heloved so truly. Then the sudden fear that assails honest lovers made hisheart tremble; Agnes might have scruples and reluctances; she might notbe able to love him; she might love some other man, Maria had named sucha probability; with a motion of his hand he swept all contingenciesaside; no difficulties should abate his ardor; he loved Agnes Bradleyand he was determined to win her.
With this decision he rose, stood before his mirror, and looked athimself. Too proud a man to be infected with so small a vice as vanity,he regarded his personality without unreasonable favor. "I am stillhandsome," he said. "If I have not youth, I have in its place theperfection of my own being; I am now in the prime of life, and have notbegun to fall away from it. Many young and beautiful women have shown mefavor I never sought. Now, I will seek favor; I will woo it, beg it,pray for it. I will do anything within honor and honesty to win thiswoman of my soul, this adorable Agnes!"
He found her in the garden of her home; that is, she was sitting on thetopmost step of the short flight leading to the door. Her silent,penetrative loveliness encompassed her like an atmosphere in which allthe shafts of the shelterless, worrying day fell harmless. She smiledmore than spoke her welcome, and her eyes unbarred her soul so that theyseemed to understand each other at a glance; for Neil's love was set farabove all passionate tones of welcome or personal adulation. Sittingquiet by her side he noticed a man walking constantly before the house,and he pointed out the circumstance to Agnes.
"He will walk there until my father comes home," she answered. "It isElias Hurd the chapel keeper. Father pays him to come here every day atsunset and watch till he returns."
"Your words take a great fear from me," said Neil; and then, though hisheart was brim full he could say no more. Silence again enfolded them,and the song in each heart remained unsung. Yet the overwhelminginfluence of feelings which had not found words was upon them, and thisspeechless interlude had been to both the clearest of revealers.
After a week's pleasure-seeking Maria returned home. It was in themiddle of a hot afternoon, and life was at its most languid pitch. TheElder was asleep in his chair, Madame asleep on the sofa, and thenegroes dozing in the kitchen. Her entry aroused the house, herpersonality instantly filled it. She was flushed and tired, but alivewith the egotistical spirit of youth. "Were you not expecting me?" sheasked with an air of injury, as she entered the drowsy, tidy house. "AndI do want a cup of tea so much, grandmother."
"You were coming Monday, and then you were coming Wednesday; we did notknow whether you would come to-day or not; but you are very welcome,dear, and you shall have tea in ten minutes."
She went upstairs while it was preparing, took off her bonnet and hersilk coat, dashed cool water over her flushed face and shoulders andarms, wet her hair and brushed it backward, and then put on a loose gownof thin muslin. "Now I can drink my tea in comfort," she said, "and justtalk at my leisure. And dear me! What a week of tumult it has been!"
"Have you enjoyed your visits?" asked the Elder when she reappeared.
"So, so, grandfather," she answered; and as she spoke, she lifted thesmall tea-table close to his side, and whispered on his cheek, "you willhave a cup of tea with me, dear grandfather, I shall not enjoy mineunless you do." He said "pooh! pooh! child," but he was delighted, andwith beaming smiles watched her small hands busy among the china, andthe bread and meat.
"I am downright hungry," she said. "We had breakfast before leaving, butthat seems hours and hours ago, and, O grandmother! there is no tea andbread like yours in all the world."
Then she began her long gossip concerning people and events: the waterparties on the river, the picnics in the woods, the dancing andgambling and games in the house. "And I must tell you," she said, "thatreally and truly, I was the most admired of all the beauties there. Theladies all envied my frocks, and asked where I got them, and begged forthe patterns; and I wished I had taken more with me. It is soexhilarating to have a new one for every evening. Lord Medway said everyfresh one became me better than the last."
"Lord Medway!" said the Elder. "Is he that long, lazy man that trailsafter General Clinton like his shadow?"
"Well, they love each other. It seems funny for men to love one another;but General Clinton and Lord Ernest Medway are like David and Jonathan."
"Maria Semple!" cried Madame, "I think you might even the like o'Clinton and the English Lord, to some one o' less respectability thanBible characters."
"O grandmother! General Clinton is just as blood-thirsty as GeneralDavid ever was. He hates his enemies quite as perfectly, and wishes themall the same sorts and kinds of calamities. I don't know whetherJonathan was good-natured, but Lord Medway is. He danced with me asoften as I would let him, and he danced with nobody else! think of that,grandmother! the women were a
ll madly jealous of me. I did not care forthat much."
"Janet, dear," said the Elder to his wife, "if you had ever seen thisLord Medway trailing up William Street or Maiden Lane, you wouldnabelieve the lassie. He is just the maist inert piece o' humanity youcould imagine. _Dancing! Tuts! Tuts! lassie!"_
"He can dance, grandfather. Mrs. Gordon said the way he led me through aminuet was adorable; and Major Andre told me that in a skirmish or acavalry charge, no one could match him. He was the hardest rider andfiercest fighter in the army."
"Weel, weel!" said Madame, "a man that isna roused by anything short o'a battle or a cavalry charge, might be easy to live with--if you haveany notion for English lords."
"Indeed, I have not any notion for Lord Medway. He is the most provokingof men. He takes no interest in games, he won't stake money on cards, helistened to the music with his eyes shut; and when Miss Robertson andMajor Andre acted a little piece the Major had written, he pretended tobe asleep. He was not asleep, for I caught him awake, and he smiled atme, as much as to say that I knew all about his deception, andsanctioned it. I told him so afterward, and he laughed so heartily thatevery one looked amazed, and what do you think he said? 'It is a fact,ladies; I really laughed, but it is Miss Semple's fault.' I don't think,grandmother, I would have been invited to Hempstead if he had not let itbe known that he was not going unless Miss Semple went."
"Is he in love with you?"
"He thinks he is."
"Are you in love with him?"
Maria smiled, and with her teacup half-way to her mouth hummed a linefrom an old Scotch song:
"I'm glad that my heart's my ain."
Such conversation, touching many people and many topics, was naturallyprolonged, and when Neil came home it was carried on with renewedinterest and vigor. And Maria was not deceived when Neil with sometransparent excuse of 'going to see a friend' went out at twilight.
"He is going to see Agnes," she thought; "my coming home is too good anexcuse to lose, but why did he not tell me? Lovers are so sly, and yetall their cunning is useless. People always see through their littlemoves. In the morning I shall go to Agnes, and I hope she will not betoo advising, because I am old enough to have my own ideas: besides, Ihave some experiences."
All the way to her friend's house in the morning, she was makingresolutions which vanished as soon as they were put to the test. It wasonly too easy to fall into her old confidential way, to tell all she hadseen and heard and felt; to be petted and admired and advised. Also, shecould relate many little episodes to Agnes that she had not feltdisposed to tell her grandparents, or even Neil--compliments andprotestations, and sundry "spats" of envy and jealousy with the ladiesof the party. But the conversation settled mainly, however often itdiverged, upon Lord Medway. Agnes had often heard her father speak ofhim. He knew John Wesley, and had asked him to preach at Market-Medwayto his tenants and servants; and on the anniversary of the Wesley Chapelin John Street he had given Mr. Bradley twenty pounds toward the Chapelfund. "He is a far finer man than he affects to be," she added, "andfather says he wears that drawling, trailing habit like a cloak, tohide his real nature. Do you think he has fallen in love with you,Maria?"
"Would it be a very unlikely thing to happen, Agnes? He danced only withme, and when Major Andre arranged the Musical Masque, he consented tosing only on the condition that I sang with him."
"And what else, Maria?"
"One evening Quentin Macpherson danced the Scotch sword dance--a veryclever barbaric thing--but I did not like it; the man looks better atthe head of his company. However, he sang a little song called 'TheSoldier's Kiss' that was pretty enough. The melody went in thisway"--and Maria hummed a strain that sounded like the gallop of horsesand shaking of bridles--"I only remember the chorus," she said.
"A kiss, Sweet, a kiss, Sweet, For the drums are beat along the street, And we part, and know not when we meet, With another kiss like this, Sweet.
"And Lord Medway whispered to me that Shakespeare had said it all farbetter in one line, _'Touch her soft mouth and march.'_ In Major Andre'smasque we had a charming little verse; I brought you a copy of it, see,here it is. The first two lines have a sweet crescendo melody; at thethird line there was a fanfare of trumpets in the distance and thegentlemen rattled their swords. The fourth line we sang alone, and atthe close Lord Medway bowed to me, and the whole room took up therefrain." Then the girls leaned over the paper, and Agnes read the wordsaloud slowly, evidently committing them to her memory as she read:
"A song of a single note! But it soars and swells above The trumpet's call, and the clash of arms, For the name of the song is Love."
"Now sing me the melody, Maria," said Agnes; and Maria sang, and Agneslistened, and then they sang it together until it was perfect. "Justonce more," said Maria, and as they reached the close of the verse, astrong, musical voice joined in the refrain, and then Harry came intothe room singing it.
"Harry! Harry!" cried Agnes, joyfully.
_"And the name of the song is Love!"_ he answered, taking Agnes in hisarms and kissing the word on her lips. Then he turned with a glowingface to Maria, and she bent her head a little proudly, and remainedsilent. But soon Agnes went away to order coffee for her visitor, andthen Harry sat down by Maria, and asked to see the song, and their handsmet above the passionate words, and the dumb letters became vocal. Theysang them over and over, their clear, fresh voices growing softer andsofter, till, almost in a whisper of delight, they uttered the last word_"Love!"_ Then he looked at her as only a lover can look, and she lookedat him like one who suddenly awakens. Her past was a sleep, a dream;that moment her life began. And she had all the tremors that mark thebeginnings of life; a great quiet fell upon her, and she wanted to gointo solitude and examine this wonderful experience. For Harry hadstirred one of those unknown soul depths that only Love ventures downto.
When Agnes returned she said she must go home, her grandmother was notwell; and then she blundered into such a number of foolish excuses asmade Agnes look curiously, perhaps anxiously, at her. And for severaldays she continued these excuses; she sent Neil with messages andletters, but she did not go to her friend. There was something wrongbetween them, and Maria finally threw the blame upon Agnes.
"Any one may see that she is deceiving either Harry or uncle Neil--and Ihate a deceiver. It is not fair--I am sure if Harry knew about uncle--ifhe was not engaged to Agnes--Oh, no! I must not think of him. Poor uncleNeil! If Agnes treats him badly, I shall never forgive her, never!"Thus, and so on, ran her reflections day after day, and yet she had notthe courage to go and talk the matter out with Agnes. But she noticed anunusual exaltation in her uncle's manner; he dressed with more than hisusual sombre richness; he seemed to tread upon air, and though moresilent than ever, a smile of great sweetness was constantly on his lips.And one afternoon as Maria sat at her tambour frame, Madame entered theparlor hastily, looking almost frightened.
"Do you hear him? Your uncle, I mean. Do you hear him, Maria?" shecried. "He is singing. He must be _fey_. I haven't heard him sing sincehe was a lad going to Paul Gerome's singing class. It's uncanny! Itfrightens me! And what is he singing, Maria?"
And Maria lifting a calm face answered--_"The name of the song isLove."_
A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story Page 4
