From Kingdom to Colony

by Mary Devereux

  CHAPTER XVI

  The men of the house breakfasted at the usual hour next morning, andwith them were only Aunt Lettice and 'Bitha, Mary Broughton and Dorothybeing permitted to sleep until later, when 'Bitha, despatched by hergrandmother, went to arouse them.

  She first awoke Dorothy by kissing her; then she asked with childishsolicitude, "Why do you lie abed so late, Cousin Dot,--are you ill?"

  The big dark eyes gazed at the child in bewilderment, and then came aflash of recollection.

  "Ill--no. Where is Mary, and why are you here, 'Bitha?"

  "Mary is still asleep, and grandame sent me to wake both of you." Thenshe looked curiously at the carelessly heaped up masculine garb on anearby chair, and asked, "Are those Cousin Jack's clothes, Dot, and whydid he leave them here?"

  Dorothy's color deepened. "Never mind, now, 'Bitha," she said hastily,"but go and awaken Mary; then run back to Aunt Lettice, and say we willbe down directly. But stop--where is every one--have you breakfastedyet?"

  The child laughed. "Long ago," she said. "Cousin Jack and HughKnollys have gone off to town on horseback, and Uncle Joseph is away onthe farm somewhere."

  Dorothy's movements were lacking in their usual youthful vitality asshe moved listlessly about the room. She stood in front of hermahogany dressing-case, looking into the tipped-over mirror,--that onlyin this way could reflect the face and head surmounting her in no wiseaverage height--and was brushing out the tangle of curly locks, whenMary Broughton came into the room, her hair hanging about her like aveil of gold, reaching almost to her knees.

  "Good-morning, Dot," she said smilingly. "You were so quiet that Ithought you were yet sleeping." And she turned to go back to her ownapartment.

  But Dorothy called out: "Don't go yet! Oh! Mary, do you know I amdreading so to go downstairs and meet my father. I wonder if he willbe angry at what I did last night? He was never angry with me in allmy life." And she turned her troubled eyes away from the glass, forwhich indeed she seemed to have little use, so slight was the note shewas taking of the reflection it showed.

  "I hope not," Mary replied, but her voice had a touch of doubt, "for hewould surely be angry with me as well, for abetting you in what youdid. But you remember what Jack said last night; would not your fathertake the same view of the matter?"

  The color deepened in her cheeks as she spoke her lover's name; andthis seemed to bring a new recollection to Dorothy.

  "Oh, Mary," she cried, "I'd clean forgot, for the moment, all that hasbefallen." With this she rushed impetuously across the room and caughtMary about the neck. The latter blushed redder than before, while shelaughingly disengaged Dorothy's arms. Then urging her to hurry anddress, she hastened back to her own room.

  The two girls had finished breakfast and were out on the porch in frontof the house, when the hearty tones of Joseph Devereux were heardwithin, asking Tamson, the red-cheeked housemaid, after her youngmistress.

  "Here I am, father," answered a low, agitated voice; and Dorothy stoodbefore him, looking quite pale, and with eyes downcast.

  "Come with me, my daughter," he commanded, and led the way into thelibrary.

  He closed the door after them, and seated himself, while Dorothyremained standing, her hands loosely clasped and her eyes still bent onthe floor, her attitude being much like that of a culprit before ajudge.

  "Come here, child," and his voice was a trifle unsteady. "Why do youstand there and look so strangely?"

  For answer, she sank upon her knees before him and laid her face in hislap; and a grateful thrill went through her as she felt his fingersstroking her curly head in his usual loving fashion.

  "Ye madcap!" he exclaimed after a short silence. "Whatever possessedye?"

  "Oh, father, don't be angry with me!"

  At this, he leaned over, and drawing her into his arms, lifted her tohis knee.

  "Angry with you, my little Dot!" he said. "My precious, brave littlegirl, how could I be that, except it were for your risking socarelessly the life that is so dear to my old heart?"

  All the sternness of his face had given place to an expression ofloving pride.

  "One cannot censure an eagle, my baby," he went on,--"that it be notborn a barnyard fowl or a weak pigeon. It would seem that a higherpower than of poor mortality must have put it into your head and heartto do what you did last night. And I've no word of blame for yourhaving togged yourself out in Jack's clothes. Many a heroine has donea like thing before you. If Joan of Arc had been more like mostwomenfolk, no doubt many would have reckoned her more properly behaved,according to the laws laid down by men for the behavior o' women. Butwho dare question the bravery and unselfishness of her deeds? And you,my baby, were our Joan of Arc last night!"

  All this was balm to her troubled heart. But she could not speak, andonly hugged him more tightly around the neck as she wept on hisshoulder.

  "Here--hoity toity!" he said presently. "What manner o' bravery bethis--crying for naught?"

  She raised her head, but before she could reply, they were bothstartled by a noisy trampling of horses in front of the house, andstrange voices coming in through the open windows.

  Hastily wiping away her tears, Dorothy sprang from her father's lap andran to look out.

  "Oh, father," she cried, turning to him in dismay, "here be a lot ofBritish soldiers on horseback! Whatever can they have come for?"

  He hurried out, Dorothy close by his side, to meet face to face at theopen door a tall young officer coming up the steps with much clankingof sabre and jingling of spurs, while on the driveway were a dozenmounted troopers, one of whom held the rein of a spirited gray horse.

  The officer raised his hat, and his sea-blue eyes, keen as steel,looked with smiling fearlessness straight into the lowering face ofJoseph Devereux. Then they changed like a flash, and with swiftsignificance, as they fell upon the slight figure shrinking closebeside him.

  "Sir," he asked, "are you Joseph Devereux?"

  "As you say," was the calm reply. "And what might an officer of HisMajesty's army want with me?"

  "Only an audience," the young man answered respectfully. "I wish toassure you, in case of its being needful, of my good will, and of mydesire to see that your person and property are guarded from annoyanceduring our stay in your neighborhood."

  The old man frowned, and drew his tall figure to its full height.

  "It would seem a strange chance," he replied haughtily, "that shouldput such a notion into your mind, young sir. I've lived here as boyand man these seventy years and more, and my fathers before me for wellbeyond one hundred years; and I 've needed no protection o' my ownrights save such as God and my own townsfolk have accorded me as myjust due."

  "Such may have been the case before now, sir," the officer said, hiseyes still fixed upon Dorothy's blushing face; "but troublesome times,such as these, have brought changes that should, methinks, make youtake a somewhat different view of matters."

  "The times may be troublesome, as you say; but even should they growmore so, I have my country's cause too truly at heart to desire favorsfrom its enemies."

  "I am an enemy only should you determine to make me one; and this Itrust you will not." He still smiled pleasantly, as though bent uponaccomplishing whatever object he had in view.

  "The color o' the coat you wear has determined that matter already,"was Joseph Devereux's grim answer.

  But the young man was proof against even this pointed rebuff, for helaughed, and said with reckless gayety, "Think you not, sir, 't is abit unjust to refuse good fellowship to a man because of the color ofhis garb?"

  "A truce to this nonsense, young sir!" exclaimed the old man, hisimpatience rapidly changing to anger. "Since you are about my premisesin the manner you are, 't is certain you can in no wise be ignorant o'reasons existing which make it needless for me to say that I desirenaught to do with you, nor your fellows."

  The officer bowed, and with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders,resumed his hat.
<
br />   "So be it, sir," he said, while the smile left his olive-hued face,"although I deeply regret your decision. But before I go, I must havespeech with a young son of yours."

  Dorothy moved still closer to her father, and turned a troubled look upinto his face.

  "My son, sir," he answered stiffly, "is not at home."

  "No? Then pray tell me where I am like to find him."

  "He has gone to the town on affairs of his own."

  "They are like to be affairs of great weight." The young man's voicehad a note of sarcasm.

  "Whatever they be, they can assuredly be no concern of an officer o'the King."

  "That is for me to decide, sir," the soldier retorted with evidentlyrising anger. "He has done that which gives me good cause to put himin irons, should I choose to be vengeful."

  "What mean ye?" the old man demanded with flashing eyes.

  "I mean," replied the other, slowly, "he shall be taught that he cannotplay boyish pranks upon His Majesty's officers with impunity."

  "It would seem you are better aware o' what you are prating of than amI," said Joseph Devereux, now laying a reassuring hand over the smallone that had stolen tremblingly into his own. "As for my son playing'boyish pranks,' as you say, he would scarcely be likely to turn backto such things in his twenty-eighth year."

  "Do you mean me to understand that your son is so old as that?" was theofficer's surprised inquiry.

  "I care little of what your understanding may be," was the indifferentreply; "but such is the fact."

  "And have you no other son--a young boy?"

  "I have not, as any one can tell you."

  The young man bit his lips, and looked perplexed. Then, as his eyesturned to Dorothy's flushed face, he smiled again, and said, as thoughaddressing her, "I beg pardon for any seeming incivility; but therewould appear to be some mystery here."

  "No mystery, young man," answered Joseph Devereux, with unbendingseverity, "save to wonder why you should come riding to our door in thefashion you have, with a troop o' your fellows, when we have no likingfor the entertainment of any such company."

  The officer still smiled, but now sarcastically. "It can scarcely beclaimed that you have entertained me, sir. But since I find mypresence so disagreeable to you, I will bid you good-morning."

  He bowed haughtily to the old man, while his eyes still lingered uponDorothy's face. Then turning quickly, he strode down the steps, andmounted his horse, the servants, who had gathered about, falling awayfrom before him.

  Mary Broughton and Aunt Lettice, who had been standing in the halllistening to the colloquy, now came out to the porch and stood with theothers watching the scarlet-clad troop clatter noisily down thedriveway, following the rapid pace set by their youthful leader.

  John Devereux and Hugh Knollys, returning from the town, met them justwithin the open gate, and drew to one side, watching them with scowlingbrows as they dashed past; and the young officer turned in his saddleto glance over his shoulder, as if something in the former's face hadcaught his attention.

  "What did those Britishers want here, father?" the son asked, as he andHugh came up the steps, leaving their horses with Leet and Pashar.

  "He would seem to wish to assure us of his courtesy and good-will; andwhen I declined these, he demanded to see my son, whom he accused ofplaying a boyish prank upon a King's officer, and threatened him withirons, should he catch the rogue."

  All eyes were now turned upon Dorothy, who laid her blushing faceagainst her father's arm as she stood clasping it.

  Jack muttered something under his breath; and Hugh, his face alightwith mischief, said, "May his search take up all the attention ofhimself and his soldiers, which will be all the better for us." Thenstretching out his hand to Dorothy, he said with a sudden change ofmanner, "Will you shake hands, Dorothy?"

  "What for?" she asked, still clinging to her father's arm.

  "As my way of thanking you that I am a free man this morning, and not,perchance, in irons myself, and on the road to the Governor, at Salem."

  She laid her small hand in his broad palm, and the look he gave her ashis fingers closed over it seemed to make her uncomfortable.

  "It was very little I did," she declared quietly, drawing her hand away.

  "So it may seem to you," he said gravely. "But had it not been done,the things that might have followed would show you otherwise."

  In the afternoon the four young people set out to ride over to Hugh'splace, where a widowed mother was anxiously expecting the arrival ofher boy--and only child.

  Jack, for reasons now well understood, kept close to Mary'sbridle-rein; so it befell that Dorothy and Hugh were thrown upon oneanother's society more intimately than for some time heretofore.

  As they rode leisurely along the Salem turnpike toward theirdestination, which lay away from the town, the young man exclaimedsuddenly, "I don't believe another girl living would dare do such athing, Dorothy, as you did last night!"

  "Do cease prattling of last night," she said impatiently. "I am sickto death hearing of it."

  "Are you?" And Hugh's laughing eyes widened with sober surprise. "Isee no call for you to be so."

  "I did not ask that you should," was the tart answer, a wilful toss ofher head accompanying the sharp words.

  "Why, Dorothy, whatever ails you?" And he looked more surprised thanhurt at this new phase of his quondam playfellow's disposition.

  She did not reply; and Hugh, seeing a glitter of tears in her eyes,said nothing more.

  And so they plodded along in utter silence; the two ahead of themseeming to find no need for haste, and conversing earnestly, as thoughgreatly entertained by each other's company.

  The thickly planted cornfields rose on either side of their way, andthe afternoon sun flickered the landscape with fleeting shadows fromthe clouds sailing in the blue overhead, while now and again there camea glimpse of the sea.

  Everything about them was quiet, save the breathing of the horses andthe noise of their trappings.

  At length, coming within sight of the Knollys homestead, the two infront drew rein and waited for their companions to join them.

  Dorothy gave the impatient mare her head, and rode up briskly, withHugh not far behind; and then all four went clattering through the gateand up the grass-grown roadway, halting before the porch of the lowframe house that stood surrounded by thickly planted fields runningback to meet sloping wooded hills, with grassy meadows intervening,where flocks of sheep and many cows were grazing peacefully.

  A sweet-faced old lady--Hugh's mother--came out of the door and greetedthem cordially, but first casting a searching glance at her son. Thenbidding a servant take their horses to the stable, she invited them tocome within.

  But Hugh said: "No, mother; Sam need not take the horses away. We canstop but a short time, and then I must go back to remain in town forthe night. I only rode over--and these kind folk with me--to see howyou were faring without having me to look after matters, and to assureyou of my well being; for I know how you like to fret if I stop awaylong enough to give you the chance."

  "You are a saucy boy," his mother replied, but with a look that beliedher words; then turning to the two girls, she asked after theirfathers, and inquired particularly about each member of theirhouseholds.

  She listened eagerly to the news of the town, and its latest doings;the color, fresh as a girl's, coming and going in her cheeks, andmaking a dainty contrast with the snowy muslin of her mob-cap and thekerchief wound about her throat and crossed over her ample bust.

  "And have any of these red-coated gallants stolen their way to thehearts of you two girls?" she asked banteringly,--her eyes upon MaryBroughton's beautiful face.

  Jack's eyes were there as well; and Hugh alone saw the sudden mountingof the blood to Dorothy's cheeks and the troubled drooping of hereyelids.

  John Devereux rose from his chair, and taking Mary's hand, led her tothe old lady.

  "I am that one, good Mistress Knollys," he s
aid proudly, "who hasstolen his way to this sweet girl's true heart; and you are the first,outside the family, to know of it."

  "Dearie me!" exclaimed Mistress Knollys, in a happy fluttered way, asshe drew Mary's blushing face down and gave her a hearty kiss. "Ialways suspected it would be so; and I am sure every one will wish youjoy, as I do with all my heart." Then turning to her son, "Hugh, dear,get some wine and cake, and let us pledge our dear friends. With allthese Britishers bringing trouble upon us, who can say how much chancethere'll be left for joyful doings?"

  She bustled about with a beaming face, doing herself most of thesetting forth she had requested of her son. But Hugh's face looked fargraver than was its wont; his eyes strayed over to Dorothy, who was nowlaughing and chatting like the rest, and he seemed to be puzzling overa matter for which he could not find a ready solution.

  It was later than they thought when they set out upon their return,Mistress Knollys urging them to come again soon, and saying, as shekissed Dorothy last of all: "It ever makes me feel young again, my dearchild, to have you in the house. And now that your brother and Maryhave one another, and your father has one more daughter, they can spareyou to your old friend with better grace."