CHAPTER XVIII
It was nearly midnight when the two young men took their way backthrough the fields to their boat and its faithful guardian.
They were soon afloat, and none but Leet would have ventured to row sosteadily and rapidly down Great Bay in the fog that now shut in aboutthem like a wall of white wool, muffling all objects from sight.
The stillness was intense, save for the lapping of the water on thenear-by shore,--this seeming to quicken the old darkey's acuteknowledge of the course he was rowing.
The young men sat in either end of the boat, with Leet between them;and not a word was spoken until the keel grated on the sand ofRiverhead Beach.
The old negro required no light to secure the craft in its accustomedplace; and as the others stood waiting for him to do this, a faintsound of galloping horses came to their cars, apparently from downDevereux Lane, which led from the Salem road directly to the beach, andso on to the Neck.
They listened intently, while the sound came unmistakably nearer.
"Hist, Jack!" said Hugh, in a low voice; "that must be the redcoatscoming from Jameson's dinner."
"'T is sure to be, judging from the reckless fashion of their riding.Leet, come with us,--'t is as well to step behind the boathouse untilthey pass, for we want no challenging at this hour of the night." Andas John Devereux said this, he and his companions passed quickly behindthe small building.
A dull yellow gleam showed smearingly through the fog as the horsemenclattered by, with here and there a lantern fastened to their saddles;and their loud laughter and boisterous talk seemed to bespeak a freeindulgence in good wines and liquors.
As they struck the beach they fell into a more sober pace, and the lasttwo, riding side by side, were talking in tones that came distinctly tothe ears of those concealed behind the boathouse.
"'T is like that Southorn hopes to obtain more certain information byaccepting the old fellow's hospitality," said one of them; "for itcannot be that the wine is the only attraction, to judge from the wayhe passed it by to-night."
"Aye," was the reply. "He seemed not to care whether it were goodChristian fare we were having once more, or the dogs' food of the camp."
"Maybe he is sickened, like the rest of us, with this heathen land andits folk, and rues the day he ever left the only country fit for a manto live in, to be sent to this strip o' land, with never a petticoat orbright eye to make the stupid time a little more bearable."
The other man laughed. "Perchance if we could but get speech withJameson's fair friend of whom he prated so much, we might be singinganother tune. What was it he called her--such a heathenish name it wasnever my lot to hear before?"
"He called her 'Mistress Penine;' but she is no blushing maid, for hesaid--"
Here the words, which had been growing less distinct, died awayaltogether, and the glow of the lanterns was shut off by the fog, asthe clattering of hoofs became lost in the roar of the surf beating infrom the seaward side.
John Devereux had refrained from acquainting Hugh with his father'sdiscovery of Aunt Penine's treachery; but now, as they walked towardthe house, he told him the facts.
"Think you, Jack, that she has been holding any further communicationwith Jameson?" Hugh asked.
"That would seem most unlikely, for she has been confined to her roomsince last Monday night, and both my father and Dot have been watchfulof the servants, although I do not believe there is a traitor amongstthem. As to Pashar, he is too young to rightfully sense what he wasdoing, even if he had the wit. Fear of Aunt Penine on the one hand,and a liking for Jameson's loose silver on the other, were his onlyincentives; but dread of my father's displeasure has now put an end toall that."
He had persuaded Hugh to return with him for the night, instead ofgoing to the house of a married cousin living in the town, as heproposed doing, for the reason that it would put him so much farther onthe way to his own place, whither he intended to ride the next morning,notwithstanding it would be the Sabbath.
They found the household long since retired, save only its head; andwhen they were seated in the dining-room the young men gave him adetailed account of the evening's doings.
When this had been done, Joseph Devereux imparted to them hisdetermination to lodge with the committee the name of hissister-in-law, to be listed with those of the other unfaithfultownspeople. He had also resolved that on the following Monday sheshould be carried in his coach to her brother's house, in Lynn, for afuture residence.
This had come from the fact that soon after the two young men haddeparted for the town, a messenger from Jameson brought her acommunication.
The fellow had refused to leave without a reply, until forced theretoby the servants whom Joseph Devereux summoned for that purpose; and hewent away threatening vengeance upon the entire household when heshould have reported to his master the indignity to which he had beensubjected.
"Do you know, father," asked Jack, "what it was to which he expected ananswer from Aunt Penine--I mean, anything as to the contents of theletter?"
"Nay, my boy. She refused to see me at first; and when I insisted uponit, she became defiant, and would not converse with me o' the matter,saying that it was her own concern, and naught to do with my business.And so I told her that, such being the case, she should hold herself inreadiness to be driven to her brother's house on Monday, when she andher concerns would give no further trouble to me or my household."
"Jameson will not be safe a moment," said Hugh Knollys, "after theredcoats are withdrawn. Indeed," he added, "'t would be no greatwonder if some of the fisherfolk should even now burn the roof over hishead."
"'T is to be hoped they'll do no such thing," said the elder man,shaking his head; "for 'twould surely be used as a pretence forinjuring the innocent,--perchance the townsfolk at large."
He now turned to his son and said in a tone of deep anxiety: "By theway, Jack, we must see to it that all be over-careful how such mattersbe talked on before Dot. I know not what has come to the child. Shehas been moody and unlike herself all the evening, starting at everysound, as if fearful o' danger. And when she came to tell megood-night awhile ago, she broke down in great weeping. I had much adoto soothe her; and to all my questioning she had but the one answer,that she did not know what ailed her, only that she felt as though herheart would break."
Jack looked very serious, and Hugh Knollys moved uneasily in his chair.Then the former said: "Perhaps it is only that she is in a way unstrungfrom the excitement of last night. I thought this afternoon that sheacted not quite like herself,--that she seemed to have something on hermind. Did you not note it, Hugh?"
Hugh started, and looked still more uncomfortable. His thoughts hadbeen dwelling upon Dorothy's unusual behavior during the afternoon. Hewas thinking of her reticence and impatience,--of the acerbity of hermanner toward himself; and he recalled the quick flushing of her faceas the young officer lifted his hat.
All this had made a distinct impression upon him; but the affair washer own,--one which he felt reluctant to mention even to her father orbrother. And so, in answer to Jack's direct question, he uttered oneof the few falsehoods of his life.
"Nay, Jack; I noted nothing unusual in her manner. I think as you,that she has been a bit overwrought by last night's happenings. Ah,"he exclaimed, with animation, and glad to speak the truth once more,"but it was a brave thing she did! And yet she likes to make naught ofit."
"Dorothy is brave by nature," her father said, his eye's kindling withpride. "And she is too young to comprehend the full weight o' what shedid, prompted as it was by impulse, and by love for her brother." Thenturning to Jack, he asked with a change of manner, "Did you see or hearaught o' the British frigate on your way home?"
"Nothing, father,--only, as I told you, that she dropped anchor inLittle Harbor, just as the darkness fell."
"She'd not be likely to go from her anchorage in this fog." The oldman spoke musingly, while he slowly filled his pipe for a final smokebefore reti
ring for the night.
"But I take it they will move from there as soon as may be, on accountof fearing the trouble they have a right to expect because of the menthey've stolen," Hugh said indignantly.
"Yes," added Jack, "even if only to get into Great Bay, and closer totheir fellows on the Neck."
"'T is a thousand pities they should have taken Mugford," the oldgentleman remarked, as he carefully lit his pipe.
"Yes," his son assented; "it is in every way a pity, for if they wishto invite trouble they could not have made a better opening for illfeeling among the people of the town."
"Indeed they could not," Hugh exclaimed hotly. "Every one is sure totake Mugford's abduction to heart, and find a way to make the redcoatsanswer for it."
"We shall find a way, please God, to make them all answer for theiroverbearing and insolence to us as a country as well as individuals,"Joseph Devereux said gravely. "And that reminds me, I had surelythought Broughton and the rest o' the committee would have returnedfrom Boston this night."
"He was very doubtful, as I think, of getting back before to-morrow, orperhaps until Monday." And a dreamy look softened Jack's face, as ifhe might be thinking of what was to be told when Nicholson Broughtonreturned.
"Jack, what a lucky beggar you are!" exclaimed Hugh, with a touch ofenvy in his tone, as the two young men tarried a moment in the former'sroom before saying good-night.
Jack opened his eyes still wider, exactly after the fashion of Dorothywhen she was surprised.
"You see," Hugh added nervously, "you love Mary Broughton, and sheloves you, and you have the approval and blessing of both fathers. NowI--" Here he stammered, and then became silent.
"What is it, Hugh--do you wish me to understand that you love Maryyourself?"
John Devereux spoke seriously, almost jealously, for an old suspicionwas beginning to awaken once more within him.
But Hugh laughed in a way to forever remove any such feeling from hisfriend's mind.
"I--I love Mary!" he exclaimed. "I never dreamed of such a thing,Jack, although I admit that she is very beautiful, and possesseseverything to call forth any man's best and deepest love. But, my dearJack, if you were not blinded, you might see that the world holds othergirls than Mary." And he looked wistfully at his friend, as if wishinghim to know something he hesitated to put into words.
"Do you mean that you are in love with some one, Hugh?" asked Jack,laying his hand on the other's broad shoulder.
Hugh's blue eyes lowered as bashfully as those of a girl, and Jack, nowsmiling at him, said, "Who is it--Polly Chine, over at the FountainInn?"
"Polly Chine!" Hugh answered disgustedly. "A great strappingred-cheeked clatter-tongue, who can do naught but laugh?"
"Well, if 't is not Polly, then I am all at sea, for I never knew youto do more than speak to another girl, unless--" And he paused, assomething in Hugh's pleading eyes caught his attention and awoke hissenses with a rush.
"Oh, Hugh--it surely is not--" But Knollys interrupted him.
"Yes, Jack," he said with slow earnestness, "it is--Dorothy."
Silence followed this avowal, and Jack's hand fell from his friend'sshoulder. Then with an incredulous laugh he said: "Dorothy--why she islittle more than a baby, with no thought beyond her horse and otherpets. 'T was not long since I came upon her playing at dolls withlittle 'Bitha."
"She will be seventeen her next birthday," Hugh retorted with someimpatience; "and that is but a year less than Mary Broughton's age."
"Yes," Jack admitted. "But it is several months yet to Dot's birthday;and those months, nor yet another year, can scarce give to my littlesister the womanly depth for sentiment and suffering that Mary nowpossesses."
"Think ye so, Jack?" said Hugh, as though inclined to argue the matter."You know 't is odd, sometimes, how little we guess aright the natureof those akin to us, however dear we may love them."
The young man sighed as he thought of the look he caught in Dorothy'seyes when the olive-faced horseman uncovered his handsome head, andalso recalled the flushing of her cheeks at his mother's banter.
Jack's hand was now once more upon Hugh's shoulder, and he said in hiswarm, impulsive way: "See here, old fellow, I'd sooner have you for abrother than any other man I know; and my father is well-nigh certainto approve. Only I feel sure he would say what I now ask of you, andthat is, not to speak of such matters to little Dot--not yet awhile;for it would only risk making her think of what otherwise might nevercome into that wilful head of hers. And while there seem to be suchgrave matters gathering for our attention, it were best not to give herheart aught to trouble over."
"Then you admit she might be woman enough to take to heart whatever illwould come to me?" Hugh asked eagerly.
Jack's answer was guarded, although not lacking in kindly feeling.
"The child has a warm heart, Hugh, and has known you long enough tofeel deep sorrow should any evil come to you--which God forbid. Buttake my advice, and do not stir deeper thought in her, to make hersorrow like a woman, but let her keep her child's heart awhile longer."
After the young men had bidden each other more than a usually cordialgood-night, Hugh Knollys remained seated for a long time in his ownroom, his hands deep in his pockets, and his legs stretched to theiruttermost length. He was lost in thoughts that were neither entirelypleasurable nor yet altogether lacking in that quality.
He had loved Dorothy since she was a child, and he admired hercharacter far more than that of any girl he had ever known. Thereckless daring of her nature--the trait Aunt Penine had censured soseverely, and which the others of the family regarded somewhataskance--met with a quick sympathy from his own impulsive temperament;and this last outburst of her intrepid spirit had acted like a torch toset aflame all his dreams and desires. And now the suspicion that somesort of an understanding existed between the girl and this youngBritisher gave him a fierce desire to speak out, and claim for his ownthat which he feared the other man might seek to take from him.
And so he chafed at his friend's injunction, hoping as he did, that,could he but obtain the first hearing, the redcoat's chances might beweakened, if not destroyed altogether.
As he sat here alone, there came to him like a flash the memory of onelate afternoon in a long-ago autumn, when, upon his return from afishing-trip, he found Dorothy--then a dimpled mite of seven oreight--visiting his mother, as she often did in those days.
The child had been left to amuse herself alone; and this she did bytaking down a powder-horn hanging upon the wall, filled with somecherished bullets which Hugh was hoarding as priceless treasures.
He seemed to see again the great dark room, lit only by the leapingflames from the logs piled in the open fireplace, and the littlescarlet-clad child looking up with big startled eyes at his indignantface as he stood in the doorway, while the precious bullets poured in arattling shower over the wooden' floor. He saw once more her look turnto fiery anger, as he strode over and boxed her ears; and he could hearthe girlish treble crying, "Wait, Hugh Knollys, until I am as big asyou, and I'll hurt you sorely for that!"
Aye, and she had already hurt him sorely, for all his breadth ofshoulder and length of limb; she had hurt him in a way to make all hislife a bitter sorrow should she now reject his love!
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