CHAPTER XXI
Hugh Knollys was so much a member of the household that Aunt Letticethought nothing of going her own way when dinner was over and leavinghim in the living-room with Dorothy; and the two now sat on one of thelow, broad window-seats, watching Joseph Devereux as he went out ofdoors in search of Trent, with 'Bitha dancing along beside him.
"How fast 'Bitha is growing!" Hugh remarked. "She will soon be tallerthan you, Dot. Although, to be sure," he added with a laugh, "that isnot saying very much."
Dorothy did not reply. Indeed it would seem that she had not heardhim; and now he laid his hand softly upon one of her own to arouse herattention as he called her by name.
At this she started, and turned her face to him.
"What, Hugh--what is it?" she asked confusedly.
His smiling face became sober at once, and a curious intentness creptinto his blue eyes while he and Dorothy looked at each other withoutspeaking. Then he asked deliberately, "Of what were you dreaming justnow, Dot?"
A burning blush deepened the color in her cheeks, and her eyes fellbefore those that seemed to be searching her very thoughts.
"Shall I make a guess?" he said, a strange thrill now creeping into hisvoice and causing her to lift her eyes again. "Were you dreaming ofthat young redcoat you were walking with this morning?"
She sprang to her feet and faced him, her eyes blazing, and her slightform trembling with anger.
"I was not walking with any such," she replied hotly. "How dare yousay so?"
"Because it so appeared as I came along the Salem road," was his calmanswer. "I saw him on one side of the road leaning against the stonewall, and watching you, as you went from the wall on the opposite side,and across your father's lot. His eyes were fixed upon you as thoughhe were never going to look away; indeed he never saw nor heard meuntil my horse was directly in front of him."
Dorothy was now looking down at the floor, and made no reply.
After waiting a moment for her to speak, Hugh took both her hands andheld them close, while he said with an earnestness that seemed almostsolemn in its intensity: "Don't deceive me, Dot. Don't tell me aughtthat is not true, when you can trust me to defend you and yourhappiness with my life, if needs be."
His words comforted her in a way she could not explain. And yet theystartled her; for she was still too much of a child, and Hugh Knollyshad been too long a part of her every-day life, for her to suspect howit really was with him.
"I was not intending to tell you any untruth, Hugh. But--I was notwalking with him."
The anger had now gone from her eyes, and she left her hands to liequietly in his clasp. But she had not forgotten the warm pressure ofthose other hands in whose keeping they had been that same morning.
"Had you not seen him, Dot?" Hugh asked, looking keenly into her face.
At this her whole nature was up in rebellion, for she could not brookhis pursuing the matter farther, after what she had already told him.
"Let go my hands!" she exclaimed angrily. "Let me go! You have noright to question me as to my doings."
He dropped her hands at once, and rising to his feet, turned his backto her, and looked out of the window. A mighty flood of jealousy wassurging through his brain; and that which he had so long repressed wasstruggling hard to uproot itself from the secret depths,--where he wasstriving to hide it from her knowledge--and burst forth in fierce wordsfrom his lips.
Had this hated Britisher dared to steal into the sacred place of thechild's heart, which he himself, from a sense of honor, was bound tomake no effort to penetrate? The mere suspicion of such a thing wasmaddening.
Dorothy glanced at him. How big and angry he looked, standing therewith tightly folded arms, his lips compressed, and his brows contractedinto a deep scowl! How unlike he was to the sunny-faced Hugh Knollyswho had been her companion since childhood!
"Don't be angry with me, Hugh," she pleaded softly, venturing timidlyto touch his shoulder.
He whirled about so suddenly as to startle her, and she fell back apace, her wondering eyes staring at the set white face before her.
"I am not angry, Dot," he said, letting his arms drop from theirclasping; "I am only--hurt." And he slowly resumed his place upon thewindow-seat.
"I don't wish to hurt you, Hugh," Dorothy declared, as she sat down byhim again.
He seemed to make an effort to smile, as he asked, "Don't you?"
"No, I do not." And now her voice began to gather a little asperity."But you do not seem to consider that you said aught to hurt me, aswell."
He took her hand and stroked it gently.
"You know well, Dot," he said, "that I'd not hurt you by word or deed.And it is only when I think you are doing what is like to hurtyourself, that I make bold to speak as I did just now."
Dorothy was silent, but her brain was busy. The thought had come toher that she must bind him by some means,--make it certain that heshould not speak of this matter to her brother. And a wildimpulse--one she did not stop to question--urged her to see that theyoung soldier was not brought to any accounting for whatever he haddone.
She wondered how much Hugh might know, and how much was onlysuspicion,--surmise. And with the intent to satisfy herself as tothis, she said, "Just because you saw a redcoat watching me, as youthought, and at a distance, you forthwith accuse me of walking withhim."
She spoke with a fine show of impatience and reproof, but stillpermitting him to hold and caress her hand.
"Aye, Dot, but there be redcoats and redcoats. And this one happenedto be that yellow-faced gallant we are forever meeting, the one you--"
She interrupted him. "I know what you mean. But I tell you truly,Hugh, I had not been walking with him, nor did I know he was by thestone wall looking after me, as you say."
"And you had not seen him?" Hugh asked, now beginning to appear morelike himself, and bending his smiling face down to look at her.
But the smile vanished, as he met her faltering eyes.
"Don't tell me, Dot, if you'd sooner not; only know that you can trustme, if you will, and I'll never fail you,--never!"
These words, and the way they were spoken, settled all her doubts, andclasping her other hand over his, that still held her own, she burstforth impetuously: "Oh, I will tell you, Hugh. Only you'll promise methat you'll never tell of it, not even to Jack."
The young man hesitated, but only for a second, as the sweet prospectof a secret between them--one to be shared by no other, not even heridolized brother--swept away all other thoughts.
"I promise that I'll tell no one, Dot,--not even Jack."
He spoke slowly and guardedly, the better to hide the mad beating ofhis heart, and the effort he was making to restrain himself from takingher in his arms and telling her what she was to him.
Dorothy uttered a little sigh, as if greatly relieved. Then she saidwith an air of perfect frankness: "Well, Hugh, I _did_ see him--up inthe wood, as I was coming from old Ruth's. He spoke to me, and I ranaway from him."
"What did he say?" Hugh demanded quickly.
"Oh, I cannot remember,--he startled me so. I was dreadfullyfrightened, although I am sure he meant no harm."
"No harm," Hugh repeated wrathfully. "It was sufficient harm for himto dare speak to you at all."
"No, but it was not," the girl declared emphatically. "He and I areacquainted, you know--after a fashion. It was not the first time hehas spoken to me, nor I to him, for that matter."
Hugh's blue eyes flashed with anger.
"I have a great mind to make it the last!" he exclaimed with hotindignation, and half starting from his seat.
But Dorothy pushed him back. "Now mark this, Hugh Knollys," she saidwarningly,--"if you say aught to him, and so make me the subject ofunseemly brawling, I'll never speak to you again,--no, not the longestday we both live!" And she brought her small clenched fist down withenforcing emphasis upon Hugh's broad palm.
"What a little spitfire you are, Dot!" And he smi
led at her once more.
"Spitfire, is it? You seem to have a plentiful supply of complimentsfor me this day." She spoke almost gayly, pleased as she was to havediverted him so easily.
He was now staring at her with a new expression in his eyes, andappeared to be turning over some matter in his mind; and Dorothyremained silent, wondering what it might be.
"Dorothy," he said presently, and very gravely, "I wonder will youpromise me something?"
"I must know first what it is." She was smiling, and yet wishing hewould not look at her in such a strange way; she had never known beforethat his frank, good-natured face could wear so sober an aspect.
"I wish you would promise me that you'll keep out of this fellow'sway,--that you'll never permit him to hold any converse with you, and,above all, when no one else is by."
"I'll promise no such thing," she answered promptly, and with a look ofdefiance.
"And why not?" he asked in the same grave way, and with no show ofbeing irritated by her quick refusal. Indeed he now spoke even moregently than before.
"Because," she replied, "it is a silly thing to ask. He is agentleman; and I do not feel bound to fly from before him like a guiltything, or as though I were not able to take care of myself. Besides,we are not like to meet again--he and I."
Her voice sank at the last words, as though she were speaking them toherself--and it had a touch of wistfulness or of regret.
This set Hugh to scowling once more. But he said nothing, and sattoying in an abstracted fashion with her small, soft fingers.
The desire to plead his own cause was again strong upon him, and he waswondering if he might not in some way sound the depths of her feelingtoward him, without violating the pledge which, although unspoken byhis lips, he knew her brother--his own dearest friend--assumed to havebeen given.
He was aroused from these speculations by a question from Dorothy.
"You will never speak to him of me in any manner, will you, Hugh?" sheasked coaxingly.
"Speak to whom?" he inquired in turn. Then, noting the embarrassmentin her eyes, he muttered something--and not altogether a blessing--uponCornet Southorn.
"But you 'll--promise me you 'll," she insisted.
"And if I promise?" he asked slowly. He was looking into her face,thinking how sweet her lips were, and wishing he could throw honor tothe winds and kiss them--just once, while they were so close to his own.
"There is nothing," she declared with a sudden impulse, "that I willnot do for you in return!"
"Nothing!" A reckless light was now growing in his eyes. "Are yousure, Dot, there is nothing?"
"No, nothing I can do," she affirmed. But she could not help remarkinghis eagerness and illy repressed excitement, and felt that she mustkeep herself on guard against a possible demonstration,--somethingwhose nature she could not foresee.
The young man was still looking fixedly at her. But now he let go herhands and sprang to his feet.
"I'll make no bargain with you, Dot," he said excitedly. "I hate thisman, and have from the very first, and I hope I'll have the goodfortune before many days to meet him face to face, in fair fight. ButI promise, as you ask it, that I'll seek no quarrel with him. And evenhad you not asked, I'd surely never have mentioned your name to him."
"Thank you." Dorothy spoke very quietly; and before he could know ofher intention she snatched his hand and kissed it.
She did it so suddenly and quickly that he knew not what to say or do.He felt the hot blood rush to his face, and found himself tremblingfrom the storm aroused within him by her caress.
Before he could speak, she was on her feet alongside him, smiling upinto his burning face, and saying, "You are a good friend to me, Hugh,and I'll not forget it." Then, as she laid her hand on his arm, "Come,I will play something for you; I feel just in the humor for it."
He followed her into the drawing-room, where a huge wood-fire leapedand crackled on the hearth. She bade him be seated in a big chair infront of the dancing flames, and then went over and perched herselfupon the bench--roomy enough to hold three Dorothys--before the spinet.
A moment later and there stole from beneath the skilful touch of herfingers one of those quaint melodies of which we in this generationknow nothing, save as they have come down to us through the ear alone,never having been put upon paper.
Hugh Knollys sat and watched her, noting the pretty curves of hercheeks and throat,--the firm white neck, so small and round, with thewayward hair breaking into rebellious little curls at the nape,--theslender wrists, and small, snowy hands.
None of these escaped him, as he sat a little back of her, his hungryeyes absorbing each charming detail. He thought what a blessed thingit would be, could she and he always be together, and alone, like this,with peace smiling once more over the land, and they happy in thesociety of each other.
The music seemed to fit exactly into his present mood, and he satmotionless for a time, listening to it. Then, scarcely conscious ofwhat he was doing, he arose to his feet; and as the final cadence diedsoftly away, he was in a chair beside the bench, with his arm claspingDorothy's waist.
She turned a startled face, to find his own bending close to her, andwith a look in it such as she had never before known it to hold.
"Dorothy," and his voice was almost a whisper, "you care more for methan for the Britisher?"
An alarmed suspicion of the truth came to her. She saw a new meaningin all he had said, in what she had beheld in his face and manner; andrealizing this, she sat white and motionless, her fingers still restingupon the keys.
He now bent his head, and she was frightened to feel tears dropping onher wrist.
She was possessed by a wild desire to fly,--to get away from him. Butshe found herself unable to stir, and sat rigid, feeling as if turnedto marble, while his arm was still lying loosely about her waist.
Then his hand stole up, and his fingers clasped her hand.
"Oh, my God,"--his voice was hoarse and choked--"I cannot endure it!"
At this, there came to the girl a flash of remembrance from that samemorning. She seemed to feel the arm of the young soldier around her,and to see the scarlet-clad breast against which her head was pressedso tenderly. A feeling as of treacherous dealing with his faith andwith her own rushed upon her, and she struggled to get away.
"Are you gone daft, Hugh Knollys," she cried angrily, "or whatever ailsyou?"
He arose shamefacedly, and stood mute. But as she moved off, hestretched out a hand to detain her.
"Wait,--wait but a moment, Dot," he begged. "Don't leave me in suchfashion. Don't be angry with me."
"Are you mad?" she demanded again, and with no less impatience,although pausing beside him.
"Aye, I think I must be," he admitted, now speaking more naturally, andtrying to smile down into the small face, still glowing withindignation, so far beneath his own.
"So it would seem," she said coldly, and in no wise softened. "I ne'erexpected such a thing from you."
"Never mind, Dot,--forget it," he pleaded, now full of penitence."I've a great trouble on my mind just now, and your music seemed tobring it all to me with a new rushing."
Dorothy's face changed in a second, and became filled with sympathy.
"Oh, Hugh, I am so sorry," she said with quick solicitude, taking himby the hand. "Don't you want to tell me about it? Mayhap I can helpyou." Her anxiety about this unknown trouble had lulled to sleepingher suspicions as to the reason for his outbreak.
He smiled,--but sadly, grimly. "I'll tell you some day," he said, "andwe will see if you can help me. But we'll be better friends than everafter this, won't we, Dot?" His eyes had been searching her face innervous wonder, as if to assure himself that he had not told her aughtof his secret,--the secret his honor forbade him to reveal.
"Yes, Hugh, I am sure we shall be." Dorothy said it with a warmth thatset his mind at rest.
"And you'll let no redcoats, nor any coats--whate'er be theircolor--come betwixt
us?" he added, with a touch of his old playfulness.
"No, never!" And there was a sincerity and firmness in her answer thatwarmed his very heart.
"Thank you, Dot," he said, lifting her fingers to his lips. "And thankGod!" he muttered as he released her hand, saying it in a way to makeDorothy feel uncomfortable in the thought that perhaps she had pledgedherself to something more than she had intended.
Just here Aunt Lettice came into the room. "Leet has returned from thetown," she announced, full of excitement, "and says that Mugford's wifehas at last prevailed upon the English officers to release him."
"Can this be true?" inquired the young man, instantly alert, and quitehis natural self again.
"So Leet says; and that Mugford is now in the town, with every onerejoicing over him." And she poked the fire with great energy, sendinga thousand sparkles of flame dancing up the wide chimney.
"How happy his poor wife must be!" was Dorothy's comment, as shestooped to pick up 'Bitha's kitten, which had followed Aunt Lettice,and was now darting at the steel buckles on the girl's shoes, where thebright fire was reflected in flickerings most inviting to kittenisheyes and gambols.
"I think I'll ride over to town and see Mugford," said Hugh. "I wantto congratulate him upon his escape."
He glanced at Dorothy, as if half expecting her to speak, as he hadjust declined Aunt Lettice's urgent invitation that he return forsupper, saying that his mother was looking for him before evening.
But all Dorothy said was, "Here come father and 'Bitha." And shewalked over toward the window.
Hugh followed her, and said in a low voice, not meant for AuntLettice's ears, "You'll not forget our compact, Dot, and your promise?"
"No," she answered, smiling at him; "nor will you yours?"
"Never!" He pressed the hand she extended to him, and then hurriedaway.
Joseph Devereux met him on the porch, and they stood talking for a fewminutes, while 'Bitha came within, her cheeks ruddy from the nippingair.
"Leet is back," she said, as she entered the drawing-room; "but UncleJoseph says it is too cold for us to take so late a ride over to seeMistress Knollys."
"So it is, 'Bitha," Dorothy assented. "But we'll go to the kitchen,and ask Tyntie to let us make some molasses pull."
She was, for the moment, a child again, with all perplexing thoughts ofredcoats and Hugh Knollys banished from her mind.
From Kingdom to Colony Page 22
