CHAPTER IX.
THE TURN OF THE TIDE.
Every misfortune has its horizon, but as yet Maria was not able to liftup her eyes and see any comfort coming from afar. It seemed to her thatall the joy and glory of living was over. It was not only that Harry wastaken out of her schemes of happiness for the future; the present, also,was denuded of every hope and clouded by very real annoyances. She feltbitterly the publicity given to her name, and she knew that thispublicity would supply those who disliked her with continualopportunities for her humiliation.
"I shall have to stop at home," she thought; "and grandmother is sickand grandfather fretful, and Neil's whole care is given to AgnesBradley. I think he might consider me a little; but nobody does; I amonly Maria. Yet my life is ruined, quite ruined;" and the unhappy childwept over herself and wondered how she was to live through the long,long years before her.
Very frequently, however, this tearful mood gave place to indignationagainst her friends in general, and Agnes in particular. For she stillheld steadily to the opinion that all the trouble had arisen from herselfishness and inability to remember any one's desires but her own.And so, in plaintive or passionate wandering from one wrong to another,she passed some very miserable days. Finally, Neil persuaded her to goand see Agnes. He said, "Even the walk may do you good; and Agnes iscertain to have some comforting words to say."
Maria doubted both assertions. She could not see what good it could doher to go from one wretched house to another even more wretched, andNeil's assurances that John Bradley was better and able to go to hisshop did not give her any more eager desire to try the suggested change.Yet to please Neil she went, though very reluctantly; and Madamesympathized with this reluctance. She thought it was Agnes Bradley'splace to come and make some acknowledgment of the sorrow and loss herfamily had brought upon the Semples; and she recalled the innateaversion the Elder had always felt for the Bradley family.
"The soul kens which way trouble can come," she said. "But what is thegood o' its warnings? Nobody heeds them."
"I never heard any warning, grandmother."
"There's nane so deaf as those who won't hear; but go your ways to yourfriend Agnes! I'll warrant she would rather you would bide at hame."
The morning was cold and damp and inexpressibly depressing, but Mariawas in that mood which defies anything to be of consequence. She put onher hat and cloak and walked silently by her uncle's side until theycame to the Bradley cottage. All the prettiness of its summer and autumnsurroundings was blighted or dead; the door shut, the window covered,the whole place infected by the sorrow which had visited it. Agnesopened the door. She was wan and looked physically ill and weary, butshe smiled brightly at her visitor, and kissed her as she crossed thethreshold.
"My father has been very ill, Maria, or I should have been to see youbefore this," she said; "but he has gone to the shop this morning. Ifear he ought not."
"My grandfather has been very ill and is still unable to leave hisroom," replied Maria. "My dear grandmother also! As for myself--but thatis of little importance, only I must say that it has been a dreadfulthing to happen to us, a cruel thing!"
"It was a wrong thing to begin with. That is where all the troublesprang from. I see it now Maria."
"Of course! You ought not to have deceived your father, Agnes."
"I was to blame in that, very much to blame. I have nearly broken myheart over the sin and its consequences."
"Consequences! Yes, for they fell upon the innocent--that is what youought to be sorry for--my grandfather and grandmother, my Uncle Neil,and even myself."
"But as for yourself, Maria, you also were to blame. If you would havebeen content with seeing Harry here----"
"Oh, indeed! You did not permit me to see Harry here, or even to bid himgood-bye that night. If you had----"
"It would have made no difference. Harry as well as you seemed willingto run all risks to meet--elsewhere."
"I never thought of meeting Harry elsewhere. I have told you this factbefore."
"If you had not done so, if Harry had not known you would do so again,he would not have asked you."
"This is the last time I will condescend to tell you, Agnes, that Inever once met Harry by appointment; much less, at nine o'clock atnight. Please remember this!"
"It is, then, very strange, that Harry should have asked you thatnight."
"Not only very strange, but very impertinent. Why should he supposeMaria Semple would obey such a command? For it was a command. And it wasa further impertinence to send me this command on a bit of common paper,wrapped around a stone and thrown at me through a window. It was avulgar thing to do, also, and I never gave Harry Bradley the smallestright to order me to meet him anywhere."
"Oh, if you look at things that way! But why did he ask you? That is aquestion hard to answer."
"Not at all. He was jealous of Macpherson and wished to show off hisfamiliarity with me and make Macpherson jealous. Under this distractingpassion he forgot, or he did not care, for the risk. It was yourselfishness put the idea into his head, and it was his selfishness thatcarried it out, regardless of the consequences."
"And your selfishness, Maria, what of it?"
"I was not selfish at all. I knew nothing about it. If I had receivedthe note, I should not have answered it in any way."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Absolutely sure. It angered me, humiliated me, wronged me beyond words.And to have it read in the Police Court! How would you feel, Agnes? Ithas ruined my life."
"Poor Harry!"
"Oh, but poor Maria! All this misery was brought to me without myknowledge and without any desert on my part. And don't you suppose Ilove my grandparents and Uncle Neil? Think what I have suffered when Isaw them dragged to prison, tried, fined and disgraced, and all for ascribble of presumptuous words that Harry Bradley ought to have beenashamed to write. It was very thoughtless, it was very cruel."
"Harry suffered for his presumption; and as for the fine, my father willrepay it to your grandfather. He said so this morning; said it wouldonly be just; and I think so, too."
"The fine is the least part of the wrong. Who can repay grandfather anduncle for the loss of their good name and their honorable record? Whocan give uncle his business back again? These are wrongs that cannot beput right with money. You know that, Agnes."
"Do not quarrel with me, Maria. I am not able to bear your reproaches.Let us at least be thankful that Harry's life is spared. When the war isover you may yet be happy together."
Then Maria burst into passionate weeping. "You know nothing Agnes! Youknow nothing!" she cried. "I can never see Harry again! Never, never!Not even if he was in this house, _now_. How do you suppose he wassaved?"
"Father has a great deal of influence, and he used it." Her calm, sadface, with its settled conviction of her father's power, irritated Mariaalmost beyond endurance. For a moment she thought she would tell her thetruth, and then that proud, "not-caring," never far away from a noblenature stayed such a petty retaliation. She dried her eyes, wrapped hercloak around her, and said she "must not stop longer; there was troubleand sorrow at home and she was needed."
Agnes did not urge her to remain, yet she could not bear her to leave ina mood so unfriendly, and so despairing. "Forgive me, dear Maria," shewhispered. "I have been wrong and perhaps unkind. I fear you are rightin blaming me. Forgive me! I cannot part in such misunderstanding. Ifyou knew all----"
"Oh, yes! And if you knew all."
"But forgive me! God knows I have suffered for my fault."
"And I also."
"Put your arms around my neck and kiss me. I cannot let you go feelingso unkindly to me. Do you hear, little one? I am sorry, indeed I am.Maria! Maria!"
Then they wept a little in each other's arms, and Maria, tear stainedand heavy hearted, left her friend. Was she happier? More satisfied?More hopeful, for the interview? No. There had been no real confidence.And what is forgiveness under any circumstances? Only incompleteunderstand
ing; a resolution to be satisfied with the wrong acknowledgedand the pain suffered, and to let things go.
Certainly, nothing was changed by the apparent reconciliation; for asMaria sat by the fire that night she said to herself, "It is her fault.If she had given Harry five minutes, only five minutes, that night henever would have written that shameful note. It came of her delay andhis hurry. I do not forgive her, and I will not forgive her! Besides, inher heart I know she blames me; I, who am perfectly innocent! She hasruined my life, and she looked as injured as if it was I who had ruinedher life. I was not to blame at all, and I will not take any blame, andI will not forgive her!"
Maria's divination in the matter was clearly right. Agnes did blame her.She was sure Harry would not have written the note he did write unlesshe had received previous encouragement. "There must have been meetingsin the Semples's garden before," she mused. "Oh, there must have been,or else Harry's note was inexcusable, it was impertinence, it wasvulgarity. All the same, she need not have said these words to me."
So the reconciliation was only a truce; the heart-wound in both girlswas unhealed; and if it were healed would not the scar remain forever?
Three or four days after this unsatisfactory meeting Neil came home inthe afternoon just as the family were sitting down to the tea-table. "Itis cruelly cold, mother," he said. "I will be grateful for a cup. I amshivering at my very heart." Then he gave his father a business-likepaper, saying, "I found it at my office this morning, sir."
"What is it Neil? What is it? More trouble?"
"No, sir. It is a deed making over to you the property in which Mr.Bradley has his shop and workrooms. He says in a letter to me that 'hefeels this deed to be your right and his duty.' You are to hold theproperty as security until he pays you three hundred pounds withinterest; and if you are not paid within three years you are to sell theproperty and satisfy yourself."
"You can give Mr. Bradley his deed back again, my lad. I can pay my ownfines; or if I can't, I can go to prison. I'll not be indebted to him."
"You mistake, sir. This is a moral obligation, and quite as binding as alegal one to Mr. Bradley."
"Take the paper, Alexander," said Madame, "and be thankfu' to save somuch out o' the wreck o' things. We havena the means nor the right,these days, to fling awa' siller in order to flatter our pride. In myopinion, it was as little as Bradley could do."
"I went at once to his shop to see him," continued Neil, "but he was notthere. In the afternoon I called again, and found he had been absent allday. Fearing he was sick, I stopped at his house on my way home. Astrange woman opened the door. She said Mr. Bradley and his daughter hadgone away."
"Gone away!" cried Maria. "Where have they gone? Agnes said nothing tome about going away."
"The woman, Mrs. Hurd, she called herself, told me Agnes did not knowshe was to leave New York until fifteen minutes before she started."
"When will they return?" asked Madame.
"God knows," answered Neil, going to the fire and stooping over it. "Iam cold and sick, mother," he said. "It was such a shock. No one at theshop expected such an event; everything was as busy as possible there,but the house! the house is desolate."
"When did they go, Neil?"
"Last night, mother, at eleven o'clock. Mr. Bradley came in about twentyminutes before eleven, put Mr. and Mrs. Hurd in possession, and toldAgnes to pack a change of clothing for herself in a leather saddlebag hegave her. There was a boat waiting for them, and they went away in thedarkness without a word. _O Agnes!"_
"What did the Hurds say?"
"They know nothing."
"Did Agnes leave no letter?" asked Maria, looking with pitying eyes ather uncle.
"How could she? The poor child, how could she? She had no time. Some onehad taken away her pens and pencils. She left a message with Mrs. Hurd.That was all."
That was all. The next day New York City knew that John Bradley had lefthis business and his home and disappeared as completely as a stonedropped into the river. No one had suspected his intention; not hisforeman, nor any of the fifteen men working in his shop; not his mostintimate friends, not even his daughter. But it was at once surmisedthat he had gone to the rebel army. People began to murmur at theclemency shown to his son, and to comment on the almost offensivesympathy of the father for him. For a few days John Bradley was theabsorbing topic of conversation; then he was forgotten by every one butNeil. His shop, indeed, was kept open by the foreman, under control ofthe government, but the name of Bradley was removed from above itsentrance and the royal cipher G. R. put in its place. And in a few weekshis home was known as Hurd's place, and had lost all its littlecharacteristics. Neil passed it every day with a heavy heart. There wasno sweet face at the window to smile him a greeting; no beautiful womanto stand with him at the gate, or, hand in his hand, lead him into thelittle parlor and with ten minutes' conversation make the whole daybright and possible. The house looked forlorn; fire or candlelight werenever visible, and he could only think of Agnes as driven away in thedark night by Destiny and wandering, he knew not where.
Maria, too, was unhappy. Her last visit to Agnes had been such a mockeryof their once loving companionship. Her last visit! That word "last"took hold of her, reproached her, hurt her, made her sorry and anxious.She felt also for her uncle, who looked old and gray in his silentsorrow. Poor Neil! he had suffered so many losses lately; loss of money,loss of business, loss of friends, and to crown all these bereavements,the loss of the woman on whom he had fixed the love and light and hopesof his life. No wonder he was so mournful and so quiet; he, who had justbegun to be really happy, to smile and be gracious and pleasant to everyone, yes, and even to sing! Madame could not help noticing the change."He is worse than ever he was before," she said with a weary pity. "Dearme! what lots of sorrow women do manage to make!"
This remark Maria did not approve of, and she answered it with sometemper. "All this sorrow came from a man's hand, grandmother," she said,"and no woman is to blame."
"Not even yoursel', Maria?"
"I, least of all. Do you think that I would have met any man by theriver side at nine o'clock at night?"
"I'll confess I have had my doubts."
"Then you ought to say, 'Maria, I am sorry I have had one doubt of you.'When you were Janet Gordon, would you have done a thing like that?"
"Not a man in Scotland could have trysted me at an hour when all my folkwere in their rooms and maybe sleeping."
"Not a man in America could make such a tryst with me. I am yourgranddaughter."
"But that letter, Maria."
"It was a shame! A wrong I cannot forgive. I called it an impertinenceto Agnes, and I feel it so. He had no reason to suppose I would answersuch a request, such an order, I may say. I am telling you the truth,grandmother."
"I believe you, Maria; but the pity of it is that you canna advertisethat fact."
"I know that. I know that everyone will doubt me or shun me. I shall bemade to suffer, of course. Well, I can suffer and smile as well as anywoman,--we all have that experience at some time or other."
"Men have it, too. Look at your uncle."
"Men don't smile when they suffer; they don't even try to. Unclesuffers, any one can see that, but he does not dress up in velvet andsilk, and laugh, and dance, and talk nonsense merrily over the gravewhere all his hopes are buried. No, indeed! He looks as if he had lostthe world. And he shuts himself in his room and swears at something orsomebody; he does not cry like a woman and get a headache, as well as aheartache; he swears at his trouble and at everything connected with it.That is the way with men, grandmother, you know it is. I have heard bothmy grandfather and my uncle comforting themselves after this fashion.Grandfather, I thought, even seemed to enjoy it."
Madame smiled and then admitted "men had their ain ways, and so couldnabe judged by woman's ways." Moreover, she told Maria in regard to Agnesthat a friendship which had begun to decay was best cut off at once. AndMaria, in spite of certain regrets, felt this to be a truth.
Things werenot the same between Agnes and herself; it was, then, more comfortablethat they should not be at all.
Only, as day after day went by and no one took the place of Agnes orshowed the slightest desire to do so, her life became very monotonous.This was specially remarkable, because New York was at a feverish pointof excitement. General Clinton was hurrying his preparations for thereduction of the South. Any hour the troops might get marching orders,and every entertainment had the gaiety and the melancholy of a farewellfeast. All day long troops were moving hither and thither, and orderliesgalloping in every direction. There was a constant rumble of army wagonsin motion; trumpets were calling men together, drums beating them totheir stations; and through all the blare and movement of a greatmilitary town in motion there was the tinkling of sleigh-bells and theglancing of splendidly caparisoned sleighs, full of women brilliantlydressed.
Now, although the Semple house was beyond the actual throng and tumultof these things, Maria heard the confused murmur of their activity; andNeil told her bare facts, which she easily clothed with all theaccessories of their existence and movement. But although there weredinner parties and sleighing parties, nightly dances, and the promise ofa fine theatrical season, with the officers of the army as actors, noone remembered her. She was shocked when she realized that she had beencut off from all social recognition. Setting aside the fact that HarryBradley was a rebel, she had done nothing to deserve such ostracism;but, though conscious of her innocence, she did not find this innerapproval as satisfying a compensation for outward respect and pleasantcompany as it is supposed to be.
As the days went on, she began to wonder at Lord Medway's absence. Atleast, if she was to be his wife he ought to show her some care andattention. She remembered that in their last important interview she hadtold him not to trouble her; but he ought to have understood that awoman's words, in such trying circumstances, meant much less or muchmore than their face value.
Household anxieties of all kinds were added to these personal ones.Madame Semple was sick and full of domestic cares. Never had there beenknown in New York such bitter frost, such paralyzing cold. Snow lay fourto six feet deep; loaded teams or galloping cavalry crossed the riversafely on its solid ice. Neil had made arrangements for wood in thesummer months, but only part of it had been delivered; the rest, thoughfelled, could not be extricated from the frozen snowdrifts. The sale ofthe Mill Street property had left them a margin of ready money, butprovisions had risen to fabulous prices and were not always procurableat any price. New York was experiencing, this cruel winter, all thecalamities of a great city beleaguered both by its enemies and theelements.
Yet the incessant social gaiety never ceased. Thousands were preparingfor the battlefield; thousands were dying in a virulent smallpoxepidemic; thousands were half-frozen and half-fed; the prisons werecrowded hells of unspeakable agonies; yet the officers in command of thecity, and the citizens in office, the rich, the young and the beautiful,made themselves merry in the midst of all this death and famine, andfound very good recreation in driving their jingling sleighs over thesolid waters of the river and the bay.
In these bad times Neil was the stay and comfort of the Semplehousehold. He catered for their necessities cheerfully, but his heartwas heavy with anxious fear; and when he saw those he loved deprived ofany comfort, he reproached himself for the pride which had made himresign offices so necessary for their welfare. This pinch of poverty,which he must conceal, made his whole being shrink with suffering henever named to any one. And besides, there was always that desolatehouse to pass and repass. How was it that its shut door affected him sopainfully? He could only feel this question; he could not answer it.But, though he was not conscious of the fact, never had Neil Semple inall his life been at once so great and so wretched: great because he wasable to put his own misery under the feet of those he loved; to forgetit in noble smiles that might cheer them and in hopeful words, ofteninvented for their comfort.
One day as he was walking down Broadway he saw a sleigh coming towardhim. It was drawn by four black horses blanketed in scarlet, glitteringwith silver harness and tossing their plumed heads to the music of athousand bells. As it drew nearer a faint smile came to his lips. He sawthe fantastically-dressed driver and footman, and the brilliant mass ofcolor surrounded by minever furs, and he knew it was Madame Jacobus, outto defy any other sleigh to approach her.
He expected only a swift, bright smile in passing, but she stopped,called him imperatively, and then insisted that he should take a seatbeside her. "I have caught you at last," she said with a laugh. "It ishigh time. I asked you to come soon and see me, and you said you would.You have broken your word, sir. But nothing is binding where a woman isconcerned; we have to live on broken scraps of all kinds, or perish.You are going to dine with me. I shall take it very ill if you refuse;"then, more soberly, "I have some important things to say to you."
"It will be a great pleasure to dine with you," answered Neil.
"First, however, we will gallop a mile or two, just to show ourselvesand get an appetite;" and the grave smile of pleasurable assent whichaccepted this proposition delighted her. In and out of the city waysthey flew, until they reached the Bowery road; there they met thesleighs of generals and governors, dandy officers and wealthycommissioners, and passed them all. And Neil shared the thrill of hertriumph and the physical delight of a pace no one could approach.Something like his old expression of satisfied consideration came intohis face, and he was alive from head to feet when he reached Madame'sfine house in lower Broadway,--a handsome, luxurious house, filled withtreasures from every part of the world; no shadow of limitation inanything within it. The lunch, elaborately laid for Madame, wasinstantly extended for the guest, and Neil marvelled at the daintyliberality of all its arrangements. It was, indeed, well known that theJacobus wealth was enormous, but here was a room warmed as if wood wasof no great value; broiled birds, the finest of wheat bread, the oldestand best of wines.
"You see, I take good care of myself, Neil," said Madame. "I don't wishto die till the war is over. I am resolved to see Troy taken."
"You mean New York."
"I mean New York, of course."
"Do you really think the rebels will take New York?"
"The Greeks got into Troy by trying. I think others can do the same."
This was the only allusion made to public events during the meal; butwhen it was over and the servants had disappeared she set her chairbefore the roaring fire, spread out her splendid scarlet skirt, and,holding a gemmed fan between her face and the blaze, said:
"Now we will talk. You must tell me everything, Neil, without holdbacks.You are a lawyer and know that everything must be told or nothing. Doyou feel that you can trust me?"
Then Neil looked into the dark, speaking face, bending slightly towardhim. Kindness lighted its eyes and parted its lips, but, above all, itwas a countenance whose truth was beyond question. "Madame," heanswered, "I believe you are my friend."
"In plain truth, I am your friend. I am also your mother's friend. Sheis the best of women. I love her, and there's an end of it. When I cameto New York first I was a stranger and people looked curiously, evendoubtfully, at me. Janet Semple stood by me like a mother just as longas I needed her care. Do I forget? That is far from Angelica Jacobus. Inever forget a kindness. Now, Neil, I have known you more than twentyyears. What can I do for you?"
"O Madame, what can you not do? Your sympathy has put new life into me.I feel as if, perhaps, even yet there may be happy days in store."
"Plenty of them. I hear you paid the fines immediately. Did they pinchyou much?"
"No. Jacob Cohen bought a piece of land from me. I do believe he boughtit out of pure kindness."
"Pure kindness and good business. He knows how to mingle things. Butthat Jew has a great soul. Jacobus has said so often, and no one candeceive Jacobus. But what are these stories I hear about your lovelyniece? Is there any truth in them?"
"None, I'll warrant," answered Neil w
armly. "But I will tell you theexact truth, and then you may judge if little Maria deserves to betreated as people are now treating her."
Then Neil succinctly, and with clearness and feeling, told the story ofMaria's entanglement with Harry Bradley, laying particular stress on thefact that she never had met him clandestinely, and that his note hadbeen a great offense and astonishment to her. "I was present," he said,"when my father told her of the note, and of its being read in thePolice Court, and I shall never forget her face. It is an easy thing tosay that a person was shocked, but Maria's very soul was so dismayed andshocked that I seemed to see it fly from her face. She would have fallenhad I not caught her. Why was that note written? I cannot understandit."
"It was never intended for Maria. It was written to wound the vanity andfire the jealousy of that Scot. As soon as Maria left the room theopportunity was seized. Can you not see that? And Harry Bradley neverdreamed that the kilted fool would turn an apparent love-tryst into apolitical event. He wished to make trouble between Macpherson and Maria,but he had no intention of making the trouble he did make. He also wasjealous, and when two jealous men are playing with fire the consequencesare sure to be calamitous. But Macpherson is sorry enough now for hiszeal in His Majesty's affairs. He is thoroughly despised by both men andwomen of the first class. I, myself, have made a few drawing-roomsplaces of extreme humiliation to him."
"Still, others think the man simply did his duty. A Scotsman has verystrong ideas about military honor and duty."
"Fiddlesticks! Honor and duty! Nothing of the kind. It was a dirty deed,and he is a dirty fellow to have done it. There was some decent way outof the dilemma without going through the Police Court to find it. Grantme patience with such bouncing, swaggering, selfish patriotism! Apenny's worth of common-sense and good feeling would have been better;but it was his humor to be revengeful and ill-natured, and he is, ofcourse, swayed by his inclinations. Let us forget the creature."
"With all my soul."
"The stories are various about Maria going to General Clinton andbegging her lover's life with such distraction that he could not refuseit to her. Which story is the true one?"
"They are all lies, I assure you, Madame. It was Lord Medway who beggedHarry Bradley's life."
"But why?"
Neil paused a minute, and then answered softly, "For Maria's sake."
"Oh, I begin to understand."
"She has promised to marry him when she is of age--then, or before."
"I am very glad. Medway is a man full of queer kinds of goodness. Whenthe Robinsons and Blundells, when Joan Attwood and Kitty Errol and allthe rest of the beauties, hear the news, may I be there to see? Is ittalkable yet?"
"No, not yet. Maria has told no one but me, and I have told no one butyou. Medway is to see my father and mother; after that--perhaps. He hasnot called since the arrangement; he told me 'he was doing the bestthing under the circumstances.'"
"Of course he is. Medway understands women. He knows that he is makingmore progress absent than he would present. Come, now, things are not sobad, socially. Mrs. Gordon and Angelica Jacobus will look after Maria;and, though women can always be abominable enough to their own sex, Ithink Maria will soon be beyond their shafts. Now, it is business I mustspeak of. Patrick Huges, my agent, is robbing me without rhyme orreason. I had just sent him packing when I met you. The position isvacant. Will you manage my affairs for me? The salary is two hundredpounds a year."
"Madame, the offer is a great piece of good fortune. From this hour, ifyou wish it, I will do your business as if it were my own."
"Thank you, Neil. In plain truth, it will be a great kindness to me. Wewill go over the rascal's accounts to-morrow, and he will cross theriver to-night if he hears that Neil Semple is to prosecute theexamination."
Then Neil rose to leave. Madame's sympathy and help had made a new manof him; he felt able to meet and master his fate, whatever it might be.At the last moment she laid her hand upon his arm. "Neil," she asked,"Has not this great outrage opened your eyes a little. Do you stillbelieve in the justice or clemency of the King?"
"It was not the King."
"It was the King's representatives. If such indignity is possible whenwe are still fighting, what kind of justice should we get if we wereconquered?"
"I know, I know. But there is my father. It would break his heart if Ideserted the royal party now. They do not know in England----"
"Then they ought to know; but for many years I have been saying,'England was mad'; and she grows no wiser."
"Englishmen move so slowly."
"Of course. All the able Englishmen are on this side of the Atlantic.Lord! how many from the other side could be changed for the one GreatOne on this side. What do you think? It was my silk, lace, ribbons andfallals Harry Bradley was taking across the river. The little vanitieswere for my old friend Martha. I am sorry she missed them."
Neil looked at her with an admiring smile. "How do you manage?" heasked.
"I have arranged my politics long since, and quite to my satisfaction.So has Jacobus. He left New York flying the English flag, but the oceanhas a wonderful influence on him; his political ideas grow large andfree there; he becomes--a different man. Society has the same effect onme. When I see American women put below that vulgar Mrs. Reidesel----"
"Oh, no, Madame!"
"Oh, yes, sir. In the fashionable world we are all naught unless Mrs.General Reidesel figures before us; then, perhaps, we may acquire a kindof value. See how she is queening it in General Tryron's fine mansion.And then, this foreign mercenary, Knyphausen, put over American officersand American citizens! It is monstrous! Not to be endured! I only bearit by casting my heart and eyes to the Jersey Highlands. There ournatural ruler waits and watches; here, we wait and watch, and some hour,it must be, our hopes shall touch God's purposes for us. For that hourwe secretly pray. It is not far off." And Neil understood, as he met hershining eyes and radiant smile, that there are times when faith mayindeed have all the dignity of works.
Then the young man, inexpressibly cheered and strengthened, went rapidlyhome; and when Madame heard her son's steps on the garden walk she knewthat something pleasant had happened to him. And it is so often thatfortune, as well as misfortune, goes where there is more of it that Neilwas hardly surprised to see an extraordinarily cheerful group around anunusually cheerful fireside when he opened the parlor door. The Elder,smiling and serene, sat in his arm-chair, with his finger-tips placidlytouching each other. Madame's voice had something of its old confidentring in it, and Maria, with heightened color and visible excitement,sat between her grandparents, an unmistakable air of triumph on herface.
"Come to the fire, Neil," said his mother, making a place for his chair."Come and warm yoursel'; and we'll hae a cup o' tea in ten or fifteenminutes."
"How cheerful the blazing logs are," he answered. "Is it some festival?You are as delightfully extravagant as Madame Jacobus. Oh, if the olddays were back again, mother!"
"They will come, Neil. But wha or what will bring us back the good dayswe hae lost forever out o' our little lives while we tholed this wearywar? However, there is good news, or at least your father thinks so.Maria has had an offer o' marriage, and her not long turned eighteenyears auld, and from an English lord, and your father has made a bonfireo'er the matter, and I've nae doubt he would have likit to illuminatethe house as weel."
The Elder smiled tolerantly. "Janet," he answered, "a handsome youngman, without mair than his share o' faults and forty thousand pounds ayear, is what I call a godsend to any girl. And I'm glad it has come toour little Maria. I like the lad. I like him weel. He spoke out like aman. He told me o' his castle and estate in Lancashire, and o' the greatcoal mines on it; the lands he owned in Cumberland and Kent, his townhouse in Belgrave Square, and forbye showed me his last year's rental,and stated in so many words what settlement he would make on Maria. AndI'm proud and pleased wi' my new English grandson that is to be. I shallhold my head higher than ever before; and as for Mat
thews and PeterDuBois, they and their dirty Police Court may go to----, where theyought to have been years syne, but for God Almighty's patience; and I'llsay nae worse o' them than that. It's a great day for the Semples, Neil,and I am wonderfully happy o'er it."
"It's a great day for the Medways," answered Madame. "I could see finehow pleased he was at the Gordon connection, for when I told him ColonelWilliam Gordon, son o' the Earl o' Aberdeen--him wha raised the GordonHighlanders a matter o' three years syne--was my ain first cousin, herose and kissed my hand and said he was proud to call Colonel Gordon hisfriend. And he knew a' about the Gordons and the warlike Huntleys, andcould even tell me that the fighting force o' the clan was a thousandclaymores; a most intelligent young man! And though I dinna like thethought o' an Englishman among the Gordons, there's a differ even inEnglishmen; some are less almighty and mair sensible than others."
"He spoke very highly o' the Americans," answered the Elder. "He said'we were all o' one race, the children o' the same grand old mother.'"
"The Americans are obligated for his recognition," replied Madame atrifle scornfully. "To be sure, it's a big feather in our caps when LordMedway calls cousins with us."
"What does Maria say?" asked Neil. And Maria raised her eyes to his witha look in them of which he only had the key. So to spare her talking onthe subject, he continued: "I also have had a piece of good fortuneto-day. I met Madame Jacobus, went home with her to dinner, and she hasoffered me the position of her business agent, with a salary of twohundred pounds a year."
"It's a vera springtide o' good fortune," said the Elder, "and I am agrateful auld man."
"Weel, then," cried Madame, "here comes the tea and the hot scones; andI ken they are as good as a feast. It's a thanksgiving meal and no less;come to the table wi' grateful hearts, children. I'm thinking the tidehas turned for the Semples; and when the tide turns, wha is able to stopit?"
The turn of the tide! How full of hope it is! Not even Maria wasinclined to shadow the cheerful atmosphere. Indeed, she was grateful toLord Medway for the fresh, living element he had brought into the house.Life had been gloomy and full of small mortifications to her since theunfortunate Bradley affair. Her friends appeared to have forgotten her,and the dancing and feasting and sleighing went on without her presence.Even her home had been darkened by the same event; her grandfather hadnot quite recovered the shock of his arrest; her grandmother had madeless effort to hide her own failing health. Neil had a heartache aboutAgnes that nothing eased, and the whole household felt the fear andpinch of poverty and the miserable uncertainty about the future.
Maria bore her share in these conditions, and she had also began towonder and to worry a little over Lord Medway's apparent indifference.If he really loved her, why did he not give her the recognition of hisobvious friendship? His presence and attentions would at least place herbeyond the spite and envy of her feminine rivals. Why did he let themhave one opportunity after another to smile disdain on her presence, orto pointedly relegate her to the outer darkness of non-recognition? Whenshe had examined all her slights and sorrows, Lord Medway's neglect wasthe most cutting thong in the social scourge.
Madame Jacobus, however, was correct in her opinion. Medway was makingin these days of lonely neglect a progress which would have beenimpossible had he spent them at the girl's side. And if he had beenaware of every feeling and event in the lives of the Semples, he couldnot have timed his hour of reappearance more fortunately, for not onlywas Maria in the depths of despondency, but the Elder had also begun tobelieve his position and credit much impaired. He had been passed,avoided, curtly answered by men accustomed to defer to him; and he didnot take into consideration the personal pressure on these very men fromlack of money, or work, or favor; nor yet those accidental offenseswhich have no connection with the people who receive them. In the daysof his prosperity he would have found or made excuses in every case, buta failing or losing man is always suspicious, and ready to anticipatewrong.
But now! Now it would be different. As he drank his tea and ate hisbuttered scone he thought so. "It will be good-morning, Elder. How's allwith you? Have you heard the news? and the like of that. It will be adifferent call now." And he looked at Maria happily, and began toforgive her for the calamity she had brought upon them. For it wasundeniable that even in her home she had been made to feel herresponsibility, although the blame had never been voiced.
She understood the change, and was both happy and angry. She did notfeel as if any one--grandfather, grandmother, Lord Medway, or UncleNeil--had stood by her with the loyal faith they ought to have shown.All of them had, more or less, suspected her of imprudence and recklessdisregard of their welfare. All of them had thought her capable ofruining her family for a flirtation. Even Agnes, the beginning and endof all the trouble, had been cold and indifferent, and blamed, and lefther without a word. And as she did not believe herself to have doneanything very wrong, the injustice of the situation filled her withangry pain and dumb reproach.
Lord Medway's straightforward proposal cleared all the clouds away. Itgave her a position at once that even her grandfather respected. She wasno longer a selfish child, whose vanity and folly had nearly ruined herfamily. She was the betrothed wife of a rich and powerful nobleman, andshe knew that even socially reprisals of a satisfactory kind would soonbe open to her. The dejected, self-effacing manner induced by herculpable position dropped from her like a useless garment; she liftedher handsome face with confident smiles; she was going, not only to beexonerated, but to be set far above the envy and jealousy of herenemies. For Medway had asked her to go sleighing with him on thefollowing day, and she expected that ride to atone for many smallinsults and offenses.
Twice during the night she got up in the cruel cold to peep at the starsand the skies. She wanted a clear, sunny day, such a day as would bringout every sleigh in the fashionable world; and she got her desire. Thesun rose brilliantly, and the cold had abated to just the desirablepoint; the roads, also, were in perfect condition for rapid sleighing,and at half-past eleven Medway entered the parlor, aglow with the frostand the rapid motion.
His fine presence, his hearty laugh, his genial manners, wereirresistible. He bowed over Madame's hand, and then drew Maria withinhis embrace. "Is she not a darling? and may I take her for an hour ortwo, grandmother?" he asked. And Madame felt his address to be beyondopposition. He had claimed her kinship; he had called her "grandmother,"and she gave him at once the key of her heart.
As they stood all three together before the fire, a servant man enteredand threw upon the sofa an armful of furs. "I have had these made foryou, Maria," said Medway. "Look here, my little one! Their equals do notexist outside of Russia." And he wrapped her in a cloak of the finestblack fox lined with scarlet satin, and put on her head a hood ofscarlet satin and black fox, and slipped her hands into a muff of thesame fur lined with scarlet satin; and when they reached the waitingsleigh he lifted her as easily as a baby into it, and seating himselfbeside her, off they went to the music in their hearts and the music inthe bells; and the pace of the four horses was so great that Madamedeclared "all she could see was a bundle of black fur and flyingscarlet ribbons."
That day Maria's cup of triumph was full and running over. Before theyhad reached the half-way house they had met the entire fashionable worldof New York, and every member of it had understood that Maria Semple andLord Medway would now have to be reckoned with together. For Medwayspoke to no one and returned no greeting that did not include Maria init. Indeed, his neglect of those who made this omission was so pointedthat none could misconstrue it. Maria was, therefore, very happy. Shehad found a friend and a defender in her trouble, and she was, at least,warmly grateful to him. He could see it in her shining eyes, and feelit, oh, so delightfully! in her unconscious drawing closer and closer tohim, so that finally his hands were clasping hers within the muff ofblack fox, and his face was bending to her with that lover-like,protecting poise there was no mistaking.
"Are you satisfied, Maria?
Are you happy?" he asked, when the paceslackened and they could talk a little.
"Oh, yes!" she answered. "But why did you wait so long? I was suffering.I needed a friend; did you not understand?"
"But you had a sorrow I could not share. I did not blame you for it. Itwas but natural you should weep a little, for the young man haddoubtless made some impression. He was a gallant fellow, and betweenlife and death carried himself like a prince. I am glad I was able tosave his life; but I did not wish to see you fretting about him; thatwas also natural."
She did not answer, nor did he seem to expect an answer. But she waspleased he did not speak slightingly of Harry. Had he done so, she feltthat she would have defended him; and yet, in her deepest consciousnessshe knew this defense would have been forced and uncertain. Thecircumstances were too painful to be called from the abyss of pastcalamity. It was better everything should be forgotten. And with theunerring instinct of a lover, Medway quickly put a stop to her painfulreverie by words that seldom miss a woman's appreciation. He told herhow much he had longed to be with her; how tardily the weeks had flown;how happy it made him to see her face again. He called her beautiful,bewitching, the loveliest creature the sun shone on, and he said thesethings with that air of devoted respect which was doubly sweet to thegirl, after the social neglect of the past weeks. Finally he asked herif she was cold, and she answered:
"How can I be cold? These exquisite furs are cold-proof. Where did youget them? I have never seen any like them before."
"I got them in St. Petersburg. I was there two years ago on a politicalembassy, and while I was waiting until you partly recovered yourself Ihad my long coat cut up and made for you. I am delighted I did it. Younever looked so lovely in anything I have seen you wear. Do you likethem, Maria, sweet Maria?"
She looked at him with a smile so ravishing that he had there and thenno words to answer it. He spoke to the driver instead, and the horsesbounded forward, and so rapid was the pace that the city was soonreached, and then her home. Neil was at the gate to meet them, andMedway lifted Maria out of the sleigh and gave her into his care. "Iwill not keep the horses standing now;" he said, "but shall I callto-morrow, Maria, at the same time?" And she said, "Yes," and "I havehad a happy drive." So he bowed and went away in a dash of tramplinghorses and jingling bells, and Maria watched him a moment or two, beinggreatly impressed by his languid, yet masterful, air and manner, theresult of wealth long inherited and of social station beyond question.
With a sigh--and she knew not why she sighed--Maria went into the house.She was now quite forgiven; she could feel that she was once more lovedwithout reservation, and also that she had become a person ofimportance. It was a happy change, and she did not inquire about it, ordampen the pleasure by asking for reasons. She took off her beautifulfurs, showed them to her grandmother and grandfather, and told at whatpersonal sacrifice Lord Medway had given them to her. And then, drawingclose to the hearth, she described the people they had met, and thesnubs and recognitions given and received. It was all interesting toMadame, and even to the Elder; the latter, indeed, was in extraordinaryhigh spirits, and added quite as much salt and vinegar to the dish ofgossip as either of the women.
In spite, therefore, of the bitter weather and the scarcity of all thenecessaries of life, the world went very well again for the Semples;and though at the end of December, Clinton sailed southward, Lord Medwayhad a furlough for some weeks, so that in this respect the militarymovement did not interfere with Maria's social pleasures. Two daysbefore the embarkment of the troops Colonel DeLancey called one morningon the Elder. He had sold a piece of property to the government, and inmaking out the title information was wanted that only Elder Semple, whowas the original proprietor, could give. DeLancey asked him, therefore,to drive back with him to the King's Arms and settle the matter, and theElder was pleased to do so. Anything that took him among his oldassociates and gave him a little importance was particularly agreeable,and in spite of the cold he went off in the highest spirits.
The King's Arms was soon reached, and he found in its comfortable parlorGeneral Ludlow, Recorder John Watts, Jr., Treasurer Cruger,Commissioners DeGeist and Housewert, and Lawyer Spiegel. After Semple'sarrival the business which had called them together was soon settled,and it being near noon, Ludlow called for a bottle of old port and somebeef sandwiches. The room was warm and bright, the company friendly andwell informed on political matters, and a second bottle was drunk erethey made a movement to break up the pleasant meeting. Then Ludlowarose, and for a few minutes they stood around the blazing fire, theElder very happy in the exercise of his old influence and authority. Butjust as they were going to shake hands the door was flung open andCaptain Macpherson appeared. For a moment he stood irresolute, then hesuddenly made up his mind that he had chanced upon a great opportunityfor placing himself right with the public, and so, advancing towardElder Semple, who had pointedly turned his back upon him, he said:
"Elder, I am grateful for this fortunate occasion. I wish before thesegentlemen to assure you that I did my duty with the most painfulreluctance. I beg you to forgive the loss and annoyance this duty hascaused you."
Then Semple turned to him. His eyes were flashing, his face red andfurious. He looked thirty years younger than usual, as with witheringscorn he answered:
_"Caitiff!_ Out of my sight!"
"No, sir," continued the foolish young man, "not until you listen to me.As a soldier and a gentleman, I had a duty to perform."
"You hae covered the names o' 'soldier' and 'gentleman' wi' infamy.Duty, indeed! What duty o' yours was it to examine a letter that came toa house where you were making an evening call? No matter how the lettercame--through the window or by the door--you had nae duty in the matter.It was your cursed, curious, spying impertinence. No gentleman would haeopened it. The letter was not directed to you,--you admitted that incourt. God in Heaven! What right had you to open it?"
"Allow me to ask, Elder, what you would have done if you had been anofficer in His Majesty's service and had been placed in the samecircumstances?"
"Done? Why, you villain, there was only _one_ _thing to do_, and anofficer, if he was a gentleman, would have done it,--given the letter toMiss Bradley unopened. She was the mistress of the house, and entitledto see the letters coming to it. What had you to do wi' her letters? Ifyou had kept your fingers frae picking and your e'en frae spying, youwould not have put yoursel' in an utterly shamefu' dilemma."
"In these times, sir----"
"In this case the times are nae excuse. Mr. Bradley was believed byeverybody to be a friend of His Majesty. You had nae reason whatever tosuppose a treasonable note would come to his house. You did not supposeit. My God, sir! if our letters are to be examined by His Majesty'sofficers, wha is safe? An enemy might throw a note full o' treasonthrough a window, and if _you_ happened to be calling there----"
"Mr. Semple, you are insulting."
"I mean to be insulting. What right had you to speak to me? You Judas!who could eat my bread, and borrow my siller, and pretend to love mygranddaughter. You have smirched your colors and dishonored your sword,and you deserve to be drummed out o' your regiment; you do that, youeternal scoundrel, you!"
By this time the Elder's voice filled the room, and he brought his canedown as if it were twenty. "Out o' my sight," he shouted, "or I'll layit o'er your shoulders, you blackguard aboon ten thousand."
"Your age, sir! your age!" screamed the enraged young fellow; but hiswords almost choked him, and de Geist and Cruger took him forcibly outof the room.
Then DeLancey filled a glass with wine. "Sit down and drink it, Elder,"he said. "Afterward I shall have the great honor and pleasure of drivingyou home." And the approval of every one present was too marked to bemisunderstood. Semple felt it in every handclasp, and saw it in everyface.
Also, Semple had his own approval, and the result of it in his voice andmanner troubled Janet. She was ignorant of its cause, and the Elder wasnot prepared to tell her. "The fool may think himself
bound to challengeme," he thought, "and I'll e'en wait till he does it, or else tillClinton carries him awa' to fight rebels."
But he was nearly betrayed by Neil, who entered the parlor in an almostbuoyant manner for one so naturally grave. "Why, father," he said, "whatis this I hear?" and then he suddenly stopped, having caught hisfather's warning glance.
"You hae heard many things doubtless, Neil," answered the Elder, "andamong them that I and DeLancey were driving together. We had a rathercheerful time at the King's Arms o'er a bit of transferring business.The government must hae clear titles, you ken, to the property it buys."
"A clear title is beyond the government," interrupted Madame, "and thegovernment needna' fash itsel' about titles. Nane that can be made willhold good much longer for the government. Sit down, Neil, and see if youcan steady your father a bit; he's as much excited about a ride wi' auldDeLancey as if King George himsel' had gien him a ride in his chariot;"and she flipped her dress scornfully to the words as she left the roomto give some household order.
"You vera near told tales on me, Neil," said the old man gleefully; "andthere's nae need to mention the bit o' scrimmage till we see if it'sfinished. The lad might send me a challenge," he added with a littlemirthful laugh.
"Not he, father! If he did, I should quickly answer it."
"You would mind your ain business, sir. As long as I bide in this warldI'll do my ain fighting, if I die for it."
"There's none can do it better, father. Errol told me your scornoverwhelmed Macpherson; and he said, moreover, that if the quarrel hadcome to blows he had no doubt you would have caned the scoundrelconsumedly. They are talking of the affair all over town, and DeLanceyis quite beyond himself about it. I heard him say that, though yourhands quivered with passion, you stood firm as a rock, and that therewere a few minutes at the last when no man could have tackled yousafely." Then there was a sudden pause, for Madame reentered, and theElder looked at her in a way so full of triumph and self-satisfactionthat he troubled her. "To think o' Alexander Semple being sae set up wi'DeLancey's nod and smile," she thought.
Then Neil turned the conversation on the social events of the day, andthe topic allowed Madame some scope for the relief of her annoyance. Yether anxiety about her husband continued, for the Elder was inextraordinarily high spirits. His piquant, pawkie humor finally alarmedMadame. "Alexander," she said, "you had better go awa' to your bed. Idinna like to hear you joking out o' season, as it were. What has comeo'er you, man?"
"Hear to your mother, Neil!" he answered. "When I sit still and silent,she asks, 'Have you naething to say, auld man?' and when I say somethingshe doesna' like my way o' joking, and is for sending me awa' to bed forit, as if I was a bairn. However, the day is o'er, and we hae had theglory o' it, and may as weel get rested for the day to come."
He left the room in his old sober fashion, with a blessing and a"Good-night, children," and Madame followed him. Maria rose with her;she was anxious to carry her thoughts into solitude. But Neil sat stillby the fireside, dreaming of Agnes Bradley, and yet finding the dreamoften invaded by the thought of the retributive scene in the parlor ofthe King's Arms. And perhaps never in all his life had Neil loved andhonored his father more sincerely.
When Madame returned to the room he came suddenly out of his reverie. Hesaw at once that his mother was strangely troubled. She sat down andcovered her face with her thin, trembling hands, and when Neil bent overher with a few soothing words she sobbed:
"Oh, my dear lad, I'm feared your father is _fey_, or else he has beendrinking beyond his reason; and goodness knows what nonsense he has beensaying. The men who brought sae much wine out may have done it to sethim talking; and anyway, it shames me, it pains me, to think o'Alexander Semple being the butt o' a lot o' fellows not worthy to latchhis shoe buckles. But he's getting auld, Neil, he's getting auld; andhe's always been at the top o' the tree in every one's respect, and Icanna bear it."
"Dear mother, never has father stood so high in all good men's opinionas he stands this night. He has a little secret from you, and, I daresay, it is the first in his life, and it is more than wine to him. It isthe secret, not the wine."
"What is it, Neil? What is it?"
Then Neil sat down by his mother's side, and looking into her face withhis own smiling and beaming, he told her with dramatic power and passionthe story of "the bit scrimmage," as the Elder defined the wordy battle,adding, "There is not a man, young or old, in New York, that this nightis more praised and respected for his righteous wrath than AlexanderSemple. As for Quentin Macpherson, he may go hang!"
And long before the story was finished Madame was bridling and blushingwith pride and pleasure. "The dear auld man! The brave auld man!" shekept ejaculating; and her almost uncontrollable impulse was to go to himand give him the kiss and the few applauding words which she knew wouldcrown his satisfaction. But Neil persuaded her to dissemble her delight,and then turned the conversation on the condition of the city.
"It is bad enough," he said. "Famine and freezing will soon be here, andthe town is left under the orders of a hired mercenary--a German, aforeigner, who neither understands us nor our lives or language. It isa shameful thing. Was there no Englishman to defend New York? Everycitizen, no matter what his politics, is insulted and sulky, and ifWashington attacks the city in Clinton's absence, which he will surelydo, they won't fight under Knyphausen as they would under a countryman.Even DeLancey would have been better. I, myself, would fight with aDeLancey leading, where I would be cold as ice behind Knyphausen."
"When men are left to themselves what fools they are," said Madame.
"They don't think so. You should hear the talk about what Clinton isgoing to do in the South, and he will find Cornwallis too much for him."
"How is that? Cornwallis?"
"Cornwallis hates Clinton passionately; he will sacrifice everythingrather than cooperate with him. Clinton successful would be worse thanhis own disgrace. Yet Clinton is sure he will succeed in subduing thewhole South."
"And Knyphausen?"
"Is sure he will capture General Washington, though Clinton failed inhis alert for that purpose. The four hundred light horsemen hedespatched came back as they went twenty-four hours after they startedfull of confidence."
"What frightened them?" asked Madame with a scornful laugh.
"The guides. They lost the road,--rebels at heart, doubtless,--the coldwas intense, the snow deep, and the four hundred came home all. Thewretched rebel army must have had a hearty laugh at Clinton's'alert'--the alert which was to end the war by the capture ofWashington."
"How could they expect such a thing?"
"Well, Washington was living in a house at Morristown, some distancefrom the huts occupied by the army. The army were in the greatestdistress, nearly naked, hungry and cold, and the snow was deep aroundthem. There was every reason to hope four hundred men on swift horsesmight be alert enough to surprise and capture the man they wanted."
"Nae! nae!" cried Madame. "The tree God plants no wind hurts; and GeorgeWashington is set for the defense and freedom o' these colonies. Coldand hungry men, snow-strangled roads, and four hundred alerts! What arethey against the tree God plants? Only a bit wind that shook thebranches and made the roots strike deeper and wider. And sae Clinton'salert having failed, Knyphausen is trying for another; is that it,Neil?"
"Yes. He considers Washington's capture his commission."
"And if he should capture him, what then?"
"If he is taken alive he will die the death of a traitor."
"And then?"
"Then the war would be over, the idea of independence would be buried,and we should be English subjects forever."
"And after that comes a cow to be shod. One thing is as likely as theother. The idea of independence will never be buried; we shall neveragain be subjects of the King o' England. In spite of all the elementscan do, in spite of what seems to us impossibilities, the tree God hasplanted no wind shall hurt. Many a day, Neil, I have steadied my soul
and my heart as I went to and fro in my house singing or saying this bitverse, and I wrote it my ain sel':
No wind that blows can ever kill The tree God plants; It bloweth east; it bloweth west; The tender leaves have little rest, But any wind that blows is best. The tree God plants Strikes deeper root, grows higher still, Spreads wider boughs for God's good will, Meets all its wants."
Neil sighed, and rising suddenly, said, "Let us go upstairs; the room isgrowing very cold. And, mother, do not let father know I have told youabout his 'bit scrimmage.' It would rob him of the triumph of his ownrecital."
"I'll not say a word, Neil; you may be sure o' that."
And she did not say a word. Nevertheless, the Elder looked queerly atNeil the following evening, and when he found an opportunity, said,"You've been telling tales on me, lad. Your mother hasna petted me a'the day lang for naething. Some one has whispered a word in her ear. Ican see it in her e'en and hear it in her voice, and feel it in thestroke o' her hand. I wonder who it was."
"A bird of the air often carries such matters, sir. It would be but thegenerality; the particulars can come from yourself only."
"Aye, to be sure!" And he smiled and seated himself comfortably in hischair before the blaze, adding, "It was a wonderfu' bit o' comfort,Neil, and you'll stand by me if your mother thinks wrong o' it?"
"Shoulder to shoulder, sir. You did quite right."
A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story Page 9