Joscelyn Cheshire: A Story of Revolutionary Days in the Carolinas

by Sara Beaumont Kennedy

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  "KISS ME QUICK AND LET ME GO."

  "And to his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him."

  It was a windy day in late November, one of those rare days when summer,repenting of her desertion, steals softly back to comfort the earth witha parting smile. Out in the brown fields the birds pruned their wings inthe sun and sang a few notes softly, as a singer who recalls fitfullyand doubtfully a long forgotten tune; the golden daisies by the doorstill burnt like stars late fallen from the far firmament; a revivifiedbutterfly hovered languidly over the faded aster beds, and venturesomewasps sallied from their castles under the eaves and buzzed droninglyagainst the window panes. It was a day of shifting shadows, of subtlechanges and soft surprises.

  Joscelyn and Betty sat over their embroidery frames in the latter'sparlour, talking over the events of the past two months--the long waitbetween their letter to Eustace and his sorrowful reply; the grief thatclouded the two houses for four days following, before they knew thatRichard had escaped and was not dead, and the intense relief and joyhis short message had brought them.

  "It was like a hundred candles suddenly brought into a dark room," Bettysaid, snipping off her thread. "But do you know, Joscelyn, that youacted so queerly, scolding because you had cried so much, and cockingyour head before the mirror to count the wrinkles your grieving hadmade,--though for the life of me I could never see one of them,--that Ihalf believed you were angry that Richard had not died in truth."

  "You give me credit for much feeling, I am sure," quizzed Joscelyn. "Butin sooth, Betty, when a woman gets circles under her eyes, and crow'sfeet at the corners of her mouth, and a dismal whine to her voicethrough over-much sighing, she likes to know it has not been all invain. Wasted grief is like wasted sweets--useless."

  "I would to heaven all grief were useless and in vain."

  Joscelyn shook her head. "That would not do; for without grief therewould be no pity, and without pity there would be no love, and lifewithout love were not worth the living."

  "Love? What do you know of love?" Betty asked, looking up quickly.

  "You vain little minx! do you think Cupid wasted all his arrows on youand Eustace?"

  "N-o; but Joscelyn--"

  "'But, Joscelyn,'" mimicked the other, still laughing; "from the doubtin your voice one would think you were own daughter to that biblicalThomas whose faith was so small. Trust me, Cupid has saved a shaft inhis quiver for me."

  "You are such a queer girl, Joscelyn; one never knows how to take you.You sorrowed for Richard so vehemently at first--do you--can you meanthat you care just a little for him?"

  "My dear, I was much more in love with Richard dead than I am ever liketo be with Richard alive. You see, Death is not unlike charity: itcovers a multitude of faults."

  "You heartless creature!"

  And Betty got up and took her frame to another window. But she couldnever stay angry long, partly because of her gentle disposition, andpartly because she knew that much of Joscelyn's seeming heartlessnesswas in truth but mischievous banter; and so their heads were closetogether again very soon, while their needles wrought silken poppies orblue-eyed violets into the meshes of canvas on their frames.

  And while they thus talked and sewed, a horseman came galloping down thestreets. A great commotion followed in his wake; for he rode with a freerein and so rapidly withal that his horse's hoofs struck sparks from theloose stones of the street. Straight to Mistress Clevering's door hewent, and springing down stayed not to knock or parley, but enteringwithout ceremony and meeting the astonished lady in the hall, huggedher with a will.

  "Why--it is--Richard--Richard!"

  Her voice was half choked with giving back his kisses, but it reachedthe two girls in the parlour who, startled at first into silence, threwdown their needles and rushed headlong into the hall, and, before theyrealized it, were kissed by the newcomer in a rapturous greeting.

  Joscelyn's cheek burnt scarlet under his lips, but so glad was she tosee him safe after all their anxiety that she submitted without protest.In faith, it was over so quickly, there had been no time for resistance.Devouring her with his eyes, he tried to retain her hand when thegreeting was over, but after a moment she slipped it, not unkindly, fromhis grasp, and presently when he had told them briefly of his marvellousescape, she ran over to give her mother the news and to see if there wasnot a piece of his favourite cake in the cupboard. A warm tingle was inher veins, and she put her hand up to the cheek he had kissed. Howpleasant it was to hear his voice in the house. If he would only leavethe war alone, and--and quit making love to her, she would be so fond ofhim; they used to be excellent comrades before these two things camebetween them.

  Thinking thus, she put a napkin over the cake and turned to leave thepantry; but Richard, under pretext of speaking to her mother, hadfollowed her, and now stood in the door barring her exit.

  "Joscelyn, how good it is to see you again! Have you thought of me?"

  "'Twould have been impossible not to think of you with nothing elsebeing talked of in the house these two months past."

  "But have you missed me?"

  "Why, we miss anything to which we have been accustomed."

  "And you sorrowed for me?"

  "Truly, Richard, I should be a most hard-hearted girl not to sorrow oversuch suffering as has been yours."

  "God bless you!" He was so full of joy over the meeting that he did notnotice the lack of love-warmth in her voice, but when he would have puthis arm about her, she pushed him off with quiet decision.

  "Nay, Richard, do not begin that. You told your mother just now that youhad but three hours to stay with us; let us not waste a single moment ofthe time in a useless love-making."

  "But you kissed me for greeting."

  "Nay, sir, 'twas you kissed me," she said, with a shimmer of laughterover her face like sunlight upon dancing water.

  "Listen, sweetheart," he said, coming very close to her, his headswimming with the soft intoxication of her presence; "we may have butthese few minutes together, but I want you to know that it was thethought of you that kept me alive in that vile prison and finally nervedme to escape. But for you,--for the fierce longing to see you, to touchyou,--I should have stayed there and died like a rat."

  "Eustace did all he could," she broke in, "but our letter was long inreaching him, for General Clinton had sent him to help repel the attackon Rhode Island, and he did not return to New York for more than amonth."

  "I know, and some day I shall thank him; but he could not have effectedmy release or exchange, only bought a little favour from my hardjailers, and I cared not for that kind of obligation from one of hisname. It was you--the memory of your dear face--that steeled my nervesand broke my bonds. There is a species of numbing despair that comesupon a man sometimes over which a great love alone can triumph."

  She put her hand upon his arm, for there was a pathos in his voice thattouched her deeply; "Richard, I wish I loved you."

  "And so you shall, and do," he cried; and instantly the tender spellupon her was broken, for in his tone and manner was the old arroganceand sureness that she so much resented. He felt the change, and saidpleadingly, "The fisherwoman who rescued me said at parting, 'Tell yourJoscelyn to use you well.' Are you so soon forgetting her injunction?"

  "Nay; she was a good woman, and I shall pray for her."

  "Love me instead--'twill be truer gratitude."

  But his mother and Mistress Cheshire were in the hall, and so for answerJoscelyn pushed him through the door; and he went out to the olderwomen, munching a bit of sweet cake like a boy.

  By this time the neighbours were all collected about the door, eager tohear of absent sons and husbands; and he went out to them and answeredquestions, and took messages and told anew the story of his escape, butwith such omissions of names as to throw no suspicion on Dame Grant, ifso the story found its way back to the north.

  "And in writing to Pe
ter," he said to Patience and her mother, who weregrief stricken at his story, "say only that Dick Clevering told youwhere he was; he will understand, and anything else might arouse thewarden's suspicions and bring punishment upon him."

  He thought they would never have done with their inquiries and theirbemoanings, so short was his time and so eager was he for one more wordwith Joscelyn. At last he said:--

  "And now, my friends, I will carry as many letters as my pockets canhold, but they must be writ in short shift, for in an hour I go on myjourney and shall not return this way when once I set my facenorthward."

  And so they went away,--some to prepare their missives, others out ofdelicacy, feeling his own people must have him to themselves.

  "Tell us all about your journey's purpose, Richard," said Betty.

  "No, sister; a soldier's mission is not his property. Suffice itfor you to know that another man, Dunn by name, and I go through theCarolinas, perhaps so far south as Savannah, on business for thecommander-in-chief. He cannot weaken his present force by detaching anynumber of men to aid the southerners, but he wants to put them on theirguard against the force Clinton is sending by sea from New York; andalso to learn accurately the strength of the cause in these parts."

  "And where is Master Dunn?"

  "He stopped for a few hours over the Virginia line to see his wife, andI rode the livelong night that I might have this glimpse of you.Methinks I should almost have deserted to come back for a look at youall, had I not persuaded Dunn to choose me on this expedition."

  "And where are you to meet him?"

  "At Charlotte, three days hence."

  "When Eustace--when Master Singleton,"--Betty corrected herself, with avivid blush, "wrote, saying you were dead, mother and I were like to gocrazy with grief. He wrote it kindly, but for two days mother did notleave her bed."

  "And what did Joscelyn say?"

  "Oh, Joscelyn cried till her eyes were all red and puffed, and remindedus how you and she used to ride and read and walk together without evenso much as a sharp word until the war talk came on. She did much tocomfort mother."

  "God bless her! But you were not long in suspense?"

  "No; but mother had already prepared to have a service in your memory,and Janet and Patience had practised the hymns."

  "Well, there was at least a grave to sing over," laughed Richard; buthis mother was crying, even to think of those sad hours.

  "How thin you are!" she said, feeling his arms tenderly.

  "Well, mother, when a man has been in his grave, 'tis not to be expectedthat he will look like one of the fatted kine. But I am plump as a rosyCupid compared with what I have been; and this reminds me that I amhungry for some of your good cooking; do you and Betty get me up a bitof dinner while I look to my horse."

  But he knew his horse had been cared for, and instead of the stable, itwas Joscelyn's door he sought.

  "I have but a little while left," he said; "come and sit with us, that Imay not lose sight of you for one of those blessed minutes. I am as athirsty man with the cup held ever out of his reach."

  "I thought you would wish to talk with your mother and sister alone."

  "There is nothing I tell them that I would not quite as willingly trustto you; for though you are a Loyalist, yet you are loyal to yourfriends," he said, smiling at his own pleasantry, and she laughed too.Long afterward those words came back to him with a pang.

  As they crossed the street Mistress Strudwick hailed them from thesidewalk. "Hey, there, Richard! you are keeping bad company and willfall under suspicion, consorting with that young Tory," she cried. "Areyour despatches in the pocket next to her?--if so, beware!"

  "I have them in my heart, Mistress Strudwick."

  "Then in faith are they already Joscelyn's," laughed the old lady,teasingly pinching the girl's cheek as the two came up to her.

  "Come, Mistress Strudwick, Richard wears not his heart on his sleeve."

  "But he pins it instead upon yours--which is quite as public. Ah,Richard, she is a sad dare-devil!" and she went on to tell him of someof the scenes of the past months. He had feared for her from the first,and in his mother's parlour he caught her arm almost fiercely:--

  "Are you mad that you jeopardize yourself in this way?"

  "Mistress Strudwick is over-alarmed; I can take care of myself," sheanswered, a trifle hotly.

  But he was not satisfied; one word brought on another, and they werenearly quarrelling when Betty came to say his dinner was ready.

  "Joscelyn," he whispered, with a sudden softening of manner as they wentdown the hall, and he took her hand and laid in it a shining gold piece,"this is all the gold I have in the world; it was to have paid theprice of my flight, but the fisherwoman would not have it. Keep it forme till the war is done--I have a special purpose for it."

  After dinner the neighbours came with their letters and farewells, andhe had no further talk alone with Joscelyn. She bade him a very gentlegood-by, however, and ran across to her own balcony opposite, while hecomforted his mother and Betty and said farewell to the assembledfriends. When he was mounted and had waved them a last adieu, he madehis horse curvet as though loath to start, and so brought up close tothe rail of the opposite balcony.

  "Joscelyn, keep the gold piece safe and in some hallowed place, for whenthe war is done it shall be made into our wedding ring--'tis for that Isaved it. Good-by, sweetheart."

  And then he was gone as he had come, with a free rein and a ringing hoofbeat; and the crowd behind broke into small groups to discuss the newshe had brought, while the girl leaning on the veranda across the way,turned a shining coin in her hand, looking at it pensively, with acurious light in her eyes.