From Kingdom to Colony
think I cannot love her and love you as well?"
"No, no! Oh, no! It is n't that, Jack. I know you love me, and will
always, as long as I live--just as I love you. I am happy to have Mary
for my own sister; but I--I--" And she broke down again.
"Now see here, little girl," he said, stroking the round white arm her
fallen-back sleeve left bare; "don't fret in your heart about to-night,
or whatever you may have done. It is never any use to worry over what
is past and gone. 'T is not a maidenly act, Dot, for a girl to array
herself in men's garments, and you must never do it again. But we must
all admit that 't was a lucky thing you did it this night; and the help
you rendered us far more than makes up for your own thoughtlessness.
So you need fear no blame on account of it."
"Does father know?" she asked nervously.
"Not as yet; but I will tell him the whole story of your bravery, so
he'll not misjudge you."
She raised her face and kissed him; then after a little hesitation she
asked shyly, "And the Britisher I locked in the shed,--did you release
him, as you said you would?"
Jack smiled down into the upturned face. "He was gone when Hugh and I
got there; and the bar was wrenched off, sockets and all."
"He is strong," Dorothy said, a light coming to her eyes that her
brother did not see; and she laughed softly.
"Well, had he the strength of Samson, he'd best take heed to himself
how he comes prowling about my father's premises at unseemly hours."
He spoke with angry emphasis; and Dorothy was glad the two had not met.
CHAPTER XVI
The men of the house breakfasted at the usual hour next morning, and
with them were only Aunt Lettice and 'Bitha, Mary Broughton and Dorothy
being permitted to sleep until later, when 'Bitha, despatched by her
grandmother, went to arouse them.
She first awoke Dorothy by kissing her; then she asked with childish
solicitude, "Why do you lie abed so late, Cousin Dot,--are you ill?"
The big dark eyes gazed at the child in bewilderment, and then came a
flash of recollection.
"Ill--no. Where is Mary, and why are you here, 'Bitha?"
"Mary is still asleep, and grandame sent me to wake both of you." Then
she looked curiously at the carelessly heaped up masculine garb on a
nearby chair, and asked, "Are those Cousin Jack's clothes, Dot, and why
did he leave them here?"
Dorothy's color deepened. "Never mind, now, 'Bitha," she said hastily,
"but go and awaken Mary; then run back to Aunt Lettice, and say we will
be down directly. But stop--where is every one--have you breakfasted
yet?"
The child laughed. "Long ago," she said. "Cousin Jack and Hugh
Knollys have gone off to town on horseback, and Uncle Joseph is away on
the farm somewhere."
Dorothy's movements were lacking in their usual youthful vitality as
she moved listlessly about the room. She stood in front of her
mahogany dressing-case, looking into the tipped-over mirror,--that only
in this way could reflect the face and head surmounting her in no wise
average height--and was brushing out the tangle of curly locks, when
Mary Broughton came into the room, her hair hanging about her like a
veil of gold, reaching almost to her knees.
"Good-morning, Dot," she said smilingly. "You were so quiet that I
thought you were yet sleeping." And she turned to go back to her own
apartment.
But Dorothy called out: "Don't go yet! Oh! Mary, do you know I am
dreading so to go downstairs and meet my father. I wonder if he will
be angry at what I did last night? He was never angry with me in all
my life." And she turned her troubled eyes away from the glass, for
which indeed she seemed to have little use, so slight was the note she
was taking of the reflection it showed.
"I hope not," Mary replied, but her voice had a touch of doubt, "for he
would surely be angry with me as well, for abetting you in what you
did. But you remember what Jack said last night; would not your father
take the same view of the matter?"
The color deepened in her cheeks as she spoke her lover's name; and
this seemed to bring a new recollection to Dorothy.
"Oh, Mary," she cried, "I'd clean forgot, for the moment, all that has
befallen." With this she rushed impetuously across the room and caught
Mary about the neck. The latter blushed redder than before, while she
laughingly disengaged Dorothy's arms. Then urging her to hurry and
dress, she hastened back to her own room.
The two girls had finished breakfast and were out on the porch in front
of the house, when the hearty tones of Joseph Devereux were heard
within, asking Tamson, the red-cheeked housemaid, after her young
mistress.
"Here I am, father," answered a low, agitated voice; and Dorothy stood
before him, looking quite pale, and with eyes downcast.
"Come with me, my daughter," he commanded, and led the way into the
library.
He closed the door after them, and seated himself, while Dorothy
remained standing, her hands loosely clasped and her eyes still bent on
the floor, her attitude being much like that of a culprit before a
judge.
"Come here, child," and his voice was a trifle unsteady. "Why do you
stand there and look so strangely?"
For answer, she sank upon her knees before him and laid her face in his
lap; and a grateful thrill went through her as she felt his fingers
stroking her curly head in his usual loving fashion.
"Ye madcap!" he exclaimed after a short silence. "Whatever possessed
ye?"
"Oh, father, don't be angry with me!"
At this, he leaned over, and drawing her into his arms, lifted her to
his knee.
"Angry with you, my little Dot!" he said. "My precious, brave little
girl, how could I be that, except it were for your risking so
carelessly the life that is so dear to my old heart?"
All the sternness of his face had given place to an expression of
loving pride.
"One cannot censure an eagle, my baby," he went on,--"that it be not
born a barnyard fowl or a weak pigeon. It would seem that a higher
power than of poor mortality must have put it into your head and heart
to do what you did last night. And I've no word of blame for your
having togged yourself out in Jack's clothes. Many a heroine has done
a like thing before you. If Joan of Arc had been more like most
womenfolk, no doubt many would have reckoned her more properly behaved,
according to the laws laid down by men for the behavior o' women. But
who dare question the bravery and unselfishness of her deeds? And you,
my baby, were our Joan of Arc last night!"
All this was balm to her troubled heart. But she could not speak, and
only hugged him more tightly around the neck as she wept on his
shoulder.
"Here--hoity toity!" he said presently. "What manner o' bravery be
this--crying for naught?"
She raised her head, but before she could reply, they were both
startled by a noisy trampling of horses in front of the house, and
strange voices coming in through the open windows.
Hastily wiping away her tears, Dorothy sprang from her father's lap and
ran to look out.
"Oh, father," she cried, turning to him in dismay, "here be a lot of
British soldiers on horseback! Whatever can they have come for?"
He hurried out, Dorothy close by his side, to meet face to face at the
open door a tall young officer coming up the steps with much clanking
of sabre and jingling of spurs, while on the driveway were a dozen
mounted troopers, one of whom held the rein of a spirited gray horse.
The officer raised his hat, and his sea-blue eyes, keen as steel,
looked with smiling fearlessness straight into the lowering face of
Joseph Devereux. Then they changed like a flash, and with swift
significance, as they fell upon the slight figure shrinking close
beside him.
"Sir," he asked, "are you Joseph Devereux?"
"As you say," was the calm reply. "And what might an officer of His
Majesty's army want with me?"
"Only an audience," the young man answered respectfully. "I wish to
assure you, in case of its being needful, of my good will, and of my
desire to see that your person and property are guarded from annoyance
during our stay in your neighborhood."
The old man frowned, and drew his tall figure to its full height.
"It would seem a strange chance," he replied haughtily, "that should
put such a notion into your mind, young sir. I've lived here as boy
and man these seventy years and more, and my fathers before me for well
beyond one hundred years; and I 've needed no protection o' my own
rights save such as God and my own townsfolk have accorded me as my
just due."
"Such may have been the case before now, sir," the officer said, his
eyes still fixed upon Dorothy's blushing face; "but troublesome times,
such as these, have brought changes that should, methinks, make you
take a somewhat different view of matters."
"The times may be troublesome, as you say; but even should they grow
more so, I have my country's cause too truly at heart to desire favors
from its enemies."
"I am an enemy only should you determine to make me one; and this I
trust you will not." He still smiled pleasantly, as though bent upon
accomplishing whatever object he had in view.
"The color o' the coat you wear has determined that matter already,"
was Joseph Devereux's grim answer.
But the young man was proof against even this pointed rebuff, for he
laughed, and said with reckless gayety, "Think you not, sir, 't is a
bit unjust to refuse good fellowship to a man because of the color of
his garb?"
"A truce to this nonsense, young sir!" exclaimed the old man, his
impatience rapidly changing to anger. "Since you are about my premises
in the manner you are, 't is certain you can in no wise be ignorant o'
reasons existing which make it needless for me to say that I desire
naught to do with you, nor your fellows."
The officer bowed, and with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders,
resumed his hat.
"So be it, sir," he said, while the smile left his olive-hued face,
"although I deeply regret your decision. But before I go, I must have
speech with a young son of yours."
Dorothy moved still closer to her father, and turned a troubled look up
into his face.
"My son, sir," he answered stiffly, "is not at home."
"No? Then pray tell me where I am like to find him."
"He has gone to the town on affairs of his own."
"They are like to be affairs of great weight." The young man's voice
had a note of sarcasm.
"Whatever they be, they can assuredly be no concern of an officer o'
the King."
"That is for me to decide, sir," the soldier retorted with evidently
rising anger. "He has done that which gives me good cause to put him
in irons, should I choose to be vengeful."
"What mean ye?" the old man demanded with flashing eyes.
"I mean," replied the other, slowly, "he shall be taught that he cannot
play boyish pranks upon His Majesty's officers with impunity."
"It would seem you are better aware o' what you are prating of than am
I," said Joseph Devereux, now laying a reassuring hand over the small
one that had stolen tremblingly into his own. "As for my son playing
'boyish pranks,' as you say, he would scarcely be likely to turn back
to such things in his twenty-eighth year."
"Do you mean me to understand that your son is so old as that?" was the
officer's surprised inquiry.
"I care little of what your understanding may be," was the indifferent
reply; "but such is the fact."
"And have you no other son--a young boy?"
"I have not, as any one can tell you."
The young man bit his lips, and looked perplexed. Then, as his eyes
turned to Dorothy's flushed face, he smiled again, and said, as though
addressing her, "I beg pardon for any seeming incivility; but there
would appear to be some mystery here."