From Kingdom to Colony
and crackled on the hearth. She bade him be seated in a big chair in
front of the dancing flames, and then went over and perched herself
upon the bench--roomy enough to hold three Dorothys--before the spinet.
A moment later and there stole from beneath the skilful touch of her
fingers one of those quaint melodies of which we in this generation
know 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 her
cheeks and throat,--the firm white neck, so small and round, with the
wayward hair breaking into rebellious little curls at the nape,--the
slender wrists, and small, snowy hands.
None of these escaped him, as he sat a little back of her, his hungry
eyes absorbing each charming detail. He thought what a blessed thing
it 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 the
society of each other.
The music seemed to fit exactly into his present mood, and he sat
motionless for a time, listening to it. Then, scarcely conscious of
what he was doing, he arose to his feet; and as the final cadence died
softly away, he was in a chair beside the bench, with his arm clasping
Dorothy's waist.
She turned a startled face, to find his own bending close to her, and
with 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 me
than for the Britisher?"
An alarmed suspicion of the truth came to her. She saw a new meaning
in all he had said, in what she had beheld in his face and manner; and
realizing this, she sat white and motionless, her fingers still resting
upon the keys.
He now bent his head, and she was frightened to feel tears dropping on
her wrist.
She was possessed by a wild desire to fly,--to get away from him. But
she found herself unable to stir, and sat rigid, feeling as if turned
to 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 same
morning. She seemed to feel the arm of the young soldier around her,
and to see the scarlet-clad breast against which her head was pressed
so tenderly. A feeling as of treacherous dealing with his faith and
with her own rushed upon her, and she struggled to get away.
"Are you gone daft, Hugh Knollys," she cried angrily, "or whatever ails
you?"
He arose shamefacedly, and stood mute. But as she moved off, he
stretched out a hand to detain her.
"Wait,--wait but a moment, Dot," he begged. "Don't leave me in such
fashion. 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, and
trying to smile down into the small face, still glowing with
indignation, so far beneath his own.
"So it would seem," she said coldly, and in no wise softened. "I ne'er
expected 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 to
bring 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 him
by the hand. "Don't you want to tell me about it? Mayhap I can help
you." Her anxiety about this unknown trouble had lulled to sleeping
her suspicions as to the reason for his outbreak.
He smiled,--but sadly, grimly. "I'll tell you some day," he said, "and
we will see if you can help me. But we'll be better friends than ever
after this, won't we, Dot?" His eyes had been searching her face in
nervous wonder, as if to assure himself that he had not told her aught
of his secret,--the secret his honor forbade him to reveal.
"Yes, Hugh, I am sure we shall be." Dorothy said it with a warmth that
set his mind at rest.
"And you'll let no redcoats, nor any coats--whate'er be their
color--come betwixt us?" he added, with a touch of his old playfulness.
"No, never!" And there was a sincerity and firmness in her answer that
warmed his very heart.
"Thank you, Dot," he said, lifting her fingers to his lips. "And thank
God!" he muttered as he released her hand, saying it in a way to make
Dorothy feel uncomfortable in the thought that perhaps she had pledged
herself to something more than she had intended.
Just here Aunt Lettice came into the room. "Leet has returned from the
town," she announced, full of excitement, "and says that Mugford's wife
has at last prevailed upon the English officers to release him."
"Can this be true?" inquired the young man, instantly alert, and quite
his natural self again.
"So Leet says; and that Mugford is now in the town, with every one
rejoicing over him." And she poked the fire with great energy, sending
a thousand sparkles of flame dancing up the wide chimney.
"How happy his poor wife must be!" was Dorothy's comment, as she
stooped 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 the
bright fire was reflected in flickerings most inviting to kittenish
eyes and gambols.
"I think I'll ride over to town and see Mugford," said Hugh. "I want
to congratulate him upon his escape."
He glanced at Dorothy, as if half expecting her to speak, as he had
just declined Aunt Lettice's urgent invitation that he return for
supper, saying that his mother was looking for him before evening.
But all Dorothy said was, "Here come father and 'Bitha." And she
walked over toward the window.
Hugh followed her, and said in a low voice, not meant for Aunt
Lettice'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 hurried
away.
Joseph Devereux met him on the porch, and they stood talking for a few
minutes, while 'Bitha came within, her cheeks ruddy from the nipping
air.
"Leet is back," she said, as she entered the drawing-room; "but Uncle
Joseph says it is too cold for us to take so late a ride over to see
Mistress 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 of
redcoats and Hugh Knollys banished from her mind.
CHAPTER XXII
All the outdoor world seemed encased in burnished silver, as the new
moon of early December came up from the black bed of the ocean's
far-out rim, and mounting high and higher in the pale flush yet
lingering from the gorgeous sunset, brought out sparklings from the
snow drifted over the fields and fences of the old town.
The roads were transformed into pavements of glittering mosaics and
pellucid crystals; and all about the Devereux house the meadow lands
stretched away like a shining sea whose waves had suddenly congealed,
catching and holding jewels in their white depths.
Dorothy was looking out at the beauty of it all, her face close to the
pane her warm breath dimmed now and then, compelling her to raise a
small hand to make it clear again for her vision.
It was her brother's wedding night. And the girl was very fair and
sweet to look upon, in her soft pink gown, with its dainty laces and
ribbons, as she stood there awaiting the others; for they were all to
drive into town, to the house of Mistress Horton, where the marriage
was to be celebrated.
Nicholson Broughton was away from his home, enforced to tarry near
Cambridge, where several of his townsmen were holding weighty conclaves
which it was important for him to attend. But he had urged John
Devereux to make no delay in the ceremony, feeling that his daughter,
once wedded, and an established member of the family at the Devereux
farm, would be happier, as well as safer, now that riots in the town
were becoming more frequent and fierce.
Hugh Knollys also was absent, having undertaken an important mission in
the neighborhood of Boston.
Only the young man himself knew how eagerly he had desired to be given
this responsibility, as a reason for being away. For as the time drew
near for his friend's wedding, he feared to trust his self-control
should he find himself again in Dorothy's presence.
And then, besides, the hated redcoats were still on the Neck, and
several of the officers, among them Cornet Southorn, having accepted
more comfortable quarters at Jameson's house, Hugh thought it the wiser
course to remove himself from the vicinity for a time.
It seemed as though these two young men were continually meeting one
another on the roads and byways of the town and its neighborhood. And
the sight of the stalwart form dashing along upon a spirited horse,--of
the handsome face and reckless eyes, raised in Hugh a fierce desire to
lay them in the dust through the medium of an enforced quarrel.
Dorothy had been by Hugh's side at several of these encounters; and it
had made him heartsick to see the fluttered way in which her eyes would
turn from the young Britisher after meeting his ardent gaze, and how
for a time she would be uneasy and abstracted, resisting all attempts
to gain her attention.
But he bravely held his own counsel, and since that memorable day in
October had never mentioned the Englishman's name, nor made any
allusion to him or his doings.
As for Dorothy, she had gone about all these days with a face grave
almost to sadness; and it was well for her own peace that the others of
the family ascribed her altered mien to jealousy, thinking that her
exacting heart found it a hard matter to share her adored brother with
another whom he reckoned more precious than her own spoiled self.
Her musings were now disturbed by Jack coming into the room.
He looked the brave soldier in his new regimentals,--a round jacket and
breeches of blue cloth, with trimmings of leather buttons; and his dark
handsome face was aglow with happiness.
His curling locks were gathered at the back of the neck, and tied with
a black watered-silk ribbon; and in his hand was a broad-brimmed hat,
caught up on one side, as was the fashion, and adorned with a cockade
of blue ribbons belonging to his sweetheart.
"Ah, Dot, and so you are here! Leet is at the door, child, and Aunt
Lettice and 'Bitha are with father, in the drawing-room, all ready to
start. Come, get your cloak, and let us be off."
He was close beside her as she turned from the window; and thinking he
saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes, he laid a detaining hand on her
arm.
"You must be happy to-night, Dot," he said, "for my sake. I should
like all the world to be so, and you, my little sister, more than all
the rest."
She let him kiss her on the cheek, but stood silent, with lowered eyes.
"What is it, child,--don't you rejoice with me, when I am happier than
ever before in my life?"
He gently took her chin in his hand and raised her downcast face. In
an instant her arms were clasped about his neck and her head buried
against his breast.
Just then they heard Aunt Lettice, in the hall, calling as if she
supposed Dorothy to be above stairs.
"Come, Dot," urged her brother,--"they are waiting for us, and we must
be off." And kissing her, he quietly unclasped her clinging arms.
At this she drew herself away from him, and fixing her eyes searchingly
upon his face, said, "You are so happy, Jack, are n't you, because you
and Mary love each other?"