From Kingdom to Colony
you did, 't is not likely you would have wed me at all, for I have come
to know that I am no girl to be won by soft speeches, and sighs, and
tears."
"What!" he cried, not believing his ears. "Can it be possible--"
He had no need to finish the question, for her arms stole up and went
around his neck, and her blushing face was hidden over his heart.
"My love--my wife--can it be that you love me at last?"
"At last!" She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "I believe I
have loved you from the very first--since the time you opened your eyes
when I held your head that day on the rocks. I loved you when you
kissed me, the time we met in the wood, and I loved you when we stood
before Parson Weeks; and--I'll love you all my life."
He drew her to him with a force almost rough in its fierceness, and
covered her face with kisses.
"God be praised for those words!" he exclaimed. Then he sighed deeply.
"I have been such a miserable dog, sweetheart, ever since the night I
left Marblehead. I was hoping until then to receive some little word
bidding me come to you,--to come and tell your people the truth, and
face their opinion and anger, such as I deserved for what I had done.
But after I left you that night, I lost all hope, and prayed only that
a bullet might set me free from my self-reproaches and misery."
"Oh--you wicked--" Dorothy began; but he silenced her with a kiss.
"I have just received tidings of my father's illness, and his wish for
my return," he continued, "and was thinking of setting sail for home,
when my eyes were blessed with sight of you yesterday, and I was
dragged out here by a force I was unable to resist. I hoped to have
speech with you somehow, if only that I might implore your forgiveness
before I went away."
"And now you know there is naught to forgive," she said, smiling up
into his face.
Then she drew herself a little away from him, and taking hold of the
collar of his red coat as though to detain him, added softly, "But
you'll not go now, will you?"
He laughed exultingly; but his face became sad again as he stroked the
ripples of curling hair clustering about her forehead.
"It would seem, sweetheart," he said, "as if that might be the wisest
course for me to pursue; for how can I find heart to take up arms
against the country and people--aye, against the very kindred--of my
own wife?"
A look of sorrowing dread swept all the light from Dorothy's face; but
the brightness returned somewhat as he said more cheerily: "Well, well,
my little one, it is waste of time to talk of such matters now, for you
see I am not free to go anywhere just at this present. 'Sufficient for
the day,' you know, 'is the evil thereof;' and surely we have evil to
fear, even yet. But nothing can daunt me now--now that my honor is
cleared; and that, too, by such an unlooked-for ray of light from
Heaven, and with it the knowledge that you love me, and dared so
bravely to save my life."
The door-knob was now rattled with a warning significance, and the two
sprang away from each other as General Washington slowly entered the
room.
His face bore an odd expression, and one that was pleasant to look
upon, as he glanced from Dorothy to her husband. Then his eyes
returned to the girl's face, and he asked, with no attempt to conceal a
smile, "Well, my child, is all settled to your satisfaction,
and"--after a second's pause--"liking?"
She tried to answer him, but could not. Her heart was too overflowing
with gratitude, happiness, hope.
They all seemed struggling for precedence in the words that should come
from her lips, and she found herself unable to speak.
Her eyes filled, and she looked up as though imploring him to find in
her face all that her lips failed to say. Then she sprang forward, and
seizing his hand, pressed it to her lips.
He appeared to understand fully the cause of her silence and
agitation,--to know and appreciate the emotions that rendered her dumb;
and the lines of his face resumed their accustomed gravity as he
withdrew his hand from her clasp and laid it gently upon the curly head
so far beneath his own majestic height.
"God bless you, my daughter, and keep you--always!"
No father could have spoken more tenderly to his child; and the words
came to Dorothy as a benediction from him who had so recently passed
away.
Washington now addressed himself to Captain Southorn.
"You have in this child a priceless treasure," he said. "God grant
that you ne'er forget the fact, nor the debt you owe her."
"I never will--I never can, sir," the young man answered with
unmistakable sincerity, as he came and took his wife by the hand. "Of
that, sir, you may rest assured," he added, in a voice shaking with
strong emotion.
Washington bent his head in approval. "For the present," he continued,
"I deem it proper that you remain as before. I purpose stopping here
until afternoon, and will then have you taken to Cambridge, unless some
unforeseen matter shall arise to alter my plans."
The prisoner bowed in silence; then, as Washington went toward the door
to summon Doak, the young man turned to smile hopefully into his wife's
eyes.
"Keep a brave heart, sweet one," he whispered, "and trust in my love
and truth. Naught can ever part us now."
A minute later the door closed after the fisherman and his charge.
"Keep the paper, child," Washington said to Dorothy, as soon as they
were alone, "and remember that the promise it contains is renewed for
the future. In such days as are about us, it is not improbable to
reckon upon its being needed again--although scarcely for a like
purpose."
He smiled, as his fingers closed upon the small hand within which he
placed the eventful slip of paper. "And now go, my daughter," he
added, "and may God bless you. Trust in Him, and He will surely watch
over your life, and make all well in the end."
CHAPTER XXX
Had Dorothy been less absorbed by anxiety and grief when she was making
her way to General Washington's apartments, she would have heard the
door of the taproom open softly as she reached the foot of the stairs
leading to the second floor.
Farmer Gilbert's head was thrust from the opening, and his fierce eyes
watched the slight figure ascend to the landing above and turn in the
direction of the rooms occupied by the Commander-in-Chief.
As soon as she was out of sight, he glanced up and down the hall, to
make certain no one was near, and slipped cautiously out. Then quickly
removing his heavy shoes, he stole, cat-like, up the stairway.
His progress was stayed by the voices of the girl and Doak; and raising
his head until his eyes were on a level with the floor, he saw them
enter the room together.
"Whatever be she up to?" he muttered. Then hearing footsteps in the
hall below, he sped noiselessly up the few remaining steps, and made
haste to hide himself in Mistress Trask's linen-press, standing only a
short distance away, and which afforded him ample opportunity for
watching, as he held the door ajar.
"Aha, my lady spy," he whispered to himself, "I'll keep my eye on
ye--an' my ears, too. Ye can't fool Jason Gilbert, 'though ye may fool
some as thinks they know more as I."
He saw Doak fetch the British prisoner, and noted the length of time
the young man remained in the room whither the girl had gone.
"Aye--him outside, last night, an' she on the inside," his maudlin
thoughts ran on. "They thought to hev it all their own way,--to tell
the Britishers the names o' the officers that were here, an' all that
was goin' on. An' now here be General Washington himself, I'll be
bound, lettin' her coax him to save t' other spy from hangin', when
they both ought to be strung up together. I wish now I'd not set up a
hello that brought the men out o' the inn, but had jest given him a
crack o'er the head myself, to settle the matter, an' so hev none o'
this triflin', with her tryin' to pull the wool over the General's
eyes. But I guess he'll know 'em for the pair o' d----d British spies
they be."
His lips moved in unworded mutterings, his eyes intent upon Doak--now
sitting by the closed door--or else glancing about the hall to see if
any one were approaching his place of concealment.
When Doak was again summoned within the room, Gilbert thought to
improve the chance for making his escape; but seeing that the door was
open a few inches, he concluded to wait. Then he saw the fisherman
come out with the prisoner, and he uttered a low curse when the young
man turned to meet the girl's eyes before the door closed behind him.
Before the sound of their footsteps died away down the hall, Farmer
Gilbert left his hiding-place and hastened below, sitting down on the
steps to replace his shoes, as one of the women servants came along.
"Got a pebble, or summat, in my shoe," he explained, raising his head;
for the girl had stopped, and was staring at him curiously.
"Did ye have to take off both shoes to find it?" she asked pertly.
He did not answer, and she passed on to the tap-room, whither he
followed her.
Less than an hour after this, as Mary and Dorothy were in their little
parlor, talking over the recent happenings, the landlady came to
announce that General Washington desired to see them at once.
They observed, as they passed along the hall, that some fresh
excitement seemed to prevail, for they could see that the taproom was
filled with men, many of whom were talking animatedly.
The door of Washington's room stood open, and they saw him in earnest
conversation with two other officers, who withdrew as the girls entered.
He welcomed them kindly, although seeming preoccupied,--as if pressed
by some new matter which disturbed him.
"A messenger has brought information that a body of the enemy is coming
in this direction," he said, speaking quite hurriedly. "It is
therefore prudent that we go our ways with all proper speed, and I wish
to urge your own immediate departure. I regret that our routes lie in
different directions; but I will send the man Doak to escort you, as it
appears he is well known to your family."
Seeing the consternation in the girls' faces, he added reassuringly:
"There is no cause for alarm, for you have ample time to put a safe
distance between yourselves and the approaching British. I think it
probable they will halt for a time here, at the tavern, for this seems
to be their objective point."
"Do you think there is like to be a battle?" Mary inquired nervously.
Washington smiled at her fears.
"No," he answered. "It is but a moderate-sized force--probably
reconnoitring. We shall, I trust, have the enemy well out of Boston
erelong, without the risk or slaughter of a battle."
Then he added: "But we are losing valuable time, and I have something
more pleasant than battles to speak about. I take it, Mistress
Devereux,"--and he turned to Mary,--"that your little sister here has
made you aware of what passed between us but an hour ago?"
"Yes, sir." And Mary stole a side glance at Dorothy, wondering that
the girl should appear so self-possessed.
"Captain Southorn will go with me to Cambridge," he continued, "where
his ultimate disposition will be decided upon."
Dorothy started; but looking at Washington, she saw a smile in the
kindly glance bent upon her troubled face.
"He will also meet Lieutenant Devereux there, and this I deem a
desirable thing for all concerned. So take heart, Mistress Dorothy,
and trust that all will end happily."
He looked at his watch, and then held out a hand to each of them.
"Get you under way for Dorchester at once," he said, "and you shall
hear something from me within the week."
With this he led them to the door and bade them God speed, warning them
once more to make haste in leaving the inn.