Kitabı oku: «A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story», sayfa 6

"Do you hear him? Your uncle, I mean. Do you hear him, Maria?" she cried. "He is singing. He must be fey. I haven't heard him sing since he was a lad going to Paul Gerome's singing class. It's uncanny! It frightens me! And what is he singing, Maria?"

And Maria lifting a calm face answered —"The name of the song is Love."

CHAPTER V.
LOVE'S SWEET DREAM

It is not truth, but falsehood which requires explanation, and Maria was sensible of this fact as she sat at her tambour frame thinking of Agnes and of Harry and of her uncle Neil. There was something not straightforward in the life of Agnes, and she resolved every day to make inquiry into it, and every day she made, instead, some deferring excuse. But one morning, while eating breakfast, they were all sensitive to unusual movements in the city, and the air was tense with human emotion. The Elder and Neil became restless and anticipative, and Maria could not escape the feverish mental contagion. When the men had left the house she hurried through her few duties, and then went to her friend. Agnes was standing at the garden gate, watching and listening. "There is news of some kind, Maria," she said; "I am anxious to know what it is."

"Grandmother says we need not run after news, it will find us out, and I dare say it is only more Connecticut ravaging."

Then Agnes turned into the house with Maria, for she perceived something unusual in her voice and manner – dissatisfaction, and perhaps a tone of injury. There was no pretence of study about her, she had not even brought her books, and Agnes became silent, and lifted her sewing. At length Maria spoke:

"What is the matter with you, Agnes?" she asked, and then added: "you are not like yourself this morning."

"Whatever the matter is, Maria, I caught it from you."

"You are cross."

"I was only curious and anxious when you came. You brought dissatisfaction and annoyance with you. I think you had better tell me at once what has displeased you."

"Oh, you must know what displeases me, Agnes. Do you think I can bear to see you playing with two lovers at once? I am very fond of my uncle Neil, and he adores you. And when Harry is away, uncle Neil is everything; but as soon as Harry comes, then Harry is everything. It is not fair to uncle, and I do not approve of such ways. If I were to act in that kind of fashion between Lord Medway and Quentin Macpherson, who would be so shocked as Agnes Bradley? I am so disappointed in you, Agnes. I have not been able to come and see you for days; this morning I felt that I must speak to you about things."

"Maria, I once asked you to defer judgment on whatever you saw or heard or suspected, and to take my word for it being all right. It seems that I asked too much."

"But how can it be all right, if you allow two men to make love to you? – and you seem to like it from both of them."

"I do like it – from both of them. The two loves are different."

"Agnes! Agnes! I am shocked at you!" and Maria hid her face on the sofa cushion and began to cry.

Then Agnes knelt at her side, and lifted her face and kissed it, and whispered four words in her ear; and there was a look of wonder, and Maria asked softly, "Why did you not tell me before?"

"I thought every time you saw him you would surely guess the truth."

"I did not."

"You must have seen also that Harry is deeply in love with you. Now, how could he be in love with me also?"

"Harry in love with me! O Agnes!"

"You know it. Love cannot be hid. Only lovers look at a woman as I have seen Harry look at you."

"I do think Harry likes me, and I felt as if – I don't know what I felt, Agnes. I am very unhappy."

"Let me tell you what you felt. You said to yourself: if Harry was not bound to Agnes he would be my lover; and Agnes does not care for him, she does not treat him well, and yet she treats him too well to be doing right to uncle Neil. You would include your uncle, because you would feel it selfish to be wounded and disappointed only on your own account."

"You ought not to speak in that way, Agnes. Suppose I had such feelings, it is not nice of you to put them into words so plain and rude."

"I do not blame you, Maria. Your attitude is natural, and specially womanly. It is I who have been wrong. I must now excuse myself to you; once you said you could believe in me without explanations."

"Forgive me, Agnes. I do not want explanations now."

"For I have told you that Harry is my brother, not my lover. That is the main fact, and accounts for all that specially troubles you. Now you must know the whole truth. Harry was sent to England out of the way of the war, for my father lives and moves in his being and welfare. But Harry wanted to be in the thick of the war; he wanted the post of most danger for his country's sake. He said he was ashamed to be in England; that every American who could be in active service ought to be there, because it might be, God intended to use just him. I gave in to all he proposed; I had no heart to resist him. I only stipulated that come what would, our father should not know he was in the country."

"Why did you not tell me at first that he was your brother?"

"Harry is handsome, and I was afraid you might be attracted by him; and the secrecy and romance of the situation and the danger he was constantly facing – these are things that capture a woman's imagination. And marriage is such an important affair, I could not think it right to run the risk of engaging you to Harry unknown to your father or friends. I told Harry that you believed him to be my lover, and I was sure that this belief would save you from thinking of him in any light but that of a friend or brother."

"It ought to have done, dear Agnes; it did do – but Harry."

"I know, at Harry's second visit, if not at his first, he was your lover; and I knew that this explanation must come. Now, I can only beg you to keep the knowledge of Harry Bradley's presence in America absolutely to yourself. I assure you, if father knew he was here and in constant danger, he would be distracted."

"But does he not suspect? He must wonder that Harry does not write to him."

"Harry does write. He sends letters to a friend in London, who re-mails them to father. About three times a year father gets a London letter, and that satisfies him. And he so little suspects Harry's presence in America that the boy has passed his father on the street without the slightest recognition on father's part; for he has more disguises than you could believe possible. I have seen him as a poor country doctor, buying medicines for his settlement; as an old schoolmaster, after a few books and slates at Rivington's; and a week ago, I met him one day shouting to the horses which were pulling a load of wood up Golden Hill. And he has no more transitions than a score of other young men who serve their country in this secret and dangerous manner. I can assure you General Washington's agents go in and out of New York constantly, and it is beyond the power of England to prevent them."

"Suppose in some evil hour he should be suspected! Oh, Agnes!"

"There are houses in every street in the city where a window or a door is always left open. Harry told me he knew of sixteen, and that he could pass from one to the other in safety."

"Suppose he should be noticed on the river, at your landing or any other."

"He can swim like a fish and dive like a seal and run like a deer. The river banks that look like a tangle to you and me, are clear as a highway to Harry. And you know it is the East river that is watched; no one thinks much about the water on this side; especially so near the fort. I do not think Harry is in any great danger; and he will be mainly on the river now for some months."

"I wish I had not said a word, Agnes, I am so sorry! So sorry!"

"We are always sorry when we doubt. I felt that you were mistrusting me, and I promised Harry, on his last visit, to tell you the truth before he came again. I have been waiting for you all week. I should have told you to-day, even if you had not said a word."

"I shall never forgive myself."

"I was wrong also, Maria. I ought, at the first, to have trusted you fully."

"Or not trusted me at all, Agnes."

"You are right, Maria."

A great chagrin made Maria miserable. A little faith, a little patience, and the information she had demanded in spirit unlovely and unloving, would have come to her by Harry's desire, and with the affectionate confidence of Agnes. But neither of the girls were fully satisfied or happy, and the topic was dropped. Both felt that the matter would have to rest, in order to clear itself, and Agnes was not unconscious of those mute powers within, which, if left to themselves, clear noiselessly away the débris of our disputes and disappointments. She proposed a walk in the afternoon; she said she had shopping to do, and if there was any news, they would likely hear it from some one.

There was evidently news, and Agnes at once judged it unfavorable for the royalists. The military were moving with sullen port; the houses were generally closed, and the people on the streets not inclined to linger or to talk. "We had better ask my father," she said, and they turned aside to Bradley's store to make the inquiry. The saddler was standing at the door talking to Lord Medway; and his eyes flashed an instant's triumphant signal as they caught his daughter's glance of inquiry. But he kept his stolid air, and when he found Lord Medway and Maria so familiarly pleased to meet each other, he introduced Agnes and gave a ready acquiescence to Lord Medway's proposal to walk with the ladies home.

Then, Maria, suddenly brilliant with a sense of her power, asked, "What is the matter with the city this afternoon? Every one seems so depressed and ill-humored."

"We have lost Stony Point," answered Medway. "There was a midnight attack by twelve hundred picked men. It was an incomparable deed of daring. I would like to have been present. I said to General Clinton when I heard the story, 'Such men are born to rule, and coming from the stock they do, you will never subdue them!'"

"Who led the attack?" asked Agnes.

"Anthony Wayne, a brave daring man, they tell me. The Frenchman, De Fleury, was first in, and he hauled down our flags. Dash it! If it had been an American, I would not have cared so much. Now, perhaps, Generals Clinton and Tryon will understand the kind of men they have to fight. When Americans fight Englishmen, it is Greek meeting Greek. Clinton tells me the rebels have taken four thousand pounds' worth of ordnance and stores and nearly seven hundred prisoners. Oh, you know a deed like this makes even an enemy proud of the men who could do it!"

"Was it a very difficult deed?" asked Maria.

"I am told that Stony Point is a rock two hundred feet high, surrounded by the Hudson River on three sides, and almost isolated from the land on the fourth side by a marsh, which at high tide is two feet under water. They reached the fort about midnight, and while one column drew the defenders to the front by a rapid continuous fire, two other columns, armed only with the bayonet, broke into the fort from opposite points. In five minutes the rebels were rushing through every embrasure, and a thousand tongues crying 'Victory'! There is no use belittling such an affair. It was as brave a thing as ever men did, and I wish I had seen the doing of it."

In such conversation they passed up Maiden Lane, and by the ruins of Trinity Church to the river side; all of them influenced by the tense feeling which found no vocal outlet for its passion. Men and women would appear for a moment at a window, and then disappear. They were American patriots on the look-out to spread the good news. A flash from the lifted eyes of Agnes was sufficient. Again they would meet two or three royalists talking in a dejected, disparaging way of the victory; or else blustering in anger over the supineness or inefficiency of their generals.

"I hope General Clinton will now find his soldiers some tougher work than hay-making," sneered an irate old man who stopped Lord Medway. "If he goes out hay-making, he ought to leave fighting men in the forts. Why the commander at Stony Point – Colonel Johnson – I know him, had a wine party, and the officers from Verplanck's Point were drinking with him, when Wayne walked into their midst and made them all prisoners. I am told the sentinels had been secured, the abatis removed, and the rebels in the works before our fine soldiers knew an enemy was near. And it was that tanner from Pennsylvania – that Dandy Wayne, that stole the march on them! It makes me ashamed of our English troops, my lord!

"Well, Mr. Smith, General Clinton will be in New York in a few days. There will be many to call him to account, I have no doubt."

In this electric atmosphere heart spoke to heart very readily, for in the midst of great realities conventionalities are of so little consequence, and genuine feeling, of any kind, forgets, or puts aside, flatteries or compliments. So when they reached the Bradley house, Agnes asked Lord Medway if he would enter and rest awhile? And he said he would, and so sat talking about the war until it was tea-time for the simple maidens, who ate their dinner at twelve o'clock. Then he saw Agnes bring in the tray, and take out the china, and lay the round table with a spotless nicety; and it delighted him to watch the homely scene. Maria was knitting, and he turned her ball of pink yarn in his hands and watched her face glow and smile and pout and change with every fresh sentiment. Or, if he lifted his eyes from this picture, he could look at Agnes, who had pinned a clean napkin across her breast, and was cutting bread and butter in the wafer slices he approved. He wondered if she would ask him to take tea with them; if she did not he was resolved to ask himself. Then he noticed she had placed three cups on the tray, and he was sure of her hospitality.

It made him very happy, and he never once fell into the affectation of talk and manner appropriate to a fashionable tea-table. He seemed to enjoy both the rebel sentiments of Agnes, and the royalist temper of Maria; and he treated both girls with such hearty deference and respect as he did not always show to much more famous dames. And it was while sitting at this tea-table he gave his heart without reserve to Maria Semple. If he had any doubts or withdrawals, he abandoned them in that happy hour, and said frankly to himself:

"I will make her my wife. That is my desire and my resolve; and I will not turn aside from it for anything, nor for any man living; Maria Semple is the woman I love, no one else shall have her."

In following out this resolve he understood the value of Agnes; and he did all he could to gain her good-will. She was well disposed to give it; her father's approval bespoke hers. A feeling of good comradeship and confidence grew rapidly as they ate, and drank their tea, and talked freely and without many reservations, for the sake of their political feelings. So much so, that when Lord Medway rose to go, there came to Agnes a sudden fear and chill. She looked at him apprehensively, and while he held her hand, she said:

"Lord Medway, Maria and I have been very sincere with you, but I am sure our sincerity cannot wrong us, in your keeping."

This was not very explicit, but he understood her meaning. He laid his hand upon the table at which they had eaten, and said: "It is an altar to faith and friendship. When I am capable of repeating anything said at the table where I sit as guest, I shall be lost to truth and honor, and be too vile to remember." He spoke with force, and with a certain eloquence, very different from his usual familiar manner, and both Agnes and Maria showed him in their shining eyes and confiding air how surely they believed in him.

After this event there was continual excitement in the city, and General Clinton returned to it at once. He called in the little army he had cutting grass for winter fodder, and with twenty thousand troops shut himself up in New York.

"For once the man has been employing himself well and wiselike," said Madame Semple. "He has cut all the grass, and cured all the grass round about Rye, and White Plains, and New Rochelle, and East Chester, and a few other places; and he has left it all ahint him. What a wiselike wonderfu' man is General Sir Henry Clinton!"

"And the rebels have carried off the last wisp o' hay he made," said the Elder angrily. "They were on the vera heels o' our soldiers. It's beyond believing! It's just the maist mortifying thing that ever happened us."

Madame looked pityingly at her husband, raised her shoulders to emphasize the look, and then in a thin voice, quavering a little with her weakness and emotion, began to sing to herself from that old translation of the Psalms so dear to every Scottish heart:

 
"Kings of great armies foiled were
And forced to flee away;
And women who remained at home
Did distribute the prey.
God's chariots twenty thousand are,
Thousands of angels strong."
 

"Janet! Janet! Will you sing some kind o' calming verse? The Lord is naething but a man of war in your thoughts. Do you believe He goes through the earth wi' a bare, lifted sword in His hand?"

"Whiles He does, Alexander. And the light from that lifted sword lightens the earth. I hae tasted o' the goodness of the Lord; I know of old His tender mercy, and His loving kindness, but in these awfu' days, I am right glad to think o' Him as The Lord of Hosts! He is sure to be on the right side, and He can make of one man a thousand, and of a handful, a great multitude."

"It's a weary warld."

"But just yet there's nae better one, my dear auld man! So we may as well tak' cheerfully what good comes to-day, there will be mair to-morrow, or I'm far wrang."

If Janet's "to-morrow" be taken as she meant it to be taken, her set time was long enough for other startling events. Tryon's expedition was ordered back to New York, and Quentin Macpherson brought the news of his own return. He did not meet with as warm a welcome as he hoped for. Madame was contemptuous and indignant over the ravaging character of the expedition. The Elder said they had "alienated royalists without intimidating rebels"; and Maria looked critically at the young soldier, and thought him less handsome than she had supposed: the expedition, so cowardly and cruel, had been demoralizing and had left its mark on the young man. He was disappointed, jealous, offended; he had an overweening opinion of the nobility of his family and not a very modest one as to his own deserts. He was also tenacious, and the thing he desired grew in value as it receded from his grasp; so, although angry at Maria, he had no idea of relinquishing his suit for her hand.

She kept as much as possible out of his company, and this was not difficult. The troops were constantly on the alert, for one piece of bad news, for the royalists, followed another. A month after the capture of Stony Point, the rebels took Paulus Hook in a midnight attack. This fort had been most tenaciously held by the English from the earliest days of the war, it being the only safe landing-place in Jersey for their foraging parties. It was within sight of New York, and almost within reach of its guns. The shame and anger of the royalist burghers was unspeakable; they would have openly insulted the military, if they had dared to do so.

About two weeks later came the news of Sullivan's sweeping victory over the Six Nations of Indians under Sir John Johnson and the Indian Chief, Brandt. The Americans turned their country into a desert, and drove the whole people in headlong flight as far as Niagara. This Autumn also was rendered remarkable by the astonishing success of the American privateers; never had they been at once so troublesome and so fortunate. So that there was plenty for every one to talk about, if there had been neither lovers nor love-making in the land. But it seemed as if Love regarded the movement of great armies and the diplomacies of great nations, as the proper background and vehicles for his expression. While Medway was talking, or fishing, or hunting with Clinton, he was thinking of Maria. While Macpherson was inspecting his company, he was thinking of Maria. While Harry was traversing the woods and the waters, he was thinking of Maria. And while Neil Semple was drawing out titles, and making arguments in Court, he was always conscious of the fact that his happiness was bound up in the love of Agnes Bradley. On every side also, other lovers were wooing and wedding. The sound of trumpets did not sadden the music of the marriage feast, nor did the bridal dance tarry a moment for the tramp of marching soldiers. All the chances and changes of war were but ministers of Love, and did his pleasure.

In the meantime John Bradley was stitching his saddles, and praying and working for Washington, the idol of his hopes, quite unconscious of how completely his home had been confiscated to the service of love and lovers. No house in all the restless city seemed less likely to be the rendezvous of meeting hearts; and yet quite naturally, and by the force of the simplest circumstances, it had assumed this character. It began with Maria. Her beauty and charm had given her three lovers, who were, all of them, men with sufficient character to find, or to make a way to her presence. But every movement, whether of the body or the soul, takes, by a certain law, the direction in which there is the least resistance; and the road of least resistance to Maria, was by way of Agnes Bradley.

At the Semple house, Madame was a barrier Medway could not pass. She told Maria plainly, "no English lord should cross her doorstep." She could not believe in his good heart, or his good sense, and she asked scornfully, "how a close friend of General Clinton's could be fit company for an American girl? He has nae charm for touching pitch without being defiled," she said, "and I'll not hae him sitting on my chairs, and putting his feet on my hearth, and fleching and flattering you in my house while my name is Janet Semple. And you may tell him I said so."

And in order to prevent Madame giving her own message, Maria was compelled to confess to Lord Medway, her grandmother's antagonism. He was politely sorry for her dislike to Englishmen – for he preferred to accept it as a national, rather than a personal feeling; but it did not interfere with his intentions. There was Miss Bradley. She had a kind feeling toward him, and Maria spent a large part of every day with her friend. By calling on Miss Bradley he could see Miss Semple. As the best means toward this end he cultivated Agnes through her father. He talked with him, listened to his experiences, and gave him subscriptions for Wesley Chapel, and for the prisoners he could find means to help. He made such a good impression on John Bradley, that he told his daughter he felt sure the good seed he had sown would bring forth good fruit in its season.

Macpherson had a certain welcome at the Semples, but he could not strain it. Madame was not well, company fatigued her, and, though he did not suspect this reason, she was feeling bitterly that she must give up her life-long hospitality – she could not afford to be hospitable any longer. She did not tell Maria this, she said rather, "the laddie wearied her mair than once a week. She wasna strong, and she didna approve o' his excuses for General Clinton. I could tear them all to ravlins," she said, angrily, "but I wad tear mysel' to pieces doing it. He has the reiving, reiving Highland spirit, and nae wonder! The Macphersons have carried fire and sword for centuries."

As for Harry Deane, he, of course, could not come at all, though Madame might have borne him more than once a week, if she had been trusted. But Harry was as uncertain as the wind. He came when no one looked for him, and when he was expected, he was miles away. So there was no possible neutral ground for Love but such as Agnes in her good-nature and wisdom would allow. But Agnes was not difficult. Neil Semple had taught her the sweetness and clemency of love, and she would not deprive Maria of those pleasant hours, with which so many days were brightened that would otherwise have been dull and monotonous. For, during the summer's heat the royalist families, who could afford to do so, left the city, and the little tea parties at Agnes Bradley's were nearly the only entertainment at Maria's command.

These were informal and often delightful. Lord Medway knew that about five o'clock Agnes would be setting the tea-tray, and he liked to sit beside Maria and watch her do it. And sometimes Maria made the tea, and poured his out, and put in the sugar and cream with such enchanting smiles and ways that he vowed never tea in this world tasted so refreshing and delicious. And not infrequently Quentin Macpherson would come clattering in when the meal had begun, take a chair at the round table, and drinking his tea a little awkwardly, soothe his self-esteem by an aggressive self-importance. For Lord Medway's nonchalant manner provoked him to such personal assertion as always mortified when the occasion was over. About half-past seven was Neil's hour, and then the conversation became general, and love found all sorts of tender occasions; every glance of meeting eyes, and every clasp of meeting hands, bearing the one sweet message, "I love you, dear!"

It was usually in the morning that Harry came springing up the garden path. There was neither work nor lessons that day, nor any pretense of them. Harry had too much to tell, and both Agnes and Maria hung upon his words as if they held the secret of life and happiness. Now, granted two beautiful girls with a moderate amount of freedom, and four lovers in that pleasantly painful condition between hope and fear that people in love make, if it is not made for them, and put all in a position where they have the accessories of sunlight and moonlight, a shady garden, a noble river, the scent of flowers, the goodness of fine fruit, the pleasures of the tea-table, and if these young people do not advance in the sweet study their hearts set them, they must be either coldly indifferent, or stupidly selfish.

This company of lovers was however neither stupid nor selfish. In the midst of war's alarms, while fleets and armies were gathering for battle, they were attending very faithfully to their own little drama. Quentin Macpherson had one advantage over both his rivals: he went to the Semple house every Sunday evening, and then he had Maria wholly under his influence. He walked in the garden with her, she made his tea for him, he sat by her side during the evening exercise, sung the psalm from the same Bible, and then, rising with the family, stood, as one of them, while the Elder offered his anxious yet trustful prayer. It was Madame who had thought of connecting this service with the young soldier. "It is little good he can get from thae Episcopals," she said, "and it's your duty, Alexander, to gie him a word in season," and though Macpherson was mainly occupied in watching Maria, and listening to her voice, he had been too well grounded in his faith not to be sensible of the sacredness of those few minutes, and to be insensibly influenced by their spirit.

Neil was never present. When the tea-table was cleared, he went quietly out, and those who cared to follow him would have been led to the little Wesleyan Chapel on John Street. He always took the same seat in a pew near the door, and there he worshipped for an hour or two the beautiful daughter of John Bradley. He was present to watch them enter. Sometimes the father went to the pulpit, sometimes he went with Agnes to the singing-pew. And to hear these two translating into triumphant song the holy aspirations and longings of Watts and Wesley, was reason enough for any one who loved music to be in Wesley Chapel when they were singing together.

All who have ever loved, all who yet dream of love, can tell the further story of those summer days for themselves. They have only to keep in mind that it had a constant obligato of trumpets and drums and marching men, and a constant refrain, made up of all the rumors of war, victory, and defeat; good news and bad news, fear, and hope, and sighing despair. At length the warm weather gave place to the dreamy hours of the Indian summer. A heavenly veil of silvery haze lay over the river and the city; a veil which seemed to deaden every sound but the shrill chirping of the crickets; and a certain sense of peace calmed for a short time the most restless hearts. The families who had been at various places during the hot months returned to their homes in New York, with fresh dreams of conquest and pleasure, for as yet the terrors of the coming winter were not taken into thought or account. The war was always going to be "over very soon," and General Clinton assured the butterflies of his military court they might eat, drink, and be merry, for he intended at once to "strike such a blow as would put an end to confederated rebellion for ever." And they gladly believed him.

In less than a week Maria received half-a-dozen invitations to dinners, dances, card parties, and musical recitations. She began at once to look over her gowns, and Agnes came every day to the Semple house to assist in remodeling and retrimming them. They were delightful days long to be remembered. Both the Elder and Madame enjoyed them quite as much as the girls; and even Neil entered into the discussions about colors, and the suitability of guimpes and fringes, with a smiling gravity that was very attractive.

"Uncle Neil thinks he is taking depositions and weighing evidence; see how the claims of pink and amber perplex him!" and then Neil would laugh a little, and decide in such haste that he generally contradicted his first opinion.

The Sunday in this happy week was made memorable by the news which Quentin Macpherson brought. "Some one," he said, "had whispered to General Clinton that it was the intention of Washington to unite with the French army and besiege New York, and Clinton had immediately ordered the troops garrisoning Rhode Island to return to the city with all possible speed. And would you believe it, Elder?" said the young soldier, "they came so hastily that they left behind them all the wood they had cut for winter, and all the forage and stores provided for six thousand men. No sooner were they out of sight than the American army slipped in and took possession of everything; and now it appears that it was a false report – the general is furious, and is looking for the author of it."