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_ The Thunderer weighed the next day, Saturday, while I was still upon my
back, and Comyn sailed with her. Not, however, before I had seen him
again. Our affection was such as comes not often to those who drift
together to part. And he left me that sword with the jewelled hilt,
that hangs above my study fire, which he had bought in Toledo. He told
me that he was heartily sick of the navy; that he had entered only in
respect for a wish of his father's, the late Admiral Lord Comyn, and that
the Thunderer was to sail for New York, where he looked for a release
from his commission, and whence he would return to England. He would
carry any messages to Miss Manners that I chose to send. But I could
think of none, save to beg him to remind her that she was constantly in
my thoughts. He promised me, roguishly enough, that he would have
thought of a better than that by the time he sighted Cape Clear. And
were I ever to come to London he would put me up at Brooks's Club, and
warrant me a better time and more friends than ever had a Caribbee who
came home on a visit.
My grandfather kept his word in regard to Mr. Allen, and on Sunday
commanded the coach at eight. We drove over bad roads to the church at
South River. And he afterwards declined the voluntary aid he hitherto
had been used to give to St. Anne's. In the meantime, good Mr. Swain had
called again, bringing some jelly and cake of Patty's own making; and a
letter writ out of the sincerity of her heart, full of tender concern and
of penitence. She would never cease to blame herself for the wrong she
now knew she had done me.
Though still somewhat weak from my wound and confinement, after dinner
that Sunday I repaired to Gloucester Street. From the window she saw me
coming, and, bare-headed, ran out in the cold to meet me. Her eyes
rested first on the linen around my throat, and she seemed all in a fire
of anxiety.
"I had thought you would come to-day, when I heard you had been to South
River," she said.
I was struck all of a sudden with her looks. Her face was pale, and I
saw that she had suffered as much again as I. Troubled, I followed her
into the little library. The day was fading fast, and the leaping flames
behind the andirons threw fantastic shadows across the beams of the
ceiling. We sat together in the deep window.
"And you have forgiven me, Richard?" she asked.
"An hundred times," I replied. "I deserved all I got, and more."
"If I had not wronged and insulted you--"
"You did neither, Patty," I broke in; "I have played a double part for
the first and last time in my life, and I have been justly punished for
it."
"'Twas I sent you to the Coffee House," she cried, "where you might have
been killed. How I despise myself for listening to Mr. Allen's tales!"
"Then it was Mr. Allen!" I exclaimed, fetching a long breath.
"Yes, yes; I will tell you all."
"No," said I, alarmed at her agitation; "another time."
"I must," she answered more calmly; "it has burned me enough. You recall
that we were at supper together, with Betty Tayloe and Lord Comyn, and
how merry we were, altho' 'twas nothing but 'Dorothy' with you gentlemen.
Then you left me. Afterwards, as I was talking with Mr. Singleton, the
rector came up. I never have liked the man, Richard, but I little knew
his character. He began by twitting me for a Whig, and presently he
said: 'But we have gained one convert, Miss Swain, who sees the error of
his ways. Scarce a year since young Richard Carvel promised to be one of
those with whom his Majesty will have to reckon. And he is now become,'
--laughing,--'the King's most loyal and devoted.' I was beside myself.
'That is no subject for jest, Mr. Allen,' I cried; I will never believe
it of him!' 'Jest!' said he; I give you my word I was never soberer in
my life.' Then it all came to me of a sudden that you sat no longer by
the hour with my father, as you used, and you denounced the King's
measures and ministers no more. My father had spoken of it. 'Tell me
why he has changed?' I asked, faltering with doubt of you, which I never
before had felt. 'Indeed, I know not,' replied the rector, with his most
cynical smile; unless it is because old Mr. Carvel might disinherit a
Whig. But I see you doubt my word, Miss Swain. Here is Mr. Carroll,
and you may ask him.' God forgive me, Richard! I stopped Mr. Carroll,
who seemed mightily surprised. And he told me yes, that your grandfather
had said but a few days before, and with joy, that you were now of his
Majesty's party."
"Alas! I might have foreseen this consequence," I exclaimed. "Nor do I
blame you, Patty."
"But my father has explained all," Patty continued, brightening. "His
admiration for you is increased tenfold, Richard. Your grandfather told
him of the rector's treachery, which he says is sufficient to make him
turn Methodist or Lutheran. We went to the curate's service to-day. And
--will you hear more, sir? Or do your ears burn? That patriots and
loyalists are singing your praises from Town Gate to the dock, and
regretting that you did not kill that detestable Captain Collinson--but
I have something else, and of more importance, to tell you, Richard,"
she continued, lowering her voice.
"What Mr. Carroll had told me stunned me like a blow, such had been my
faith in you. And when Mr. Allen moved off, I stood talking to Percy
Singleton and his Lordship without understanding a word of the
conversation. I could scarce have been in my right mind. It was not
your going over to the other side that pained me so, for all your people
are Tories. But I had rather seen you dead than a pretender and a
hypocrite, selling yourself for an inheritance. Then you came.
My natural impulse should have been to draw yon aside and there accuse
you. But this was beyond my strength. And when I saw you go away
without a word I knew that I had been unjust. I could have wept before
them all. Mr. Carroll went for his coach, and was a full half an hour
in getting it. But this is what I would tell you in particular, Richard.
I have not spoken of it to a soul, and it troubles me above all else:
While Maria was getting my cardinal I heard voices on the other side of
the dressing-room door. The supper-room is next, you know. I listened,
and recognized the rector's deep tones: 'He has gone to the Coffee
House,' he was saying; Collinson declares that his Lordship is our man,
if we can but contrive it. He is the best foil in the service, and was
taught by--there! I have forgot the name."
"Angelo!" I cried.
"Yes, yes, Angelo it was. How did you know?" she demanded, rising in
her excitement.
"Angelo is the great fencing-master of London," I replied.
"When I heard that," she said, "I had no doubt of your innocence. I ran
out into the assembly room as I was, in my hood, and tried to find Tom.
But he--" She paused, ashamed.
"Yes, I know," I said hurriedly; "you could not find him."
She glanced at me in gratitude.
"How everybody stared at me! But little I cared! 'Twas that gave rise
to Mr. Green's report. I thought of Percy Singleton, and stopped him in
the midst of a dance to bid him run as fast as his legs would carry him
to the Coffee House, and to see that no harm befell you. 'I shall hold
you responsible for Richard,' I whispered. 'You must get him away from
Mr. Claude's, or I shall never speak to you again.' He did not wait to
ask questions, but went at once, like the good fellow he is. Then I rode
home with Maria. I would not have Mr. Carroll come with me, though he
begged hard. Father was in here, writing his brief. But I was all in
pieces, Richard, and so shaken with sobbing that I could tell him no more
than that you had gone to the Coffee House, where they meant to draw you
into a duel. He took me up to my own room, and I heard him going out to
wake Limbo to harness, and at last heard him driving away in our coach.
I hope I may never in my life spend such another hour as I passed then."
The light in the sky had gone out. I looked up at the girl before
me as she stood gazing into the flame, her features in strong relief,
her lips parted, her hair red-gold, and the rounded outlines of her
figure softened. I wondered why I had never before known her beauty.
Perchance it was because, until that night, I had never seen her heart.
I leaped to my feet and seized her hands. For a second she looked at me,
startled. Then she tore them away and ran behind the dipping chair in
the corner.
"Richard, Richard!" she exclaimed. "Did Dorothy but know!"
"Dorothy is occupied with titles," I said.
Patty's lip quivered. And I knew, blundering fool that I was, that I had
hurt her.
"Oh, you wrong her!" she cried; "believe me when I say that she loves
you, and you only, Richard."
"Loves me!" I retorted bitterly,--brutally, I fear. "No. She may have
once, long ago. But now her head is turned."
"She loves you now," answered Patty, earnestly; "and I think ever will,
if you but deserve her."
And with that she went away, leaving me to stare after her in perplexity
and consternation. _
Read next: VOLUME 3: CHAPTER XVII. South River
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