A Song of a Single Note Part 39

"Oh, how unfortunate I am! I am indeed distracted at this disappointment."

"Will you come with me to my home? Mrs. Semple will tell you all that you desire to know about Maria."

"I am obliged for your kindness, sir, but there is only one thing for me to do. I must go back to New York by the first opportunity. I have your permission, I trust."

"I have nothing to oppose to your wishes, Lord Medway. Maria has been faithful to your memory, and I have every reason to know that you are dear to her. I wish you both to be happy."

"Then, sir, farewell for the present. If Fate be not most unkind to me, I will return with Lady Medway before the year be fully out."

He seemed to gather hope from his own prophecy, and with the charming manner he knew well how to a.s.sume he left Mr. Semple penetrated with his importance and dignity, and exceedingly exalted in the prospect of his daughter's great fortune.

"I do not wonder that Maria would accept no lover in his place," he said to Mrs. Semple. "I think, Elizabeth, he is the handsomest man I ever saw. And I glanced at the total of his rent-roll; it is close on forty thousand pounds a year, and likely to increase as his mining property is opened up. Maria has done very well for herself."

"Then we have good authority for saying all men will praise her.

Nevertheless, Cousin Richard was a handsome man and an excellent match,"

said Mrs. Semple. "You had better tell Richard. It will close that affair forever."

She was vexed, but not insensible to the social glory of the match. And there was also the precious boy in the cradle. A relative among the n.o.bility would be a good thing for him; and, indeed, the subject opened up on all sides in a manner flattering both to the pride and the interest of the Semples.

They could not cease talking of it until sleep put an end to their hopes and speculations. And in the morning they were so readily excited that Mrs. Semple felt impelled to make a confidante of her nursery maid; and Mr. Semple, being under the same necessity of conversation, was pleased to remember that his wife had advised him to inform Richard Spencer. He told himself that she was right, and that Richard ought to know the reason of his rejection. It would only be proper kindness to let him understand that Maria's reluctance was not a dislike for him personally, but was consequent upon her love for one who had won her heart previous to their acquaintance. That fact altered Richard's position and made it much less humiliating.

So he went to the offices of the Spencer Company, and after some tedious talk on the Zante currant question, he told the rejected man of Lord Medway's visit, described his appearance, and revealed, under a promise of secrecy, the amount of his rent-roll and the settlement proposed for his wife.

The effect of this story was precisely in the line of what Mr. Semple had supposed. The weakness of Richard Spencer's nature was a slavish adoration of the n.o.bility. To have had Lord Medway for a rival was an honor to be fully appreciated; and to the end of his life it supplied him, in all his hours of after-dinner confidences, with a sentimental story he delighted to tell. "Yes, gentlemen," he would say, even when an old man, "Yes, gentlemen, I was once in love, madly in love, with as beautiful a creature as ever trod this earth. And she led me a pretty dance right to the altar steps, and then deserted me. But I cannot blame her. No, by St. George, I cannot! I had a rival, gentlemen, the young, handsome, rich and powerful Lord Medway, a n.o.bleman that sits in the house of Lords and may be of the Privy Council. What hope for poor d.i.c.k Spencer against such a rival? None at all, gentlemen, and so you see, for Lord Medway's sake I am a bachelor, and always shall be one. No girl for me, after the divine Maria was lost. I saw her going to the last drawing-room and she smiled at me. I live for such little favors, and I have reason to know my great rival does not grudge them to me."

And in this way Richard Spencer consoled himself, and was perhaps more reasonably happy than if he had married a reluctant woman and been grieved all the years of his life by her contradictions.

The unexpected return of Maria to her grandparents quite overthrew Lord Medway's plans for a few hours. He had hoped to marry her in London, and take her at once to his town house, which was even then being prepared and adorned for her. And affairs in New York were in such a state of chaos that he was even anxious for her personal safety. He had left everything and every one in a state of miserable transition and uncertainty, and he was sure things were growing worse and would continue to do so until the departure of the hostile army and the return of the patriotic citizens. For it was they, and they only, who had any interest in the preservation of their beautiful city from plunder and destruction.

And as he thought on these things, he reflected that it would be an impossibility to secure for Maria and himself any comfortable pa.s.sage home, in the ordinary shipping, or even in the ships of war. He was sure every available inch of room would be filled with royalist refugees, and he knew well the likely results of men and women and children crowded together, without sufficient food and water, and exposed to the winter's cold and storm without any preparation for it.

"It will not do, it will not do!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "whatever it costs, I must charter a vessel for our own use."

In pursuance of this decision, he was in the largest shipping-house very early the next morning, and with its aid, speedily secured a swift sailing clipper. Her long, sharp bow and raking masts, pleased his nautical sense; she was staunchly built, fit to buffet wind and waves, and had a well-seasoned captain, who feared nothing, and was pleased at the terms Lord Medway offered him.

Nearly two weeks were spent in victualing and fitting her for the dainty lady she was to carry. The softest pillows and rugs and carpets, made her small s.p.a.ce luxuriously sufficient. Silver and china and fine linen were provided for her table, and when all her lockers had been filled and all her sailing wants provided for, Lord Medway brought on board a good cook, a maid for Maria, and a valet for himself. Then he set sail joyously; surely, at last, he was on the right road to his bridal.

Overtaking Maria was of course beyond a possibility, but he desired to reach New York before its evacuation. He had many reasons for this, but the chief one was a fear that unless he did so, there might be no clergyman in New York to perform the marriage ceremony. Lovers have a thousand anxieties, and if they do not have them, make them; and as the "Dolphin" flew before the wind, Medway walked her deck, wondering if Maria had arrived safely in New York, if her ship had been delayed, if it had been taken by a privateer, if there had been any shipwreck, or even great storms; if by any cruel chance he should reach New York, and not find Maria there. How could he endure the consequent disappointment and anxiety? He trembled, he turned heartsick, at any such possibility, and when the green sh.o.r.es of the new world appeared, he almost wished for a little longer suspense; he thought a certainty of Maria's absence would kill him.

As they came nearer to the city it was found impossible to approach any of the usual wharfs. The river was crowded with men-of-war, transports, and vessels of every kind, and after some consideration they took to the North River, and finally anch.o.r.ed in midstream, nearly opposite the house of Madame Jacobus.

The sight of her residence inspired him with something like hope, and he caused the small boat by which he landed to put him on sh.o.r.e as far north of the heart of the city as possible. But even so, he could distinctly hear, and still more distinctly _feel_ the sorrowful tumult of the chaotic, almost frantic town. With swift steps and beating heart he reached the Semple house. He stood still a moment and looked at it.

In the morning sunshine it had its usual, peaceful, orderly aspect, and as he reached the gate, he saw the Elder open the door, and, oh, sight of heaven! Maria stepped into the garden with him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE CAUSED THE SMALL BOAT TO PUT HIM ON Sh.o.r.e.]

What happened then? Let each heart tell itself. We have many words to express grief, none that translate the transports of love that has conquered all the accidents of a contrary fortune. Such joy speaks like a child, two or three words at a time, "My Darling--Oh, Beloved--Sweetest Maria--Ernest--Ernest--At last--At last!"

But gradually they came back to the sense of those proprieties that very wisely invade the selfishness of human beings. They remembered there were others in the world besides themselves, and broke their bliss in two, that they might share it. And as conversation became more general Medway perceived that haste was an imperative necessity, and that even haste might be too late. It was now exceedingly doubtful if a clergyman could be procured. Trinity had no authorized rector, the Reverend Mr.

Inglis having resigned the charge on the first of November, just three weeks previously, and the appointment of the Reverend Mr. Moore, selected by the corporation of Trinity, not being yet approved by the Governor of the State of New York. To an Englishman of that day, there was no marriage legally performed but by an accredited Episcopal minister, and this was the obstacle Lord Medway had now to face.

If General Clinton had been still in New York, the chaplain attached to his staff would have been easily available; but Lord Medway knew little of Sir Guy Carleton, then in command, and could only suppose his staff would be similarly provided. As this difficulty demanded instant attention, Medway went immediately about it. He was but barely in time.

Sir Guy thought the chaplain had already embarked, but fortunately, he was found in his rooms, in the midst of his packing, and the offer of a large fee made a short delay possible to him. It was then the twentieth of November, and the evacuation of the British troops and refugees was to be completed on the twenty-fifth. There was no time to be lost, for an almost insane terror pervaded the minds of the royalists, and Medway hastened back to Maria to expedite her preparations.

"Only one day, my dear one," he said, "can be allowed you. You must pack immediately. If your trunks can be sent to Madame Jacobus to-night, I will have the captain of the 'Dolphin' get them on board as early as possible to-morrow. During to-day you must make all your arrangements.

The clergyman will be waiting for us in St. Paul's Chapel at nine o'clock in the morning. Will your grandparents go with us to the church?"

"I think not, Ernest. They would rather bid me good-bye in their own home, and it will be better so. Uncle Neil has begged grandfather not to go into the city; he says it would be both dangerous and heart-breaking to him--yet we will ask them."

It was as Maria had supposed; the Elder and Madame preferred to part with their little girl in private. With smiles and tears and blessings, they gave her into Lord Medway's care and then sat down on their lonely hearth to rejoice in her joy and good fortune. They did not, however, talk much; a few words now and then, and long pauses between, in which they wandered back to their own bridal, and the happy, busy days that were gone forever.

"It will be Neil next," said the Elder sadly.

"Yes. The Bradleys will be home on the twenty-seventh. He is set on Agnes Bradley."

"I'm sorry for it."

"She suits him. I know you never liked the family."

"Far awa' from it."

"Neil says the son is to marry Mary Wakefield. Agnes has been with the Wakefields; Mary is the youngest daughter."

"And the saddler will open his shop again?"

"Yes. His son is to be his partner. John Bradley thinks he has a 'call'

to preach. He has got the habit of wandering about, working and preaching. Agnes says he will never give it up."

After a long pause the Elder spoke again: "Maria is sure to be happy; she has done well."

"No woman could be happier. Has Neil told you what he is going to do?"

"He canna stay here, Janet. That is beyond thinking of. Any bill of attainder would include him. He is going to Boston to pick up the lines o' his brother's business. Alexander made a fortune there; the name o'

Semple is known and respected, and John Curwen, who has plenty o' money, will be in the business with him. He'll do well, no fear o' Neil."

"Then he'll get married."

"To be sure; men are aye eager to meet that trouble."

"Alexander!"

"And speaking o' bills o' attainder, I'll like enough hae my name on one."

"No, you won't. If you'll only bide at hame and keep your whist anent a'

public matters, you'll be left alane. If you have enemies, I hae friends--great and powerful friends--and there's our two sons to stand on your right hand and your left. Robert and Allen left a' and followed the American cause from the first. They are good sureties for you. And what of your friend, Joris Van Heemskirk?"

"We'll see, we'll see. He may have changed a deal; he was always fond o'

authority, and for eight years he has been giving orders and saying 'go'