From Kingdom to Colony Part 44

They both knew themselves to be in the presence of the great man whom they had desired so much to look upon, and they could see nothing in the room but the impressive figure now facing them with such an air of dignity and command.

There was about him the very atmosphere of self-n.o.bility, self-reliance; and with it that supreme control which, being the ruler of his own nature, enabled him to govern all the more surely those about him. The steady gaze of the unusually large eyes, every line of the firm mouth and chin, bespoke a well-disciplined mind, and the keen intuitions of a born leader of men.

Mary was dumb from mortification, not unmixed with actual fear, for she could see no easy way of extricating themselves from their dilemma; but Dorothy plucked up heart of grace, and answered, as she dropped a little courtesy, "It is only that we wanted to see you, sir."

There was a spontaneous laugh from the three officers; but Washington checked it by turning to them with a frown.

And yet there was a faint smile touching the corners of his own lips, relaxing their severity, as he looked down at the girl and asked, in the quizzing tone he might have used toward a child, "Well, little one, now that you have seen me, what will you?"

"That you will pardon us, sir," Mary answered instantly, as she moved forward to Dorothy's side. Washington bent his head graciously to her.

But his smiling eyes went back to the younger girl's face, although his words were now in reply to Mary.

"There is surely little to pardon. Rather let me thank you that I am held in such esteem, and thought deserving of so much consideration."

Then he added with a glance that embraced them both, "May I know your names?"

"This is my sister, Dorothy Devereux, of Marblehead; and I am Mary Broughton Devereux, wife of the officer of that name in Colonel Glover's regiment, now stationed at Cambridge."

Her composure had fully returned, and she spoke with perfect freedom--indeed with a touch of pride--as she looked up fearlessly into Washington's face.

"Aye;" and now his look and voice showed naught but cordiality. "I am happy, ladies, to make your acquaintance. I happen to know your husband, Mistress Devereux, for my present headquarters at Cambridge are in the house formerly occupied by Colonel Glover and his officers.[1] I had also a slight acquaintance with your father-in-law."

[1] This mansion was afterwards the home of Longfellow.

"Oh, sir--you say that you knew my father?"

The lines of his face relaxed still more as he regarded the little figure standing before him, her hands clasped impulsively, and the great dark eyes, now glittering with tears, raised in a worshipful gaze more eagerly questioning than was even the sweet voice.

"Aye, child, I knew him. We met at the house of your townsman, Colonel Lee."

"He is--perhaps you do not know--my father died this spring." And crystal drops welled from the big eyes and hung suspended on the curling lashes.

"Aye, my dear child," and a note of the tenderest sympathy came to the deep voice, "so I heard at the time. G.o.d grant we may all be as well prepared as was your good father, when the end shall come."

There was a pause, filled by the crackling of the fire, whose gleams made a bright sparkle of the drops on Dorothy's swart lashes before she could wipe them away. The other officers were now exchanging significant glances, and looking at the girl with much interest.

The silence was broken by Mary, who was secretly burning to escape.

She had waited until she met Washington's eyes; then, as he glanced at her, she made a deep courtesy and said, "And now, sir, if you please, we will retire to our own apartments below stairs."

"Wait but a moment," he replied. His eyes had gone back to Dorothy, who was standing with clasped hands, looking into the fire, and forgetful of all else than the sorrow his words had awakened within her heart. "Are you abiding under this roof, Mistress Devereux?"

"Only for this one night, sir," Mary answered. "We are stopping at Dorchester, with our old friend Mistress Knollys, and have been toward Boston to see a dying relative. We were returning from there when the storm overtook us, and are obliged to remain here until to-morrow. We shall set out again in the morning, sir."

"Not alone, surely?" he said with a slight frown. "It is scarce prudent for you two young ladies to be travelling these roads, at such a time as this, without escort."

"We had an escort, sir, but he went on to Dorchester, to a.s.sure Mistress Knollys of our safety. He will return in the morning, or else send some one for us."

"That is more as it should be," Washington said with an approving nod.

"And in case no one comes for you, I myself will take pleasure in seeing that you are provided with a suitable escort."

Mary courtesied once more, and both girls murmured their thanks.

The sad look had departed from Dorothy's face as she now stood watching the great man whom she might never have the opportunity of beholding again; and while so engaged, it happened that one of the b.u.t.tons of his coat came directly opposite her small nose.

At first she looked at it without any interest,--almost mechanically.

Then she was overcome by a sudden intense desire to possess it as a souvenir, to be treasured for all time to come.

The feeling grew stronger each moment, and there is no saying to what lengths her childish impulsiveness might have spurred her, had it not been for the keen looks bent upon her by the officers at the other side of the room.

Washington seemed to be conscious of this, for his eyes took a curious expression as he said, looking down into the girl's earnest face, "I am tempted to ask, little one, what great subject makes your eyes so solemn."

He spoke more than half jestingly, and it was apparent that he judged her to be much younger than her actual years, because of her diminutive stature and childish appearance.

"I was wishing, sir, that you would give me something to remember you by," was her frank answer; "that is,"--hesitating a little--"I was wishing I could have something to keep all my life."

She stopped, scarcely knowing how to express herself, while Mary stared at her with manifest disapproval.

"I understand, my child," Washington said, now looking at her more gravely.

He paused, and seemed to be considering the matter. Then he laid his hand lightly upon the girl's shoulder, much in the way a father would have done.

"I shall take pleasure, little one, in giving you something by which to remember me."

Resuming his seat by the table, he took up the packet he was examining when they interrupted him a few minutes before.

He now opened it hastily, and a number of papers dropped out.

One of these he picked up, and tore from it a strip, which he looked at carefully, as though to be certain it was clear of writing; then, dipping a quill into the ink, he wrote a few words upon it.

"Take this, my child," he said, extending it to her, "and should you ever be in need of any service within my power to render, you have but to send this slip of paper, to remind me that I have promised to a.s.sist you."

Dorothy stood speechless, well-nigh bewildered, her eyes fixed upon his face, now alight with an aspect almost paternal.

She said nothing, did not even thank him; but taking the paper, she pressed her lips to the hand that proffered it, and then, turning quickly, sped from the room.

"We are most honored, sir--you are very kind," said Mary, who felt it inc.u.mbent upon her to express their grat.i.tude in more formal fashion than Dorothy had adopted.

Washington was looking at the door through which the girl had disappeared, but now he turned and bowed courteously.

"Much of the obligation is my own," he replied with courtly gallantry.

Then his manner changed as he said: "Your sister is a sweet little maid,--it is most sad that she should have lost her father. He was, as is his son, a worthy and stanch patriot. These are troublous times, Mistress Devereux, and one so young and charming as she may come to feel the need of a protector; although, from all I have seen of her brother--your husband--it might well be supposed my own poor services would never be called into use."

"I thank you, sir; and I am sure Dorothy does the same--and both of us with all our hearts." And Mary ventured to extend her hand.

Washington arose from his chair, and his large, strong fingers closed about her own slender ones in a firm clasp, which she felt still tingling in their tips when she found Dorothy waiting for her at the head of the stairs.

"Oh, Mary," she burst out, looking as though something were amiss, "I am glad you are come. I've been so affrighted."