Woven with the Ship Part 18

He rejoiced, certainly; but the situation had elements of unpleasantness. For a moment or two these had predominated, but as he realized that he was free, he could hardly keep from shouting for joy.

Indeed, he felt that his face would betray his secret, and he instinctively turned away from the two women, who were intently watching him, and covered it with his hand as he did so.

"Oh, Richard!" cried Josephine, contritely, "I'm so sorry; I didn't think you cared so much. I thought you felt as I do about the engagement,--only that it was an agreed thing, and everybody more or less expected it,--not that we loved each other very much--I'm so sorry."

"My poor boy!" said his mother, coming up and laying her hand tenderly on his bowed head; "this is nearly as great a disappointment to me as it must be to you, although, of course, my grief cannot be like yours.

Josephine, why didn't you wait a little longer? And in his weak state, too!"

"Never mind," said Revere, smiling--they thought him smiling bravely, by the way!--"I dare say I shall get over it; and if Josephine really loves Charlie Van Dorn, who is a splendid fellow, of course it is very much better that she should tell me frankly than feel that she must remain bound by an engagement in which her heart does not enter. Let us say no more about it. I will take my medicine like a man," he continued, mendaciously; "and I congratulate you, Josephine, on your pluck. I presume that I may kiss you now, just as I have done before,"

he said, touching his lips to her forehead as he spoke.

"Yes, Richard. But I am sure they were never very lover-like kisses at best."

"Not like Van Dorn's, eh!" said Richard, smiling.

"Richard, how can you jest about so serious a subject?" exclaimed his mother. "Poor boy!" she said aside to Josephine; "I fear his nerves are shattered."

"They are, mother, they are," exclaimed Richard, rapturously, giving her a bear-like hug; "but it's all right."

"Then, you don't care so very much, after all?" said Josephine, in her turn disappointed at the equanimity, not to say levity, with which her quondam lover received the news of her engagement to another man.

"Care? Of course I care! There, don't say anything more about it.

Mother, did they tell you that my life was saved by a--er--a young woman?"

Ah, Richard, where was Barry then?

"A young woman!" exclaimed his mother, peering at him through her lorgnette in her very best Boston manner. "What sort of a person is she?"

"She is not a person at all, mother," he answered, hotly and inconsequentially; "she is a charming young girl, the granddaughter of one of the most distinguished officers in the United States navy. And she is as beautiful as she is brave and good."

"And who may this distinguished man be?" asked his mother, doubtfully.

"Admiral Charles Stewart, of the _Const.i.tution_."

"Mercy!" she exclaimed. "Is he yet alive? I remember hearing of him when I was a little girl."

"He is very much alive and his granddaughter lives with him over yonder," he answered, pointing out of the window across the bay toward the old white house embowered in the trees on Ship House Point. "That is his home, and he bade me say to you that he would be honored to have you and Josephine accept his hospitality while you are here. He begs to be excused for his apparent discourtesy in not coming to invite you in person, but he is unable to leave the house, he is so old and feeble. His granddaughter, however, will call this afternoon and extend the invitation, if it will be agreeable to you."

"I do not think we should stand on ceremony, Josephine, under the circ.u.mstances, and we will go ourselves and call upon the admiral immediately," said Mrs. Revere. "I should like to see this young lady and thank her for Richard. How shall we get there, d.i.c.k?"

"I will row you over if you will allow me. There is a road by land, but this is a quicker and pleasanter way."

"Excuse me, Richard; I think we would better go by land. I presume you can get some sort of a carriage. I confess I am not fond of boats at best, and since you were wrecked in the _Josephine_ I have a horror of venturing on them."

"Very well, mother; I will make all the arrangements, and meanwhile go back to the admiral and tell him to expect you."

"Do so," said his mother; "we will go and make ready. Come, Josephine."

"Presently," answered Miss Remington; "I wish to speak to d.i.c.k a minute."

"Richard," said his whilom fiancee, when they were alone, "are you in love with that girl?"

"Well, er----"

"Answer me honestly!"

"I think it is very likely that I shall be, Josephine," he responded at last. "You see, since you have thrown me over I----"

"d.i.c.k Revere, I believe you are in love with her now; I don't believe you care a single bit whether I throw you over or not."

"Care!" exclaimed Revere. "I care immensely, I want to a.s.sure you, Josephine. But I really do not see, since you have thrown me over, that you have any right to object to my falling in love with anybody else, have you?"

"Oh, very well," said Josephine, petulantly; "no doubt what you say is true; but one thing is certain: I am just as anxious to see that girl as your mother is."

"Just about as anxious, I suppose," laughed Revere, "as I should be to see Charlie Van Dorn if I hadn't seen him until I am sick of the sight of him!" he said, meanly. "Well, prepare yourself, Miss Josephine Remington; you will see something charming when you do see 'that girl'! Good-by!"

CHAPTER XVIII

"BUT YET A WOMAN"

Revere had pulled in many an Academy boat race. He had stroked his cutter many a time when a cadet, but he never put so much vim and force into the oars as he did that morning. In an incredibly short time he was at the landing-place. Forgetful of his condition, he bounded up the hill as if he had been a boy. Emily and the admiral were still on the porch. Emily was looking very subdued and sad, and there was a world of entreaty in the agonized glance she cast upon him. His radiant face gave her delightful a.s.surance, which his words turned into ecstasy. He chose a novel way of announcing his news to her.

"Admiral Stewart," he said, precipitately, as he stopped panting, "I have the honor to ask you for the hand of your granddaughter, Miss Emily. I love her and I--I have reason to believe that she----"

He hesitated and looked at the blushing girl, who had sprung to her feet at his first word, and now stood poised as if for flight.

It was all right, then; he was released, he was free! She knew that he would never have spoken to her grandfather unless he could honorably do so. Her heart that had been so heavy was leaping in her bosom at the gladsome thought. Free to love her, free to take her for his own!

The other girl had given him up, then. How could she do it? But she had! And he was hers now! She must go away, though, while the two men talked it over.

She turned swiftly toward the entrance to the house. The admiral, wide awake instantly, turned and caught her by the hand. Escape cut off, she dropped on her knees by the old man's side. What answer would her grandfather make? What would he say or do?

"Child," he said at last, fondly looking down at her, "is this true?"

"True that he loves me, grandfather? He--he says so, sir."

"Do you believe him, my dear?"

"I--yes, sir; I think I do."

"And I do, too, Emily. If ever I heard truth ring in a man's voice, I hear it now. But this is not all. Do you love him, daughter?"

"Yes, grandfather," she whispered, "I'm afraid--I do."

She hid her face in her hands on his knee, and the old man laid his hand softly on her head, murmuring words of prayer and blessing. As Revere watched them he thought they made a perfect pair.