Dr. Charles Carroll, father of "Mr. Carroll, of Carrollton," foremost Whig and Catholic in Annapolis, always in disfavor with the Governor officially, and excellent friends with him of a Saturday night, forty-five years old, wealthy, bluff, a little gray under his bag-wig, booted, spurred, fresh of color, and bright of eye, greeted his old friend and mentor, Madam Trevor, with hearty good-humor. Beside him was Benedict Calvert, a son of the Lord Proprietary, but Protestant bred; Whig by preference, slender, handsome, unusually dignified, and quite unaffected. After the various salutations the entire party reseated themselves at table, and the guests, hungry after their early canter, helped themselves without stint to the freshly cooked food brought in for them. The doctor had placed himself, as usual, by Deborah, who was all attention now; while Mr. Calvert, with a sympathetic smile of understanding and good-comradeship, was by Lucy, with his hostess on the other side.
"And now, madam, young ladies, Sir Charles, and our host," cried the doctor, in a hearty voice, "we are about to repay your hospitality with news, excellent news, for every one of you!"
"Ah! Let us hear it, doctor!" cried Vincent, while the others murmured assent.
"Well, then, for the ladies first! TheBaltimoreis in port, after a bad voyage. She sailed from Portsmouth on the 20th of February. I was on the south piers as she came to anchor. Her cargo—or part of it—is all for feminine ears to hear. She has with her the last fashions from home, and the material to reproduce them. There are paduasoys and lutestrings, and satins and laces, and damasks and silverware, and cheynay and glass, and ribbons and combs, and shoe-buckles and silk stockings, and most wonderful garters, I'm told; and—"
"Nay, now, doctor, 'tis far enough!" cried Sir Charles; and the gentlemen laughed.
"Well, then, there are those things, and more. And on the morrow, at ten of the morning, there is to be a public sale on the docks off Hanover Street, where he who has the wherewithal may buy. And I am bidden to ask you all to ride in and spend what moneys you can wrest from Vincent's hands, and, after, to come to my house, where Mistresses Letitia and Frances will serve you with a fair widower's dinner. How now—what think you of my first news, damsels?"
"'Tis what none in the world but you could bring, Dr. Carroll," replied Madam Trevor, beaming graciously.
"And we may go, mother?" asked Lucy, voicing the anxiety of her more dignified sister and her silent cousin.
"Yes, we will go—and our compliments and thanks to Mistress Letitia and Mistress Frances for their asking. Deborah, child, you must have tabby for a new petticoat; and I shall get you all muslins."
"And I must have a new set of plumes for—"
"Mother, may I not have a flowered paduasoy this year?"
"Come, come, girls! 'Tis our turn now! Surely, doctor, you do not imagine us interested in sales of silk stockings and satins? What is the news for us?" asked Vincent, with a slight smile.
Benedict Calvert laughed. "Troth, sir, 'tis not every man that is so unfeignedly disdainful of silk stockings and satins, whether for his own attire or for a lady's. Howbeit, there is other news that you may like to hear. In the assembly yesterday the matter of the commissioners for Lancaster was finally settled. Word has come from Virginia that the council will open on the 25th of June. Our men will probably leave here on the 20th; and—"
"I am elected to go, devil take me!" cried Sir Charles, ruefully.
"No such luck. Do not bemoan thyself, Charlie. Not one of the Governor's staff, and only one official—Marshe—is of the number," returned Benedict, grinning broadly. "'Twas a prudent choice. Not a Radical on either side."
"Then the doctor's scarce in," observed Vincent.
"That am I not," returned the doctor with eminent good-humor. "But Mr. Calvert—the worshipful Mr. Calvert—is; and so are Phil Thomas, and the Reverend Mr. Cradock, and Edmund Jennings, and Colvill, and—ah, yes! Bob King. There, at least, is one Radical for you. Well, well! Even such as they should manage, together with their right honorable compeers from Virginia and Pennsylvania, to buy the right of our colonial lands from the Six Nations—after a hundred and fifty years of occupancy willy-nilly!"
"Quite so. And now that's all our news, Madam Trevor. Does it equal the breakfast?"
"Not quite all, seeking your pardon! But the other matter is for the ears of Mistress Debby here, whom, if you will permit me, madam, I will, after breakfast, attend to her sanctum—the still-room."
Deborah did not move. Her eyes dropped, and sharp-eyed Calvert himself could not have guessed the eagerness hidden under her perfect mien.
"Deborah has been too much with her drugs of late, Dr. Carroll. I think it were better if you talked with her on some healthier subject. I am not over-fond of her ill-considered ways. They are morbid, much of the time."
"Ah, madam, I am sorry for that! I look forward to the consultations with little Mistress Deborah as the happiest reminiscences of my professional days—before I abandoned physic for merchandise. Your young cousin has remarkable talent about it."
Madam Trevor shrugged her shoulders. "If you put it in that way, Dr. Carroll, how can I refuse you your pleasure in coming to our plantation? If 'tis a question of talking with Deborah or not coming at all, why—Deborah is all at your service."
"By my troth, Madam Antoinette, if that is a pleasantry, it is not one that I like overmuch. How could you so take my words?"
"Come now, doctor, hurry on! Conduct the damsel to your physicking-room, and I'll wait here. You forget that our road leads on to the Kings'."
"To be sure. Well, Debby, let us be off. I must see your manipulation of the new retort."
Thereupon the doctor and his protégée, leaving the others still at table, went together out of the glass door, down the path, across the yard, with its great poplar-trees and the groups of pickaninnies playing, as usual, about the high well-sweep, to a small building a trifle northeast of the cabins and half hidden in great lilac bushes that clustered before its very door. This was Deborah's sanctum, the still-room; and into it she and her companion retired.
The single room contained three large windows, through one of which nodded a thick bunch of purple lilacs, heavy with perfume, and still damp with dew. Along the windowless wall of the room ran a stout pine table, on which, among various utensils, stood two chemist's retorts, one the old iron alembic, the other Deborah's greatest treasure, a glass retort for which Dr. Carroll had sent to Europe. In one corner stood the charcoal box, a tall, iron brazier containing some smouldering coals, and a keg for water.
While Deborah built up her charcoal fire and carried the brazier to the table, Carroll went over to a corner cupboard, opened its door, and looked in upon the five shelves where, ranged in orderly rows, stood all the phials and flasks that Deborah had been able to collect. Only a dozen or so contained more or less muddy-looking liquids, and on each of these was pasted a paper label covered with fine writing. One after another the doctor picked them up and examined them.
"Aha!" he exclaimed, finally, taking the cork from one, and smelling the cloudy mixture within. "Aha! You have it here! I thought so. Now, this is precisely the thing that I should advise."
Deborah went over to him. "What! The monkshood? 'Tis a poor solution. For want of pure alcohol, I had to use rum."
"No matter. Let us manipulate this a bit, Debby, instead of your tobacco there. For this is necessary. And while we are distilling some pureaconitum napellus, I will tell you a little story, and weave for you a prettier romance than ever you did find inThe Chyrurgien's Mateor old Galen'sArt of Physick, that once I found you with—or even theWhole Duty of Man, which I swear you have not read."
"Yes, I have. But the story, Dr. Carroll! Was't the news you had for my ears?"
"Even so, mistress. Now—careful with the body. We mustn't spill this—where's your filter? That's it. A slow evaporation will be best. Can you fix the other end? Good! You have a deft hand.
"Well, now, the tale runs this wise. You heard me say that I was at the piers when theBaltimorecame in this morning. I'm half-owner in her, and, besides that, Croft is a very good friend of mine, and 'tis four months since he sailed from here. He—the captain, Debby—came off from the ship in his boat, looking a bit tired and haggard, and more glad to get home again than ever I saw him before. They'd a nasty voyage, been short of water for a week, and, besides that, he had a tale to tell about one of his passengers. At Portsmouth only four came on board, one of them a young fellow, a Frenchman, known to Lord Baltimore, who commended him to the care of Croft. It appears that the young man is of the nobility and high up in Court society at his home—Paris, I suppose. But, for some reason unknown, he packed himself on board theBaltimoreand sailed for a place certainly far enough away from his friends and his people, whoever they are. Croft says that it can't be an unlawful thing he's done to make him come away, for the Lord Proprietary himself came down to the ship with him and tried to persuade him to give up the idea of coming. I suggested to Croft that, if it were not outlawry, love were the thing to send a man flying like a fool from civilization; and Croft vows I hit it. This noble Marquis de something-or-other, Croft said, mooned about the ship like a soul in purgatory for the first weeks out, and thereupon he fell sick in good earnest. It seems he's been in a raving fever now for days past, sometimes delirious, sometimes in coma. He's talked overmuch, from what I can hear, about Lewis, the French King, and a lot of madames, and a Henry—his rival, perhaps—and I don't know what all.—See, there's the first vapor. Now 'twill be just right.—Well, Croft said he must see this man safe off his hands and in some place where he could be cared for, before he'd make report of the voyage. So, Debby, I sent a black up to the ordinary of Mrs. Miriam Vawse, and she came down herself to the wharf, just as they got the man ashore—de Mailly, his name is. By the great Plutarch, Deb, he's the man for us! Never have I seen a creature in such condition! I think he must have been well enough looking once. But now!—He's a skeleton from fever. His face is shrunken and as bright as a hunting-coat. His hair—'tis long and black—tangled into a mat; and his clothes, of excellent make they are, hang about him like bags. He was conscious when he landed, but I didn't hear him speak a single time as we drove him up the hill and to the ordinary, where Mrs. Miriam is to care for him.
"Now, Deborah, here's my part of the tale for you. To-morrow, when you come in town for the sale, after you dine with us at noon, I shall manage so that you go down to the Vawse house and yourself see this fellow, judge his symptoms, and administer this very stuff—that is coming out fine and clear now—to him, in your own way. 'Twill be the best practice you could have; you could scarce make the man worse; and 'twould be a grand thing, eh, Deb, to accomplish such a cure as that?—My faith, you'll be having me return to the profession in a year more! But hang me if I'd not be found a better practitioner—with your assistance—than Richards, dispenser of poisons that he is!"
"And so are we, Dr. Carroll," returned Deborah, soberly, as she carefully watched the process of evaporation in the retort. "Indeed, I think that I like better knowing the things that will kill than those that will cure."
"Bloodthirsty maiden—don't you know 'tis all the same thing?—And how d'you like my plan?"
"I think, sir, that madam never would permit it. 'Twould be a most highly improper thing."
"Nonsense—nonsense. If you were my own maid, you should certainly do it. I'll manage. Trust me—that is, if you care for it. Are you indifferent?"
Deborah was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed. "I'm not indifferent. And—and I'd dearly like to see a gentleman from Court—even though it were only from the French Court."
"Onlythe French Court! Why, child, 'tis the greatest in the world—for courtiers and gayety. What more would you have?"
Deborah had no time to make answer, for at that moment one of the house-slaves came to the open door of the still-room.
"Beg pa'don, Mist' Cawlve't sen't' say the ho'ses a'e ready, an' does doctah want dinne' at Mist' King's, o' is he goin' eat Miss Deb's dis—dis—something I done fo'got what."
Carroll laughed. "Troth, Debby, Mistress Lucy must have been less entertaining than usual this morning. I must go, I suppose.—Can you finish this alone? You seem to know all the processes."
"Yes, I can finish it in an hour, if madam lets me stay here."
"I'll try to see that she does. Will you bring theaconitumto-morrow, then?"
"Yes." Deborah smiled and courtesied.
The doctor bent over and kissed her hand with affectionate gallantry. "Good-morning, Hygeia."
"Good-bye, sir."
"Till to-morrow. At the French Court, I believe, they say 'au revoir,'" he added, mischievously, while the girl smiled. Then Carroll strode off, with David at his heels, leaving Deborah alone at her favorite occupation, wondering a little, in an absent-minded way, over the unusual event that her somewhat eccentric mentor proposed to bring into her life.
Mr. Benedict Calvert, with the Trevor family clustered about him, stood, riding-whip in hand, in the portico of the manor, in front of which, on the driveway which curved out towards the river, were the two horses, Carroll's and his, held by one of the stable-boys. Mr. Calvert was laughing and talking blandly with Lucy and Sir Charles; but madam, with her elder daughter ami Vincent, stood a little to one side, and annoyance was very plainly readable in the face of the mistress of the house. The doctor, with a cheery smile, came briskly round the corner of the east wing. It took but one glance to tell him who had really called him from the still-room.
"Most puissant Lord Commissioner, behold me here at your command!" he cried, approaching his companion.
"A—Deborah is not with you?" observed Madam Antoinette rather uselessly.
"No. Shall I call her? I left her in the preparation of a little matter which I had requested of her. Pardon me. I did not know that I was taking her from—" he made as if to go after her, when Vincent interposed.
"Don't trouble, doctor. She will be only too glad to finish what you asked. Afterwards there will be time enough for the spinning, or the weaving, or whatever is necessary."
Carroll thanked the young man with a little glance, and began at once making his farewells. He perceived that the time for introducing the project of Deborah's visit on the morrow was eminently unpropitious. Mr. Calvert made graceful adieux to the ladies, lightly saluted the master of the house and the Governor's lieutenant, and leaped upon his animal. A moment more and the two were cantering away, side by side, still looking back to the portico. When they were at length hidden by the bend in the road, Madam Trevor turned to the two girls.
"Virginia and Lucy, go you both and overlook your wardrobes and the linen in the press, and think out what is needed that we may buy at the sale to-morrow. Deborah may help you when she comes in. Charles, you ride to town, do you not? And, Vincent, I would have a moment with you before you go to the fields."
The little party dispersed as it was bid, Vincent following his mother into the house and to the west passage, where hung her garden hat, her lace mittens, her basket, and her pruning-knife. Thus accoutred, she led the way through the breakfast-room and out upon the terrace that overlooked the fairest spot in Madam Trevor's world—her garden. Here she paused, her eyes wandering for a moment over the scene about them, before she turned to her son.
"I wanted to speak to you, Vincent, of the sailing of theBaltimore. Within two or three weeks she will be going out again, 'tis likely."
"True. And what has that to do with us?" inquired the young man in some perplexity.
His mother sighed. "Vincent, I confess to anxiety. You are aware, I think, of the reason of Charles Fairfield's colonial appointment? You know why he sailed with you in the autumn when you came home to us to take your father's place here? You know why he has made his home in our house instead of in Annapolis with the other aides?"
"Yes, I know," responded Trevor, shortly.
"Remember, Vincent, it was your father's wish, it is your uncle's, it is mine, that—we should all be brought a little closer to old England by Virginia's marriage with her cousin."
"And the sailing of theBaltimore?"
"I am going to send off my jewels, my wedding pearls, to have them remounted in London for Virginia. And when they come home—that should be in August—when they come home, you and Charles must come to an understanding about your sister. Remember, Vincent, as the head of the family, you have a place to fill. There are certain matters about which you cannot afford to be careless—matters of more importance than the tobacco crop, or the price of slaves. I wished to ask you this morning if, when we drive in town for the dock sale to-morrow, you will see Captain Croft about intrusting the pearls to his keeping."
"Certainly, madam, if you wish it. Shall I take them to-morrow to him?"
"No. Not till just before the ship's sailing. They are too valuable to leave in a captain's cottage. This is what I had to say, Vincent. Go, now, to your fields, if you wish."
Vincent bent over and kissed her hand. Then he started towards the house. After half a dozen steps he halted suddenly and looked back, as though he would have spoken. His mother, however, had descended the terrace steps and was already bending over her flowers. So, after a little pause, he turned about again and continued thoughtfully upon his way.
Deborah's bedroom was extremely small. It was merely one corner of the west wing, partitioned off from the spinning-room and the great hand-loom; and there was barely room in it for her bed, dressing-table, chest-of-drawers, washstand, and two chairs. Besides these necessities, there were two windows and a strip of carpet, to be regarded as luxuries. Deborah herself, however, curtained the bed and windows after her own fashion, in white India muslin, put a ruffled cover over the dressing-table, displayed what ornaments she possessed prettily about the room, and so regarded it with satisfaction ever after. Her two windows both looked out over the back of the plantation, the flower-garden being directly below, the woods to one side, the tobacco barns at a distance. The room underneath Deborah's, which occupied the whole of the west wing on the ground floor, had been given to Sir Charles; and in the passage that connected this with the main house were the stairs.
When Deborah woke from her dreamless sleep on the morning after the doctor's visit, the first active thought in her brain was of the dock sale for that day. It was rather later than her usual hour of waking, and she hurriedly began her toilet. Presently, however, as she was loosening her hair, her eyes fell upon the bottle ofaconitum napelluswhich she had brought to her room after its preparation on the day before; and at sight of it her hands dropped to her sides, and she stood still for a moment in contemplation. Then a little shiver ran over her, and she performed something very like a shrug. "I don't like sick people," she muttered to herself, turning to sit down before her mirrored table.
If Deborah's words were quite honest, then certainly this morning she was looking forward to the dock sale with unusual pleasure. She had never before manifested any strong interest in these things. In fact, she had been known to say that they were tiresome. Men did not much frequent them; no young lady was allowed money to spend for herself; and the good housewives were always more interested in table-linens and utensils than ribbons or jewelry. Nevertheless, here, this morning, was Mistress Debby, plying her hair with more interest than she had had for it since the last assembly; and when it was all ringletted and quite smooth, she saw fit to use upon it a white ribbon that had never before been worn. Also, when Lucy cried at the door that she was to wear her blue lutestring petticoat and white muslin overdress, those garments lay ready upon a chair, though once or twice before, on like occasions, there had been some spirited conversation between Deborah and Madam Trevor before the young lady was willing to give up the perverse idea that her every-day holland was quite good enough for such an affair. When she was ready, and the lace mittens taken from their drawer, Deborah carefully placed her phial of distilled liquid in the neck of her dress, pushing it out of sight among the ruffles of her kerchief.
At nine o'clock the family coach, with four ladies inside it, left the house. Sir Charles, in scarlet and white, and Vincent, in bottle green, accompanied the vehicle on horseback. Vincent was reconciled to leaving his fields by the prospect of meeting some of the burgesses in the city and learning the details of yesterday's election of commissioners; while the lieutenant never needed strong urging to give a day to the mild amusements of the colonial town, with its coffee-house, its feeble imitators of English beauship, its jockey club, and what few pretty women were to be visited in the daytime. The clock on St. Anne's was booming the half-hour as the coach crossed the bridge over the inlet at the foot of Prince George Street; and here, in the last house of the town, a quaint wooden cottage in the midst of a well-shaded yard, dwelt Captain Croft of theBaltimore. At its gate Vincent, with a little nod to his mother, stopped.
"I've an errand here," he called to Fairfield. "Will be at Carroll's by twelve. Do you dine with us?"
The aide shook his head. "Thanks, no. I'll go to the coffee-house with Curtis and Belmont, if I do not dine at the Governor's. Are you coming to the assembly later?"
"Yes. Till this afternoon, then," and Vincent dismounted at the gate, while the coach, with its single cavalier, all unconscious of the significance of Vincent Trevor's errand, went on again. At the new Bladen Street Sir Charles turned off towards the Governor's "palace," while the vehicle kept on towards the water-side.
Hanover Street was thronged with coaches and conveyances of all kinds, bringing in people from the country, while the ladies, and a few gentlemen of the city, picked their way on foot to the wharf. Every one was known to the Trevors, and madam and Virginia had their heads out of the windows continually, bowing and speaking to those whom they passed; while Lucy was now on one side, now on the other, peeping out with a covertly expectant air; and Deborah watched her, knowing very well what she sought, and knowing also that it would not be found.
Virginia saw her sister's restlessness with displeasure. She said nothing till they left the coach, but when at last they had alighted at the crowded dock, Miss Trevor took occasion to whisper into Lucy's ear:
"Lucy, had John Whitney seen you looking for him this morning, he would, I think, scarce have been overpleased with the manner of it."
And Deborah's eyes chancing to fall on the younger girl's face, saw her cheeks grow scarlet and her eyes fall with quick mortification.
The sight which met the eyes of the new-comers at the wharves was one curious enough for a person of to-day. The broad wooden pier, at which were fastened a dozen or so of pinnaces and small boats belonging to folk who had come from far up the river or down the bay, had been converted for the time into a mart. All up and down, in regular lines, it was dotted with little platforms of wood, which were covered with articles taken from the ship and arranged here for sale, on the day and night before, by salesmen hired for the purpose from the various town shops.
The goods were the selection of London men who had made life studies of the colonial trade, and who knew, moreover, the various tastes of the various localities, north, south, tide-water, and inland. Certainly there was variety to be had here. Down one side of the dock were set forth on their platforms every possible household contrivance, with a good deal of furniture, and enough kitchen utensils, china and glass, to have set up a dozen ordinaries. Along the centre of the pier were materials, ready-fashioned garments, fine damasks that could not be made at home, and fancy articles of dress and the toilet. About these there hovered, throughout the day, a fair sprinkling of gentlemen, pricing scarlet and gold-laced coats, silk stockings, ruffles, and perfumed pomades with great interest. The third row of booths held agricultural implements, tools, coarse materials, such as felt and leather, together with a few books and papers.
When Madam Trevor, with the three girls, arrived at the pier, all aristocratic damedom seemed to be about the silks and damasks. Now, while carrying on a lively conversation with Mistresses King, Paca, Cradock, and Chase, Madam Trevor busily priced tabby silk petticoats and India muslins, of which she selected very pretty pieces for her daughters and Deborah. Mrs. Chase was casting longing glances at a satin bodice that Mistress Harwood held in her hands. But, as the two ladies did not speak, owing to the upper story of the Harwood house, there seemed to be but small hope of attaining to possession thereof.
"What monstrous pretty cloaks!" cried Mrs. King, turning over a pile of short capes of crimson, blue, and white.
"'Tis too near summer now to purchase cloth," rejoined Mrs. Cradock, pursing her lips regretfully as she held one up.
"They are but two guineas, madam; of the latest cut; will continue in England just so for the space of five years—will wear longer than that," observed the salesman casually, with alluring indifference.
"I declare I'll take this blue one! It is of the most excellent texture, and 'tis always cool on the river in the evening."
"Virginia, will you have a white one?" asked her mother.
"No, thank you, madam. I have cloaks and to spare. With your permission, I will go look at the fans farther up. My last was broken at the Masons' rout."
"You may look at them, and I will join you presently. This crimson cape will suit Deborah. Would you like this, Debby?" She turned about to find only Lucy at her side.
"Where is she?" asked Madam Trevor of her daughter.
"On the other side of the pier, I think. Shall I call her?"
"At once. What can she be doing there?"
Lucy turned about and started to wend her way among the groups to the other side of the dock, where Deborah stood over a little collection of chemists' implements. Beside her, a sacred book in his hand, was a young man, at sight of whom Lucy hesitated, her face crimson, her heart beating unsteadily. She stopped almost still for a moment to watch them. Deborah was lovingly handling a siphon, while the young Puritan minister talked to her. Presently he caught sight of Lucy, who was constrained to move towards him again when she perceived the quick light that came into his face and the bow that he made. Deborah turned, and her mouth twitched a little as she perceived her cousin's fluttering nervousness. "Master Whitney was speaking of you, Lucy," she said.
"I did myself the honor to inquire after the health of you and Mistress Virginia," said the young divine, embarrassment and pleasure adding a load of stiffness to his manner.
"Oh, thank you!—As you see—we are very well.—Debby," she added, reluctantly, "mother wants you at once to see if you would like a crimson cloak.—I am so sorry—I mean—"
"I would prefer this siphon a thousand times to a crimson cloak," murmured Deborah, more to herself than to her cousin.
Lucy heard her, however. "I'll ask, if you like, Debby, and then, perhaps, we may return and purchase it."
"I was just about to leave the wharf, having found the book I sought. May I accompany you to Madam Trevor and pay my compliments to her?"
Lucy beamed with delight, while Deborah consented with an absent-minded nod, and the three returned to the side of Madam Trevor, who greeted the Reverend Mr. Whitney with surprise and only the necessary politeness. Indeed this young Puritan was a sore subject in the Trevor family, whose youngest daughter had lost her faith, and, presumably, her heart, to the exponent of a rigid creed, inimical to every form of that Popery which was, just now, the only religion in disfavor with the erstwhile Catholic Province of Maryland.
The crimson cloak was purchased, the siphon was not; Master Whitney took a reluctant leave of little Mistress Trevor; and her mother, accompanied by Mrs. Paca, started to rejoin Virginia over the fans.
"Surely, Antoinette, you'll scarce return home before dinner to-day. Will you not drive up from here and take pot-luck—just a cold joint—with us?"
"Thank you for us all, vastly, Barbara, but we are bespoken by Dr. Carroll. You're most kind."
"I am sorry. I declare I had thought to see the doctor here to-day, but he's not been near the dock."
"Ay, and he rarely misses a sale. Doubtless, he has gone to the assembly."
Indeed, in one of the two places Dr. Carroll, according to unvarying habit, should have been. He happened, however, to be sitting in his own study, where, as one might say, he had waylaid himself. And he was by now sunk in a reverie so profound as to be totally oblivious of any of the proceedings of the outside world. His two maiden sisters bustled about the house preparing for their guests. His son Charles, a lad of seventeen, was in his own room being tutored in French and the classics by the priest who lived in the family. Thus the doctor had his study, which was his particular world, to himself; and the two people who formed the subject of his meditations were linked together by his thought for the first time. Fate and Fortune can work most curiously, and Destiny toss far indeed, when Claude de Mailly, of Versailles, and Deborah Travis, Virginia born, should have set out towards each other from birth, groping till they met, and for some little time after, too. Charles Carroll, being the instrument, not the confidant, of Fate, was now sitting among his books, perplexed and wondering at himself. That morning, for the second time within twenty-four hours, he had traversed the two blocks that separated his house from the ordinary of Miriam Vawse, to which Claude, at the doctor's instance, had been carried from the ship which had been so nearly the scene of his death. And very differently the young fellow looked to-day. He had been bathed; his hair was combed and clipped; his stubbly beard shaven off, his soiled clothes removed, and a clean, coarse linen shift substituted for the under-garments of foreign make and curious fastening which had much puzzled the excellent Mistress Vawse. And in this new guise all the innate refinement and gentleness of the de Mailly nature had once more come to the surface, and Dr. Carroll had no difficulty in determining that his new-found protégé was of even finer breeding than he had guessed on the previous day.
Claude's small travelling coffer had been brought up from the ship, and was placed near his bed, in the clean, sunny little colonial room under the eaves of the house. It must be confessed that Mistress Vawse had been through the trunk pretty thoroughly, after unlocking it with the awkward key which she had found in the Frenchman's clothes. But, with a delirious foreigner, whose disease requires quiet as much as good nursing, beside you, and a long day empty of incident to be gone through in silence, what woman could have resisted the temptation to examine so fascinating a boxful of clothes as this? And in justice let it be added, that Miriam Vawse would quite as soon have thought of assaulting the Governor in the street as of purloining the very smallest lace ruffle contained in this treasure-box; for her forbears and her honesty had come together from Kent in the year of grace 1660, along with certain choice recipes for cordials and strong waters, and the ancestral talent for nursing which Dr. Carroll in the old days had been wont to find so useful.
Meantime the genial doctor had completely wasted his morning in pondering over the almost impossible situation that he wished to bring about; and finally, as the Trevor coach drew up to the door, he left his study, resignedly determined to give his hopes to Chance for fulfilment.
The four ladies alighted from their vehicle, leaving behind them, to the care of the black footboy, a large number of bundles brought from the sale. Their host handed Madam Trevor sedately up the walk and into the house, where now Mistress Lettice Carroll, his sister, and Frances Appleby, his sister-in-law, both in starched and flowered paragon, with powdered locks atop of demure, quaint little heads, stood in the doorway to welcome the guests. When the ladies had removed their head-gear and scarfs up-stairs they returned to the drawing-room where, it being near the hour for dinner, young Charles Carroll and Father St. Quentin awaited them with the doctor. Madam Trevor, Virginia, and Deborah greeted the priest with reverent friendship, for every Sunday they attended the mass which he performed in the Carroll chapel, where the few families of the old faith in Annapolis were accustomed to congregate; and, besides this, he had been kind enough to give some instruction to the Trevor girls and Deborah in the art of conversing in the French language. But Lucy hung uneasily back in the presence of Père Aimé, till he himself went forward and gave her a few gentle and impersonal words of greeting. Madam Trevor, beside Mistress Lettice, cast an annoyed glance at her daughter, but nothing was said on the subject. When Deborah, however, left St. Quentin's side, the doctor placed himself in her way and managed to ask, in a lowered voice, as she passed him:
"You brought the monkshood with you?"
And the girl nodded, gravely, "Yes." The next instant she was seized upon by young Charles, who regarded her less as a piece of femininity than some pretty thing, excellent to talk to, and a very good walker, produced by a beneficent nature for his especial benefit. They had wandered over to the window together, speaking of a forthcoming sail up the river, when Deborah's attention was caught by the voice of St. Quentin, who was addressing the doctor on an interesting topic.
"If it would not displease you, sir," St. Quentin had begun, "I should like to give Charles an hour's holiday this afternoon."
"And wherefore this leniency, good father?" queried Carroll, smiling good-humoredly.
"For a kind of charity, I imagine. This morning, as I walked the length of the street before breakfast, Mrs. Vawse came suddenly running out of her ordinary to ask if I would not go in with her at once, or at some hour of the day. She has lodged in her house, it seems, a foreigner—French—who arrived yesterday on theBaltimore, half dead with fever, and who was carried up from the wharves to be taken care of by her. It appears that he raves continually in French, and I fancy that the curiosity of good Mrs. Vawse is growing strong within her, or else she would know how best to serve him, for she would have me come and translate for her some of his wild words, knowing that I have what she terms an unholy learning in that most ungodly tongue. As 'twas then too near the breakfast hour to obey her wishes, I promised to come later in the day."
"And so, thy curiosity being roused by the dame's, thou canst not wait thy visit till after vespers, eh?" And the doctor laughed.
"Seeing that it is a case of distress on the part of one of my countrymen, I would go at the first opportunity, on whatever pretence," returned the father, calmly.
"Well, then, you shall be off directly we finish dinner," answered Carroll, devoutly imploring Providence to come to his aid. "And—"
"And if that is done, I would have Deborah go with him," said Providence at once, speaking through Madam Trevor, "with a message to Miriam Vawse. 'Tis concerning the cherry brandy, Deborah. The last of hers was so excellent that I would have her make for us a keg this year. Tell her to take three trees of our fruit for it, and one tree for herself, which, together with two bushels of potatoes in the autumn, will pay for the making. You might learn her way of fermenting, while you are on the point. Then you may come back alone, if the father is not ready."
Come back! Yes, there must be a coming back. Dr. Carroll, however, was rubbing his satin knee in an ecstasy of good-humor; and Deborah herself, who, after a respectful bow to Madam Trevor, had shot one swift glance at the doctor, felt, as she returned to her conversation with young Charles, a curious quiver of the heart which she afterwards decided to have been one of the most delightful sensations ever known. A moment later Mrs. Appleby, who had left the room several moments before, entered with a little courtesy to announce dinner.
Once seated at the round, well-loaded table, conversation, by general assent, turned again to the Frenchman who had arrived on theBaltimore.
"As a matter of fact," confessed the doctor, willing to tell what he knew of the matter now, "it was I who sent him up to Mistress Vawse. I went down yesterday directly the ship was in, and, Croft having told me of the fellow, I got to see him. Faith, he was in a most execrable way! And besides, from what I could guess from his manner, and what Croft told me, he was a gentleman of rank. 'Twould have been pitiable enough to have had him die there on the docks; so I packed him, with my compliments, his box, and my black, up to Miriam, who had him in excellent shape when I went there this morning."
"Charles, really, you are monstrous disagreeable," ventured Mrs. Lettice, gently. "Why did you not bring the poor man here? I vow Miriam Vawse can never manage alone, and—"
"Nay, Lettice, he is too young for thee. Ten years ago 'twould have been a pretty enough romance, but—"
"Perhaps," struck in Madam Trevor, in time to prevent tears of mortification on the part of the little old maid, "perhaps I had better go, instead of Deborah. I might see the man, and find out—"
"Nay, now, Antoinette!" interrupted the doctor, in a great fright, while Deborah herself stirred a little anxiously, "you'll spoil all my purpose if you do that. Let Debby go on the cherry errand if she will, but you shall not see this Munseer till he's well and fit to receive you. Then, if he prove what I think him, I'll make him a dinner-party here, and he shall sit next to Virginia and opposite you, and you may study him at will."
"La! 'Twill be as bad for him as the time I had at the last assembly ball, when at supper I sat by old Master Randal, who cannot hear thunder, while on the other side was Carleton Jennings, who had next him Lora Colvill, that's to marry him in the autumn."
"And where was Sir Charles Fairfield?" queried little Mrs. Appleby, with unfortunate would-be slyness.
Madam Trevor's face changed suddenly, and Deborah colored.
"Sir Charles? Oh—with Debby, I believe," was Virginia's kindly, indifferent reply.
Thereupon St. Quentin, who had not been brought up in a cloister, looked approval at Miss Trevor, and adroitly changed the subject.
The meal coming to an end at length, the father immediately addressed Deborah on the subject of their visit:
"Miss Travis, my curiosity still burns. Will you take pity upon it and accompany me as soon as you can down to the ordinary?"
"I will come at once, if Madam Trevor permits," was the reply.
"Yes, get your hat and scarf, Deborah. In half an hour the coach will be here to drive us home. If the doctor will excuse your presence, you need not come back. We will stop for you on the way. You can wait in the sitting-room if Mistress Vawse is much occupied; for you would not, of course, go up-stairs."
Madam Trevor made the last remark in a tone that required no answer. Deborah merely courtesied and ran away for her hat; and, while the five ladies returned to the parlor, Dr. Carroll laid his hand on the priest's arm and said a few words to him in a low tone. St. Quentin raised his brows slightly, but gave no further sign of surprise. Then, as young Charles came loitering up, his father took possession of him, fearing that he might propose to accompany Deborah to the tavern. Five minutes later the priest and the young girl were on their way, Deborah with the warm phial, filled with her extract, pressing close over her steady heart.
St. Quentin spoke but once. "Dr. Carroll tells me that at his request you are to see this Frenchman," he observed, looking down at her; but he saw no sign of interest in her face as she answered, briefly:
"Yes."
As the two approached the quaint little building, with the small, swinging sign of "ordinary" over the door, its mistress, looking out of the window of the sick-room, witnessed the approach of her visitors. She ran quickly down-stairs to meet them, leaving her patient for the moment alone.
Claude was lying perfectly still on his clean colonial bed, conscious of nothing about him, vaguely feeling the change of air, perhaps, and the improvement of his surroundings over those of the dismal ship's cabin. But he was burning with fever, and, though the tossing of the vessel had got him into the habit of being still, he yet talked incessantly in his own language, while his wide-open eyes, roving aimlessly as they did, noted everything about him, and changed it into some familiar object of his rooms "at home." He saw Mistress Vawse leave the window, and cried after her anxiously:
"N'oubliez pas, chère Marquise, que vous m'avez promis le deuxième menuet!"
Then, through the stillness, came the murmur of voices from below. For an instant he listened intently. "Henri—tu es tard. Quelle heure est-il? Hein? Mesquin! Est-ce que votre Victorine est enfin moins cruelle?" Footsteps sounded on the stairs, but the sick man turned away his head impatiently. "Ne faites pas un tel bruit. Ma foi! J'ai une tête! Apportez-moi de l'eau, Chaumelle.—Ventre bleu!"
Claude sat suddenly up in bed with a new vision before his eyes. Very distinctly he beheld, entering the room, far in advance of his Marquise, and a step or two before some abbé, a floating picture of blue and white, with delicate ruffles, a matchless throat, grave bluish eyes, and hair neither dark nor light falling in confusion about two slender shoulders. More and more intently he sat and gazed, while his scattered senses strove at last to adjust themselves, and his breath came rapidly through his parted lips. Deborah, St. Quentin, and Miriam Vawse had stopped still, just as they entered the room. Deborah's eyes fell upon the rapt look of de Mailly, and were held spellbound. She scarcely saw what he was like, what were the color of the eyes she looked into, nor was she conscious of any part in the scene till Aimé St. Quentin quietly laid a hand upon her arm. She quivered and turned her head, till she beheld the priest's face. Then, suddenly realizing where she was, she passed her hand over her forehead and stepped slowly back, while the father, with an unreadable expression, advanced to the bedside, and Mistress Vawse, unable to comprehend just why she had stopped so long at the door, came into the room.
"CLAUDE SUDDENLY SAT UP IN BED""CLAUDE SUDDENLY SAT UP IN BED"
"You've some medicine, Miss Debby, the doctor told me," she said, going to the girl's side.
At the same moment Claude dropped back upon his pillows, muttering, with dry lips: "Du vin, Armand—pour l'amour de Dieu—du vin!"
Deborah looked up quickly, catching and understanding the words. "Have you something for him to drink?" she asked, before St. Quentin could speak.
"Ay. There's fresh water and a tankard here," responded Mistress Vawse, hurrying over to a small stand in one corner, where stood a pewter pitcher and mug.
"Then let me have the cup for a moment," said the girl, in a low voice, taking from her breast the little bottle of brownish liquid. Into the water which Dame Miriam brought, Deborah, with a steady hand, poured five drops of theaconitum napellus. "Now, make him take it—all," she said, recorking the phial.
St. Quentin took the cup and pressed it to the lips of de Mailly, who was still groaning with thirst. He drained the draught eagerly and lay back on his pillows murmuring thanks and closing his eyes for the first time since early morning. The priest, attracted by his manner and his face, lifted a chair to the bedside and sat down. Deborah, after looking at him once again, drew a long breath, and moved over to the window, when Miriam touched her arm.
"Leave the medicine here and come with me, Miss Debby, till I show you some of his things."
"What things? Wait. You must know about this, first. Never give him more than four drops in half a cup of water—and that not too often—twice a day, I think."
"Why? Is't dangerous?"
"Ten drops will kill an animal."
"Mercy on us! I'll be careful, then. But come, now, to the best room. There I've laid some of his things that were all rumpled with bad packing. My faith! Such satins and laces you never did see, and linen—as fine as your India muslin—and shoe-buckles!" With which information good Miriam led the way on tiptoe from the room, Deborah, half reluctantly, half eagerly, following her.
Across a narrow passage-way on the other side of the house was the "best bedroom" of the little old inn. Here, upon the high bed, carefully covered from the sun and any stray atom of dust with a clean linen sheet, lay half of Claude's wardrobe. As Mistress Vawse threw the cover aside Deborah uttered a little exclamation. Before her were the two court-suits of pink and white satin, with their delicate silver and silken embroidery, their elaborate waistcoats, point-lace ruffles, and silk stockings. Beside them lay orderly little piles of red-heeled slippers with paste buckles, linen shirts, a jewelled scabbard, two or three pins of diamonds, of which neither woman guessed the value, some rings, a white, three-cornered hat, two wigs, and an ivory snuff-box, in whose cover was the miniature of a woman, surrounded with pearls.
"How beautiful!" murmured Deborah, laying one finger gently on the embroidered pocket of the pink coat. "How beautiful! I have never seen aught like them."
"Nor I. Not on the Governor himself."
There was a silence as the two colonial women stood over the courtier's wardrobe, in this little bedroom of the far new world. Then again Deborah said, more to herself than to her companion:
"And the ladies—do they, too, have such things as these?"
"Oh, Miss Debby! Have you forgot Madam Trevor's wedding satin, with the veil and train? And the brocade she wore to the Governor's ball?"
But the girl shook her head impatiently. "Madam has nothing in the cedar chest so wonderful as this," she answered, lifting up a ruffle of Venice lace, as delicate as frost upon a window-pane. She looked at it lovingly for a long moment, and was about to replace it, when her eye fell on something which had lain beneath. It was a white kid glove, its back embroidered in tarnished gold and set with little blue stones, while in the centre of the arabesques was a crest, also in gold, unstudded. The girl turned it over, mechanically. Yes, there was something on the palm—the painting of a man's face and shoulders, a handsome face, if distorted a little by the brush; the face of a man comparatively young, something dull of expression, with a pair of great, sapphire blue eyes, and curling locks of bright gold tied loosely back, but unpowdered.
Deborah raised her eyes till they met those of Mistress Vawse.
"This—does not belong to him? Is not, I mean, a man's—gauntlet?"
"No, Miss Debby. When I took off his old suit yesterday, I found that glove pinned to his shirt on the left side, over—"
"His heart."
Mistress Vawse nodded. The glove dropped from Deborah's hand, and Father St. Quentin suddenly appeared at the door.
"The coach is coming, Deborah. Have you told Mistress Vawse of the cherries yet?"
"Oh no! I will as we go down."
"And how's the Frenchman, sir?"
The father smiled. "Luck is against my practice of French for the day, I fear. I must come to-morrow. It may be Mistress Deborah's medicine. He is sleeping like a child."
It was nearly four weeks since theBaltimorehad set sail on her return voyage to England. The June days were flying. Peach-blossoms had long since fallen; cherries were daily reddening; and the turkeys had been turned into the tobacco fields for their annual feast off the insect life so destroying to young plants. In nine days more the commissioners from Annapolis were to make their departure for Lancaster in Pennsylvania, for the purpose of settling the long-delayed matter of purchasing charter rights from the Indians. It was, moreover, a Monday afternoon, and very warm, when Virginia Trevor came languidly up from the rose-garden towards the wide and shady portico of the house. In her hand she held two magnificent red roses, which she now and then raised to her face, they being in perfect contrast to her white gown and petticoat of palest yellow.
The portico was furnished in the fashion of a room, for in summer the family were inclined to spend more time there than in the house. Upon it now, in one of the comfortable chairs that surrounded a wicker table, sat the solitary occupant of the portico—Sir Charles. He had been here for an hour or so, ever since dinner was over, half awake, bored, wishing for amusement, but without energy to go in search of it. On Virginia's approach he rose, bowed, and went to the edge of the porch to hand her up.
"Thank you," she said, smiling a little. "It was a condescension. You look very sleepy."
"And you are, as ever, pleased to make sport of me," he responded, good-humoredly. "Have you no pity for a man weary of himself, his very sportiveness, and most mightily tired of the silence of the trees, the shadows, the sun, and the river yonder?"
"Troth, you are in a bad way," responded the young lady, seating herself at the table and taking therefrom a reticule which held some silken knitting-work.
There was a pause before Fairfield observed, idly, "My aunt's roses must be highly successful this year."
"Yes. These are very perfect."
"And are you going to be so selfish as to keep the two of them, when not even one is needed to complete your beau—"
"No, no. Stop!"
Sir Charles looked at her in surprise.
"Take both the flowers if you like"—she tossed them over to him—"but forbear any remarks on my appearance. I—I am not in the mood."
He fastened the roses upon his waistcoat, helped himself to a pinch of snuff, dusted his coat with a large handkerchief, and leaned towards her. "How have I offended, O Virginia the fair?" he asked, half lazily, half curiously.
The young lady shrugged her shoulders. "In no way at all. This is a Monday. Have you never noticed that I am always vaporish on Mondays?"
"No, I had not noticed. Oh! as I remember it! Tell me, what did you think yesterday of M. de Mailly? Is't the first time you have seen him?"
"Yes. And I think him a gentleman, and that his English accent is good. He looked rather pale. For the rest—why should I think of him at all, since his eyes are only for Deborah?"
"Deborah!" echoed the man, too quickly. He recovered himself, however. "Ah, well—he has seen her before. You and Lucy were strange to him."
"He has seen her before?" repeated Virginia, surprised.
"Several times. Didn't you know? Carroll told me 'twas her doses—medicines—that probably saved his life."
"Ah! So that is what has made her so eager over Miriam Vawse." Virginia gazed thoughtfully out among the trees towards the river, of which a flashing glimpse was now and then to be caught through the feathery foliage.
"I thought you knew, cousin, or I would not have spoken. There was no wrong in the matter. Only Deborah is peculiar. She—"
"Oh, have no fear! I will not speak of the matter. But—I am not too fond of Deborah Travis; therefore I say nothing of her affairs. It might be better for her if I did."
"I think not," he answered, coolly. "Hark! There is some one coming up the road. Do you hear the beat of the hoofs?"
"Yes."
At that moment Jim, the groom from the stables, came running to the portico, and stood there expectantly facing the road, down which the sound of horses' hoofs was becoming plainly audible.
"Who is it, Jim?" asked Sir Charles.
"Mas' Thompson shout f'um road, minute ago, dat Mistah Rockwell ridin' up."
"Oh—Mr. Rockwell!" Virginia rose with a cold expression settling over her face, and Sir Charles shrugged indifferently as the visitor came in sight and presently halted his mare at the portico.
He was a florid, rotund, sandy-haired fellow, the rector of St. Anne's of Annapolis; conceited, a large eater, and a fair story-teller, but without brain enough to make himself obnoxiously disagreeable. He came up the two steps, wiping his face with an enormous handkerchief. His dress had been somewhat disturbed by the long gallop, and his bag-wig was awry. Before bowing to Virginia he stopped to adjust these matters, and then, having returned the slightly distant salute of the lieutenant, he observed, in a thin, non-clerical voice:
"Mistress Virginia, if it is not inconvenient, I am bent upon seeing your brother and Madam Trevor this afternoon."
"Vincent is in the fields, Mr. Rockwell. I will have him sent for."
"Pray do not do so, my dear young lady. I would not for the world put you to such trouble. No doubt he will be in later. I will see madam, your mother, first. If you could tell me where I may find her—"
"Will you step into the parlor, please? If Sir Charles will excuse me, I will call my mother at once."
The lieutenant bowed politely, and the two passed into the house, leaving Fairfield to sit down again with another shrug at the interruption that left him once more to his boredom. Presently, to his mild surprise, he perceived young Charles Carroll hurrying through the shrubbery in the distance, across the road.
"Carroll! Oh, Carroll!" shouted Fairfield; but, if the boy heard him, he made no reply, merely quickening his pace a little till he was out of sight.
As a matter of fact, young Charles did not want to hear. It was for Deborah that he had come to the plantation, and he was going to seek her in the spot where she was most likely to be found. Having happily escaped the continued notice of Sir Charles, he reached the back of the Trevor house, and there came upon the object of his search, seated, Turk-fashion, by the still-room door, surrounded by a group of black, wide-eyed pickaninnies, to whom she had been telling ghost-stories in their own dialect. It was one of her favorite forms of amusement when she was a little lonely; and the small mental effort required in concocting the endless tales was more than compensated for by the unwavering devotion to her of every black imp on the place. It was no great acquisition, perhaps, to one's acquaintance, but it was one of Mistress Travis' pleasures, and one not yet forbidden by Madam Trevor.
"SURROUNDED BY A GROUP OF PICKANINNIES""SURROUNDED BY A GROUP OF PICKANINNIES"
Young Carroll was close upon her before he was perceived; and when she beheld his expression, she burst into so sudden a peal of laughter that her audience jumped in terror, imagining it to be the latest demoniacal accomplishment of the ghost. At sight of Master Carroll, however, they realized that their afternoon was over, and all but one ran off to the quarters. This small fellow, Sambo by name, aged five, elegantly clad in a brown holland shirt that was many shades lighter than his skin, clung to Miss Debby's arm, pleading for more; for he was court favorite, and might do as he chose.
"I'm so glad you've come, Charles," she said, holding out a hand, which he clasped and shook as he might a man's.
"I have the pinnace. Can you come sailing now?"
"Oh yes! I've finished my spinning"—she made a little grimace—"and the knitting, and have crushed two bushels of rose-leaves for distilling, and have told three ghost-stories—and now I may sail, I think."
"Must I ask madam?" he queried, dubiously.
She laughed. "No. There now, Sambo, run away. No, I can go without asking her."
Very gently Deborah put away the child who still clung to her skirts, and started off, beside her companion, towards the river. Virginia and Sir Charles, from the portico, saw them pass the shrubbery. Fairfield repressed an exclamation. He would have given much to have been in the boy's place; and Virginia, catching a glimpse of his face, knew it, but was silent.
"I've got that Frencher—de Mailly—in the boat," observed Charles, as if offering a bit of off-hand information. "I like him, and he asked to come. What's the matter?"
Deborah had stopped short in her walk. "Hethere!" she cried, looking anxiously at her rumpled dress, knowing that her hair was all awry, and beginning to pull down the sleeves that were rolled to her shoulders. "Oh, you might have told me! How could you have let me come looking so?"
"You didn't mind me, though," returned Charles, not over-pleasantly. "Come, let the sleeves stay up, and don't bother with your hair. You're a thousand times prettier so, if that's what you want."
Deborah looked up at the boy with a little, mischievous smile. "I know that I'm better so. That's why I let it stay—for you," she said; and Charles, near enough to manhood to make the inference, had a momentary impulse to fall then and there at her feet. He did not guess, however, why the added color had come into Deborah's cheeks, or that there was a quick tremor at her heart as they approached the boat.
The wharf belonging to the Trevor place was hidden from the house by the foliage of the peach-orchard on the river-bank. Claude de Mailly, waiting in the little pinnace, beheld the two figures approaching him among the trees, and made his way along the bowsprit that he might help the young girl into the boat. He bowed gravely as she came along the pier, regarding her dishevelment of attire in surprise as well as admiration. It was but yesterday noon that he had seen her in very different state, and had thought her charming then. But now—! She accepted his proffered hand, and stepped carefully past the boom and down into the pinnace, though Charles had never seen her do such a thing before. Usually she leaped past him and was at the tiller before he could cast the painter off.
"Better let me take the steering to-day, Deborah," observed Charles, as they swung away from the dock.
"Oh—does mademoiselle herself steer at times?" asked Claude, with the quaintly twisted s's and r's that Deborah loved to hear.
"Sometimes," she replied.
"River or bay, Deb?" inquired Carroll, bluffly.
"The river; and let us beat up along the other shore. 'Tis prettier."
"All right. Mind the sail now."
Deborah obediently ducked her head, but Claude, not understanding the observation, and being turned from the canvas, sat still as the heavy boom swung over. Charles shouted, and Deborah seized his arm, pulling him down just in time. When they were under way again, de Mailly sat straight and looked curiously at the sail.
"Ma foi comme j'étais bête!" he observed, smiling at the girl, who returned his glance. The incident had broken the little stiffness of her manner, a fact which the Frenchman perceived with relief. "You saved my unfortunate head another blow, Mistress Travis. I thank you for it."
"I am glad that I saw you," she answered. "Charles and I have both been knocked over with it. One does not always see."
"Faith, I should think not! I had Deborah senseless for a quarter of an hour here once—"
"Nonsense, Charles. It was not five minutes."
"Humph! It seemed half a day to me. There, are we near enough the bank now?"
"Yes. Let her out, and run free with the wind."
With this command, and a sigh of content, Deborah sank down at Carroll's feet, laid her head upon the seat, and said no more. Charles could feel a bit of her calico ruffle over his foot, and her shoulder close to his arm, and was perfectly happy in watching the sail and feeling the tiller quiver in his grasp. The stranger reclined on a cushion in the bottom of the boat, facing the stern, his eyes resting half the time upon Deborah, and half the time upon the silver wake of the little boat.
A more perfect afternoon the gods never contrived. The sun was by this time well on its descent, the west was a glare of glory, and the whole river caught its reflection and poured an endless golden ripple along the shores, upon whose deep velvet turf the yellow shadows were lengthening. From the bay, eastward, came a stiff salt breeze that stirred the lazy June air till it had revealed every flower-breath in the land, and was as rich as only June air can be. Farther up, the river narrowed and twined between its banks till Charles was obliged to tack in order to catch the wind. For the most part the shores were wooded and still; but every now and then came an opening through which one caught the glimpse of a red brick house with white windows and pillared portico gleaming through a mist of birch or willow branches. Occasionally a gull, just in from the ocean, would dart, arrow-like, into the water, churning it white with his dive, to reappear presently, holding a captive fish, scales flashing in the light, fast in his beak.
Claude de Mailly noted it all—all this natural beauty and perfumed silence that his life had lacked. It was entering into his nature at every pore of the flesh, and was to him as milk to a man dying of hunger and thirst. Only one unsatisfied desire was in his heart. And yet, was it easy to mourn, even for that, when, just before him, graceful, unconscious, careless, pure of brow, clear of eye, and with that mad hair clustering all about her neck, lay another woman, whose glance, every now and then encountering his own, would droop so swiftly that he could see the whiteness of her eyelids and the long, curling lashes that touched her delicately flushed cheeks? A new feeling was welling up in the courtier's heart—something that had never come before. He let it stay, nor tried to understand the reason for its being. But he knew that he was moved by the sight of Deborah, and instinctively he divined that his emotion was being echoed in her.
Deborah was cold, with a cold which the summer sun had no power to warm. But she had not found that chill in the salt, eastern wind. She knew and understood but half that was taking place this afternoon. She had waited for its like, without knowing what it might be, for a long time. Sir Charles had brought her something that emanated merely from himself; but here, at once, in the first glance ever given her by this other, while he had raved in fever, was all that she had dreamed of, and infinitely more. Had it been some weight that was crushing out her heart, she could only have opened wide her arms and fiercely welcomed it. It was not all de Mailly either, she thought, vaguely, as she felt Charles move the tiller. It was the whole day, the place, the sunlight, the river, even the imperturbable Carroll, who was silent for the sake of the air, and the water beneath the keel of his boat. The Severn was still swollen from heavy spring rains, and the shallows of later summer were covered now. Young Carroll presently ran the pinnace so close to the high north bank that a willow, growing in the water, sent out one pale, feathery arm that brushed Claude's head in passing. Deborah watched a long leaf draw over his neck, just below the ear. Taking the bough as it reached her, she pressed it half unconsciously to her forehead, looking up to find de Mailly smiling into her eyes. But when they emerged from the shadows he was looking beyond her, down the river, though the smile lingered still about his lips. Charles Carroll did not notice the incident. He was thinking of his pretty feat in steersmanship.
"Well, Deb," he said at last, "if I'm to get home for supper, we'll have to come about."
Deborah sighed, and acquiesced.
"Mind your head, then, sir," cried the boy, laughing.
And as de Mailly bent carefully over, he answered blithely: "Faith, sir, had you kept me out half an hour longer, I should so have lost my head that the boom could not have menaced it."
"Ay, the river's pretty."
"The most beautiful spot in the world—and seen with the most charming companions," returned the Count, bowing towards Deborah, but moving up to the high side as they came into the wind.
Deborah knew instantly that their afternoon was over, and she was chagrined that she had allowed him to be weary of her. Pushing Charles from the tiller, she suddenly took his place.
"There, now you shall rest, or unfasten the sheet and manage that while I wake myself up!" she said. And young Charles obediently moved up beside Claude and took unto himself the management of the sail, while Deborah, sitting straight to the freshening wind, shook herself out mentally, and fastened her thoughts upon the tiller. Now, indeed, as she brought the boat so close into the wind that the water swirled gently over the low side, de Mailly turned towards her again. He was willing to be upset if she liked; but he did not care to have an accident occur because he had made her absent-minded. Deborah, however, was not thinking of him at all. Her skilful hand was making the little vessel fly, and there would be no false moves on her part. When they came about upon the second tack the sail flapped for but one-quarter of a second. As it filled with a puff, the little yacht fairly leaped ahead.
"Jack me, Deb, if that wasn't the prettiest turn I ever saw!" cried young Charles, as he manipulated the sheet.
"'Twas half you, Charlie. I must have let her go had you not brought her up just at the right instant."
"And did Mistress Deborah learn the management of a boat under you, sir?" asked Claude.
"Mine and my father's."
Claude settled back and tried to bring his mind to other subjects; but for the moment Deborah had completely fascinated him. He could do nothing better than compare her to all those other women to whom she was indeed incomparable, to try to fathom the many expressions he had seen in her eyes, and seek to determine which was the normal one. And so they left behind the upper windings of the river and neared at last the wharf of the Trevor place. The sun hung low over the tree-tops as Deborah stepped from the boat and held out her hand to Charles.
"Indeed, I am beholden to you. We have never had so beautiful a sail."
"I trust, Mistress Travis, that it will not be the last in which I shall be permitted to join you?" put in Claude, hastily, as she courtesied to him, and would have been off.
"I trust not; but the pinnace is not mine. It is with Charles and Dr. Carroll that you must plead."
So, with that small politeness, Deborah turned towards the shore, wondering a little why she should have finished so perfect an afternoon in annoyance with herself and those who had been her companions. She passed slowly up through the orchard and across the road at the top of the bank. The plantation grounds seemed utterly deserted. The family must be at supper. Through the trees she caught a glimpse of the empty portico. Hurrying a little, she went close to the doorway of a small, vine-covered arbor which was but rarely used. Nevertheless, to-night, as she passed it, there came the sound of muffled sobs from within. Deborah halted, hesitated for an instant, and then entered the little place. Inside it was dusky, but she perceived at once the glimmer of something white in a corner.
"Who is it?" asked the girl, sharply.
The figure stirred, and perhaps made some attempt to reply; but the only result was another hoarse sob.
"Lucy! Lucy! what is it?" cried her cousin, running to her quickly. "Nay, now, pray don't cry so! Is't only Mr. Calvert's going with the commissioners, so that you mayn't have him to take you to Master Whitney's church? Listen! Virginia told me she'd go herself with you there."
"Oh, Debby dear, no, it's not that at all now," came more quietly.