It was in this time of siege that I came to know, as I had not known before, the depth and tenderness of my dear lad's love for me. While the life-tide was at its ebb3 and I was querulous and helpless weak, he was my leech4 and nurse and heartening friend in one. And later, when the tide was fairly turned and I had found my soldier's appetite again, he spent many of the nights abroad and never let me guess what risks he ran to fetch me dainties from the outer world.
In this night raiding no danger was too great to hold him back from serving me. Once, when we were washing down our evening meal of meat and maize5 cake with plain cold water, I mourned the good wine idling in its bin6 at Jennifer House. At that, without a word to me, he took the whole night for a perilous7 adventure and fetched a dozen bottles of the Jennifer port to make me choke and strangle at the thought of what its bringing had cost in toil9 and hazard.
Another time I spoke10 of English beef, saying how it would rebuild a man at need—how it had made the English soldier what he is. Whereupon, as before, my loving forager11 took a hint where none was intended; was gone the night long, and slaughtered12 me some Tory yearling,—'twas Mr. Gilbert Stair's, I mistrusted, though Dick would never name the owner, and so I had a sirloin to my breakfast.
In these and many other ways he spent himself freely for love of me. If he had been a younger brother of my own blood the common parentage could not have made him tenderer.
'Twas not the mere13 outgushing of a nature open-armed to make a bosom14 friend of all the world; nor any feminine softness on his part. If I have drawn15 him thus my pen is but a clumsy quill16, for he was manly-rough and masterful, with all the native strength and vigor17 of the border-born.
But on the side of love and friendship no woman ever had a truer heart, a keener eye or a lighter18 hand. And in a service for friend or mistress he would spend himself as recklessly as those old knights19 you read about who made a business of their chivalry20.
With his daily offerings of unselfishness to shame me, you may be sure that I was flayed21 alive; self-flogged like a miserable22 monk23, with all the woundings of the whip well salted by remorse24. As you have guessed, I had not yet summoned up the courage to tell him how I had staked his chance of happiness upon a casting of the die of fate—staked and lost it. Now that it was gone, I saw how I had missed the golden opportunity; how I had weakly hesitated when delay could only make the telling harder.
By tacit consent we never spoke of Margery. Richard's silence hung upon despair, I thought; and as for mine, since the husband's road and the lover's lay so far apart, I could not bring myself to speak of her. But she was always first in my thoughts in that time of convalescence25, as I made sure she was in his; and at the last the hidden thing between us was brought to light.
It was on a night some three weeks or more after my fever turn. Our larder26 had run low again, and Jennifer had spent the earlier hours of the night abroad—to little purpose, as it chanced. 'Twas midnight or thereabouts when he came swearing in to tell me that the Tories were out again to harry27 our side of the river afresh, and to make a refugee's begging of a bag of meal a thing of peril8.
"They'll starve us out in shortest measure at this rate," he prophesied28. "They have trampled29 down all the standing30 corn for miles around, and this morning they burned the mill. 'Tis our notice to quit, and we'd best take it. There has been fighting to the south of us—a plenty of it—at Rocky Mount and Hanging Rock, and elsewhere, and every man is needed. If you are strong enough to stand the march, we'll run the gantlet down the river in the pirogue and cut across from the lower ford31 to join Major Davie or Mr. Gates."
I said I was fit enough, and would do whatever he thought best. And then I took a step upon the forbidden ground.
"Falconnet is still at Appleby Hundred?" I said.
He nodded.
"And you will join the army at the front and leave Margery to his tender mercies?"
His laugh was bitter; so bitter that I scarce knew it for Richard Jennifer's.
"Mistress Margery Stair is well, and well content, as I told you once before. She has no wish for you or me, unless it be to see us well hanged."
"Nay32, Richard; you judge her over-harshly. I fear you do not love her as her lover should."
"Say you so? Listen: to-night I got as far as the manor33 house, being fool enough to risk my neck for another sight of her. God help me, Jack34! I had it. They have scraped together all the Tory riff-raff this side of the river—Falconnet and the others—and are holding high revel35 at Appleby. Since it is still our true-blue borderland, they are scant36 enough of women of their own kidney, and I saw Madge dancing like any light o' love with every jackanapes that offered."
"In her father's house she could not well do less," I averred37, cut to the heart, as he was, and yet without his younger lover's jealousy38 to make me unjust.
"Or more," he added, savagely40. "'Tis as I say; she lacks nothing we can give her, and we'd as well be off about our business."
I think he never had it in his heart to leave her in any threat of danger. But from his point of view there was no danger threatening her save that which she seemed willing enough to rush upon—a life of titled misery41 as Lady Falconnet. I saw how he would see it; saw, too, that his was the saner42 summing of it up. And yet—
He broke into my musings with a pointed43 question. "What say you, Jack? 'Tis but a little whiffet of a Tory jade44 who cares not the snap of her finger for either of us. The night is fine and dark. Shall we float the canoe and give them all the slip?"
This was how it came to turn upon a "yes" or "no" of mine. I hesitated, I know not why. In the little pause the fire burned low between us, and the shadows deepened in the burrow45 cavern46 until they strangled the eye as mephitic vapors47 scant a man of breath. The silence, too, was stifling48. There was no sound to breach49 it save the gurgling murmur50 of the river, and this was subdued51 and intermittent52 like the death-rattle in the throat of the dying.
I've always made a
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