A Century Too Soon Part 15

"Lonely, oh, so lonely!" and the white ap.r.o.n was changed from the corner of the mouth to the corner of the eyes.

"I have thought so often of you living here alone with those children, who need a father's care."

By this time the widow was whimpering. He grew bolder and, falling on his knees, began an impa.s.sioned avowal of love. The widow, startled by the earnestness of her lover, rose to her feet in dismay.

At this juncture the door was thrown open, and the boy Robert entered to take a part in the scene. He carried a stout staff and, raising it with both hands, brought it down with a resounding whack on the shoulders of his mother's suitor.

Then a scene followed. Robert was ejected from the room and the mother made it all right with the injured party. A few days later it was currently reported that the widow Stevens was to wed Hugh Price the handsome cavalier. Mr. Stevens, the brother of her former husband, was shocked at the announcement and, in conversation with his wife, said:

"She who has always been an enemy to second marriages is now to bring a father-in-law over her children to the house."

"Poor children when Hugh Price becomes their master, as he will."

"I believe it is my duty to expostulate with her."

"Nay, nay, husband, it will be of no avail. You will have your trouble for your pains."

On a second thought, he was convinced that it would be folly to interpose.

"It will be better to let her have her way," he concluded. "Marry! she hath never sought advice or shelter save when her trouble overwhelmed her. In prosperity we are strangers, in adversity friends. Alas, poor children!"

The cavalier Price was seen frequently on the streets of Jamestown, and his friends noticed that he spent much of his time with the widow. He was smiling. His fat face and dark brown eyes seemed to glow with happiness. He never looked ugly, save when he encountered Robert's scowling face, and then he felt unpleasant sensations about the shoulders.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The door was thrown open and the boy Robert entered to take a part in the scene.]

Grinding his teeth in rage, he said:

"I will have my revenge on him when he is under my control."

Hugh Price was not in a great hurry. He bided his time, and not even a frown ruffled his brow. He greeted the children with sunny smiles calculated to win their hearts, and under ordinary circ.u.mstances they might have done so. But from the first he was regarded with aversion, as an intruder upon their sanctuary and love. The dislike was mutual, for, though Price concealed his feelings, there rankled in his breast an enmity which he could not smother.

Robert was open in his resentment. It was the first time he had ever opposed his mother. Even when younger, in their trouble and sore distress, he was her counsellor. He had not complained when the heaviest burdens were laid on his young shoulders. He had done the work of a man long before he was even a stout lad. Privation and hards.h.i.+p were borne without complaint. He rejoiced on his mother's account when their fortunes so suddenly and unexpectedly changed. Toil was over. Rest came and with it the improvement he desired.

It was hoped by her best friends that the bitter lesson which Dorothe had learned would prove effective, but it did not. Women of her disposition never learn by experience, and she plunged once more into extravagance and folly. The boy was old enough to realize his mother's weakness, yet his great love for her placed her above censure. He was silent and would have borne a second misfortune like the first uncomplaining; but when he learned that she was to bring one to take the place of that father who slept beneath the sea, he rebelled.

Dorothe knew the disposition of her children, and she decided to get them out of the way until after the wedding. At last she hit upon a plan. Once more in her need she had recourse to the relatives of her husband. Her husband's sister had married Richard Griffin, a planter, and lived at Flower de Hundred. The children had always loved their paternal relatives, and, though they had not been permitted to visit them since the restoration, they had by no means forgotten them. They hailed with joy the announcement that they were to go to Flower de Hundred.

One morning in early June three horses were saddled, and Robert and Rebecca, accompanied by a trusty negro named Sam, started on their journey. Most of the travel, especially to a country as far away as Flower de Hundred, was on horseback.

"I am so glad we are going," said Rebecca, as they galloped along the road through the woods. "Mother was good to let us go."

"I am s'prised at the missus," the negro said, shaking his head.

"Sumfin am gwine to happen now fur sure, sumfin am gwine to happen."

"Why?" asked Robert.

"Misse neber gwine to dem people less dar be sumfin for a-gwine ter happen."

Little Rebecca cast furtive glances about in the dark old wood through which they were riding and with a shudder asked:

"Is there any danger of Indians?"

So often had the savages drenched the earth with blood, that the child had a dread of them.

"Dun know, Misse Rebecca. Sam gwine ter fight if Indians come."

"But they must not come."

"No Injun hurt Misse. Sam not let um."

Robert, young as he was, had little faith in the negro's boasts as a protector, for he knew that Sam was a coward and would fly at the first intimation of danger. The journey was made without incident. It was a journey through a country romantic and picturesque to the youthful Robert. The grand old forest, with its untrodden paths, the tall trees, the dead monarchs of the forest, with branches white and bare spread like ghost's fingers in the air, filled his imagination with picturesque visions. Next they journeyed through a strip of low lands covered with tall, coa.r.s.e gra.s.s, which came almost to the backs of the horses. Then they swam streams in which the negro held the girl on her horse. At night Flower de Hundred was reached, and the children were with their aunt.

Sam left them to return to Jamestown with the horses. As he went away, he took Robert aside and, with a strange look on his ebony face, said:

"Spect sumfin bad am gwine ter happen, Ma.s.se Robert. She neber sent ye heah but for bad luck ter come. Look out for it now, lem me told ye; look out foh it now."

Robert knew that all negroes were superst.i.tious, and Sam's strange warning made very little impression on him. He and his sister were happy with their relatives who were kind to them.

Occasionally the uncle and the aunt were found talking in subdued tones with eyes fixed on Robert and Rebecca; but he did not think it could have any relation to them.

The days were spent in frolicsome glee among the old Virginia woods, and the nights in healthful repose. Robert felt at times a vague, strange uneasiness. It seemed so odd that his mother should send them away, and that so many days should elapse without hearing from her. It was not at all like her; but he was so free and so happy in his new existence, that he did not allow it to trouble him.

One day a wandering hunter from Jamestown came by the house where Robert was playing with his cousins and called to him:

"Ho! master Robert, I have news for you," he called to the lad.

"William Stump, when did you come?" he asked.

"But this day," was the answer.

"Where are you from?"

"Jamestown, and, by the ma.s.s! my young gay cavalier, I have news for you. Marry! have you not heard it already?"

"I have heard nothing."

"Your mother hath married," cried Stump with fiendish chuckle.

"It is false!" cried Robert.

"By the ma.s.s! it is true, my young cavalier," and Stump laughed at the expression of misery which came over the young face. "It was a gay notion to send you brats away until the ceremony was over. You might make trouble, you know. Ha, ha, ha! You laid your stick about the shoulders of Mr. Hugh Price, now he will return blow for blow," and, with another chuckle, Stump sauntered away, his gun on his shoulder.

On going to the house Robert had the report confirmed. Some one from Jamestown had brought news of the wedding, and his little sister, with her great dark eyes filled with tears, took him aside and said:

"Brother, mother is married; what does it mean?"

She clung to him, placed her curly head on his bosom and wept. Robert restrained his own tears and sought to soothe his sister.