From Kingdom to Colony Part 50

"But what am I to go to Cambridge for?" she asked rather nervously, still with her arms around his neck, and holding back her head to get a better look at his face, in which a serious expression seemed to be underlying its usual brightness.

"Did I not tell you,--because General Was.h.i.+ngton sent us to fetch you?

But come," he added more gravely, "we must get away at once. Hasten and get yourself ready and I will tell you all as we ride along."

"Had I not better go with her?" asked Mary, when Dot had left them.

Her husband shook his head. "No, it was only Dot we were to bring."

"But for her to go alone, with a lot of men--" Mary began.

He put an arm around her shoulder as he interrupted her remonstrances.

"She goes with her brother, sweetheart, and to meet her husband."

"But she is coming back?" And Mary spoke very anxiously.

"Aye, she'll return sometime to-morrow; but for how long is for herself and the other to decide."

Then he explained: "The British have a man of ours, one Captain Pickett, a valiant soldier, with a stout arm and true heart. They have had him these three months, a prisoner in Boston, and we have been most anxious to bring about his exchange. General Was.h.i.+ngton has now arranged this through Southorn, who is to return to-morrow to Boston, and Captain Pickett is to be sent to us. After that, as I have said, we have no right to dictate Dorothy's movements. Captain Southorn has told me that he should return to England as soon as may be."

"Then," said Mary in a tone of conviction, and the tears springing to her eyes, "Dot will go with him."

"Aye, belike," he sighed, "for they love one another truly."

"And you, Jack, do you--can you look at and speak to this man with any tolerance?" demanded his wife, the asperity of her voice seeming to dry away the tears.

"I try to do so, for Dot's sake, and for what he is to her. I've found him to be a gentleman, and a right manly fellow, despite the prank of which he was guilty."

"Well, I shall hate him the longest day I live!"

Mary could say nothing more, for Mistress Knollys and Hugh now came in from another room, where they had been together.

Dorothy had pa.s.sed this room on her way up the stairs, and seeing Hugh, stopped, while he came forward quickly to meet her.

"Oh, Hugh, but I am truly glad to see you once more!" she exclaimed.

"How long, how very long it seems since you went away!" And there were tears s.h.i.+ning in the eyes she raised to his face.

He clasped both her extended hands, and reminding himself of all he had heard, strove to hide his true feelings, while his mother, from the room back of them, watched the two in silence, still seeming to hear the cry he had uttered only a moment before,--

"Oh, mother, mother, I feel that my heart will break!"

Dorothy could not but observe the paleness of his face, and the traces as of recent tears showing about the blue eyes; but she attributed these to other than the real cause,--perhaps to matters arising between his mother and himself after their long separation.

"I am glad you have missed me sufficiently to make the time seem long to you, Dot," he replied, well aware, in the bitterness of his own heart, of how little this had to do with her show of emotion.

"Aye, I have missed you very much," she declared earnestly. "And so many sad things have happened since!"

"Yes--and so many that are not sad," he added significantly, desiring, since he might be expected to speak of her marriage, to have it over with.

A burning blush deepened the color in her cheeks. She drew away the hands he had been holding all this time, her eyes fell, and she seemed scarcely to know how to reply.

"I pray G.o.d you will be very happy, Dorothy." And his speaking her full name accentuated the gravity of his voice and manner.

"Thank you, Hugh," she replied, trying to smile: then, with a nervous laugh, "And when you return to Marblehead and see Polly Chine, I hope I may say the same to you."

The young man forced a laugh that well-nigh choked him. It had been hard enough to endure before he saw her. But even when he knew from her brother of her being forced into a marriage with this Britisher, his heart refused to relinquish all hope, despite what his friend had told him of Dorothy's own feeling toward her husband.

But he had still cherished the idea that somehow, in some way, they might never come together again; that the Britisher, believing Dorothy to have no love for him, might sail away to England without her, should the fortune of war spare him to do this.

He also reckoned--hoped, rather--that the girl was so young as to recover from any sentiment this stranger might have awakened within her heart.

But now, in the light of what had come about and was soon to be, all hope was dead for him. The sight of the face and form he had never loved so well as now,--when she seemed so sweet and so lovable in her newly acquired womanliness--all this was unnerving him.

With these thoughts whirling through his brain, he stood looking at her, while he forced such an unnatural laugh as made her glance at him nervously and draw herself away.

"I'm not like to see the old town for many a long day, I fear," he managed to say, his voice growing less strained as he saw the wondering look in her dark eyes; "and as for Polly Chine, you must find one more suited to my taste before you 've cause to wish me what I now wish you with all my heart."

With this he turned hastily away, and his mother asked, "You are going to get ready to start for Cambridge, child?"

"Yes," replied Dorothy, "I must leave at once."

"And can I do aught to help?" the good woman inquired.

Upon being a.s.sured that she could not, she cheerily bade the girl make haste, and to remember that she was expected to return the next day.

"I shall miss the child sorely," she said, as the click of Dorothy's little heels died away on the floor above.

Hugh said nothing, but sighed heavily, as he stood looking out of the window with eyes that saw nothing.

His mother went to him and laid a gentle hand upon his broad shoulder.

"Oh, my son, my dear son," she said in a trembling voice, "my old heart is sore for you. I have hoped for years that--"

He whirled suddenly about.

"Don't mother--don't say any more--not now. Let me fight it out alone, and try to keep such a bearing as will prevent her from knowing the truth."

Then the pa.s.sion in his voice died out, and he caressed her gray hair with a loving touch.

She drew his face down and kissed him.

"Come," she said, with an effort at cheerfulness,--"come into the other room and have speech with Mary before you go, else she'll think we've lost all proper sense of our manners. This is the first time you and she have met since her marriage."

CHAPTER x.x.xII

It was evening when the party reached the headquarters at Cambridge.