CHAPTER LXVII.
LADY BIDDY BREAKS HER TROTH, AND WE HEAR FALMOUTH BELLS AGAIN.
Our carpenters set to work and patched up the sides of the pirate shipswithout delay, so that when the water gained still more they floatedwithout leakage.
While this was doing, the rest of the companies were mightily busymaking all ready for our departure. And to see the nimble bustle on allsides, and to hear the lively mirth, mingled with snatches of sea-songs,in every part, one would have thought there was not a sad heart aboard;yet, Lord knows, there was one amongst them as heavy and dull as lead.For now I could reckon the number of days (within a few) that it wouldtake us to reach England; and once my Lady Biddy was landed there, and Iwas assured that Smidmore was alive, I must quit her forever, and goelsewhere to finish the rest of my life as I best could alone. However,I did my utmost to bear a cheerful and contented mien, for killjoy isbut a poor friend. I could find nothing to talk upon without restraint;but I went about with a quick step, as though I had all the business inthe world to look after, and made a good pretense to sing songs andwhistle old tunes--though they nearly choked me, for I could recall nonebut the ditties my dear lady and I used to sing together in our home inthe cave. Nevertheless, despite my whistling, etc., I could see my dearcousin was anxious about me--for women do see through deceit and rightinto the very heart of a man as we can in no wise; and many a time outof the corner of my eye I perceived her watching of me with grave eyesand a drawn face--nay, once when I broke off whistling because I found Ihad got on to the tune of "Spring flowers be sweet" (which was our oldfavorite song), I saw her turn away with her dear eyes full of tears.
To cut this matter short, we set sail ere long, and with a prosperousgale came ere long to the Canaries, where we rested to revictual andbetter equip ourselves. Here were two or three English ships; and oneday Sir Bartlemy, having come from a visit to one of our countrymen,told me that he had learned for a certainty that Sir Harry Smidmore wasin England, and that all the world did talk of his escape, etc., etc.
Hearing this, I perceived that now the time was come for making my lastsacrifice; for 'twas useless to return to England, and, worse than that,to pain my dear lady with that dejection of spirit which I could notconceal. And so, after a night of such bitter struggling between mybaser and better self as I am willing to pass over, I went to my uncle,as he sat alone in his cabin, and told him I had given up my design ofreturning to England with him, and should count it a favor if he wouldentrust me with one of the ships to go a-trading as his agent toCampeachy and those regions.
"Why, what maggot has bit you, nephew?" says he in amaze. "You haveshown no disposition to go roaming since we quitted the Oronoque; nay,it seemed to me that your sole joy was to be with us, and that you couldnot rest out of sight of niece Biddy."
That was indeed true, but I felt I must indulge this delight no longer,but break away from that perilous, passionate attachment while I had themanhood to obey the advice of my conscience. But I could not explainthis to my uncle, and so hung my head in silence, being as sore at heartas any man could be.
"Do you feel it is your duty, Benet?" says my uncle tenderly, after apause; seeing, as I take it, how matters stood.
I nodded my head, not daring to speak, lest my strength should give wayunder the strain of anguish that I felt in thinking I must never againsee my dear lady.
"In that case, dear fellow," says the kind-hearted old gentleman,getting up and laying his hand on my neck, "God forbid I should balkyour design. You shall have a ship, and means for your venture, to boot,as being but a little out of that great store of gold we have taken fromthe pirates. May the Lord prosper you in all you undertake, as doubtlesshe will, being just as well as merciful."
"We will say naught of this to my Lady Biddy, uncle," says I, "for Iknow not how to explain my sudden turn of intention to hersatisfaction."
"As you will, nephew," says he--"as you will."
Then, taking my friend Matthew Pennyfarden aside, I asked him if hewould come with me and share my fortunes.
"Lord love you, master," says he, "that will I with all my heart, be itanywhere in the world."
So we secretly fitted out a ship, and got all ready for the venture Ihad in my mind; and there was nothing left to do but to bid my dear ladyfarewell, which was the thing I dreaded woefully, yet saw no way ofavoiding. However, the night before I designed to set sail, my uncleundertook to break the news to my lady lightly, as if 'twere a suddenwhimsey that possessed me.
The next morning as I sat in my cabin, looking at the card which was toguide me to Campeachy, but my eye wandering from that part to thewilderness where the sweetest moments of my existence had been passed,my lady came on board, and ere I knew it stole to my side.
"Is that where you are going, Benet?" says she, leaning over myshoulder.
"Ay," says I, stammering like a fool; "Sir Bartlemy has told you?"
"Yes," says she, "and I've come to know where you mean to bestow yourlittle comrade."
"My little comrade?" says I, choking with despair; "I have none."
"What's become of the little comrade?" asks she.
I could make no reply save by putting my finger on the map where, as Iguessed, we had encountered the party sent to meet us, and my littlecomrade had put off her stripling's dress and donned her gown again.
"Your little comrade," says she, bending over me till her glowing cheekwas side by side with mine--"your little comrade has changed her dress,but not her heart, Benet. The little comrade who saw you striving to bea brother, knew you to be a lover, and liked you none the less becauseyou failed. To hide your love was an effort; to hide mine a grief. Nowyou know why I was dull, Benet. I was sick of love, dear--sick of love."
And with that she laid her cheek to mine, and such rapture seized methat I knew not what I did.
Yet presently a sudden recollection chilled me, and I said with a groan,"Smidmore!"
"Smidmore!" says she, her pretty brows creasing in anger and her lipcurling with scorn. "Hast not my uncle told you of his treachery?"
"His treachery!" said I in amaze--"never a word."
"'Tis because he would hide the weakness and shame of a man he had takenfor a friend. When he found we were gone from England he gave himself upto the flattery of his friends; and instead of following us to our help,as we followed him, is paying his court to another. But why should I bevexed with him?" says she, her face melting with sweet kindness; "for,sure, no troth should bind us when we cease to love. And, in truth, dearBenet, had he been constant I must have broken my pledge, having no lovebut for you, dear--no love but for you. Take me, sweetheart," adds she,stretching forth her hands, "or else I die an old maid."
THE END.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends