CHAPTER VII.
THE PRICE OF HARRY'S LIFE.
He heard Agnes calling him, and he resolved to go at once to her. Andnever had he looked handsomer than at this hour, for he had clothedhimself with that rich and rigid propriety he understood so well whilethe sense of injustice under which he so inwardly burned gave to him ahaughty dignity, suiting his grave face and lofty stature to admiration.He went very softly along the upper corridor of his home, but Madameheard his step, and opening her door, said in a whisper:
"Your father has fallen asleep, Neil, and much he needed sleep. Whereare you going?"
"I am going back to the court. I wish to know what has been done inBradley's case."
"Why trouble yourself with other people's business? The lad has surelygiven us sorrow enough."
"He is her brother--I mean----"
"I know who you mean; weel, then, go your way; neither love nor wisdomwill win a hearing from you on that road."
"There is money to be found somewhere, mother. Until his fine is paid,father will be miserable. I want to borrow the amount as soon aspossible."
_"Borrow!_ Has it come to that?"
"It has, for a short time. I think Captain DeVries will let me have it.He ought to."
"He'll do naething o' the kind. I would ask any other body but him."
"There are few to ask. I must get it where I can. Curtis will advanceone hundred pounds for me."
"They who go borrowing go sorrowing. I'm vexed for you, my dear lad. Itis the first time I ever heard tell o' a Semple seeking money not theirain."
"It is our own fault, mother. If father and I had taken your advice andlet confiscated property alone we should have had money to lend to-day;certainly, we should have been able to help ourselves out of alldifficulties without asking the assistance of strangers."
The confession pleased her. "What you say is the truth," she answered;"but everybody has a fool up their sleeve some time in their life. MayGod send you help, Neil, for I'm thinking it will hae to come by Hishand; and somehow, I dinna believe He'll call on Batavius DeVries to gieyou it."
With these words she retreated into her room, closing the doornoiselessly, and Neil left the house. As soon as he was in the publicroad he saw Batavius standing at his garden gate, smoking and talkingwith Cornelius Haring and Adrian Rutgers. They were discussing Bradley'strouble and the Semples's connection with it, and Neil felt the spiritof their conversation. It was not kindly, and as he approached themHaring and Rutgers walked away. For a moment Batavius seemed inclined todo the same, but Neil was too near to be avoided without intentionaloffense, and he said to himself, "I will stand still. Out of my own wayI will not move, because Neil Semple comes." So he stolidly continued tosmoke, staring idly before him with a gaze fixed and ruminating.
"Good afternoon, Captain. Are you at liberty for a few minutes?" askedNeil.
"Yes. What then, Mr. Semple? I heard tell, from my friends, that you arein trouble."
"We have been fined because Mr. Bradley's son used our landing. It is agreat injustice, for in this matter we were as innocent as yourself."
"That is not the truth, sir. If, like me, you had boarded in your housea few soldiers, then the care and the watch would have been theirbusiness, not yours. Those who don't act prudently must feel thechastisement of the government; but so! I will have nothing to do withthe matter. It is a steady principle of mine never to interfere in otherpeople's affairs."
"There is no necessity for interference. The case is settled. My fatheris fined two hundred pounds, a most outrageous wrong."
"Whoever is good and respectable is not fined by the government."
"In our case there was neither law nor justice. It was simple robbery."
"I know not what you mean. The government is the King, and I do not talkagainst either King or government. The Van Emerlies, who are alwayssneering at the King, have had to take twenty-seven per cent. out of theestate of a bankrupt cousin; and the Remsens, who are discontented andalways full of complaints, have spoiled their business. God directsthings so that contentment leads to wealth."
"I was speaking of neither the King nor his government, but of theMilitary Police Court."
"Oh! Well, then, I think all the stories I hear about its greediness andtyranny are downright lies."
"I must, however, assert that this court has been unjust and tyrannicalboth to my father and myself."
"That is your business, not mine."
"I was in hopes that you would feel differently. My father has oftenhelped you out of tight places. I thought at this time you wouldremember that. There was that cargo at Perth Amboy, but for my father,it had gone badly with you!"
"Yes, yes! I give good for good, but not to my own cost. People who goagainst the government and are in trouble are not my friends. I do notmeddle with affairs that are against the government. It is dangerous,and I am a husband and a father, not a fool."
"To assist my father for a few days, till I can turn property intomoney, is not going against the government."
"You will not turn property into money these days; it is too late. I,who am noted for my prudence, got rid of all my property at thebeginning of the war; you and your father bought other people's houses,while I sold mine. So! I was right, as I always am."
"Then you had no faith in the King's cause, even at the beginning; andI have heard it said you are not unfriendly now to the rebels."
_"Ja!_ I give the Americans a little, quietly. One must sail as the windserves; and who can tell which way it will blow to-morrow? I am a goodsailor; never shall I row against wind and tide. Who am I, BataviusDeVries, to oppose the government? It is one of my most sacredprinciples to obey the government."
"Then if the Americans succeed, you will obey their government? Yourprinciples are changeable, Captain."
"It is a bad principle not to be able to change your principles. Theworld is always changing. I change with it. That is prudent, for I willnot stand alone, or be left behind. That is my way; your ways do notsuit me."
"This talk comes to nothing. To be plain with you, I want to borrow twohundred pounds for a month. I hope you will lend it. In the Perth Amboymatter my father stood for you in a thousand pounds."
"That is eaten bread, and your father knew I could secure the money. Iwish I could help Elder Semple, but it would not be prudent."
"Good gracious, sir!"
"Oh, then, you must keep such words to yourself! I say it would not beprudent. He has swamped himself with other men's houses, his business isdecayed, he is old; and you are also in a bad way and cannot help him,or why do you come to me?"
"I can give you good security, good land----"
"Land! What is good land to me? It will not be useful in my business.And there is another thing, you are not particular in your company. Ihave heard about your Methodist friends; there is Vestryman WilliamUstick, he was a Methodist servant, and he has become bankrupt; so,then----"
"You will not repay my father's frequent loans to you. If yourfather-in-law, Joris Van Heemskirk, was here----"
"I am not Joris Van Heemskirk. He is a rebel. I, who have always beenloyal, have made twelve thousand dollars this last year. Is not that ahint for me to go on in the right way?"
Without waiting for the end of this self-complacent tirade, Neil wentforward. Batavius was only a broken reed in his hand. Never before inall his life had he felt such humiliating anxiety. Even the slippingaway of Haring and Rutgers, and the uncivil refusal of Batavius, weredistinctly new and painful experiences. He felt, through Haring andRutgers, the public withdrawal of sympathy and respect; and throughBatavius, the coming bitterness of the want of ready money. The Sempleshad been fined; they were suspects; their names would now be on the rollof the doubtful, and it would be bad policy for the generality ofcitizens to be friendly with them. And the necessity for borrowing moneyrevealed poverty, which otherwise they would have been able to conceal.He knew, also, that he would have to meet many such rebuffs, and he waswell aware th
at his own proud temper would make them a pleasant paymentto many whom he had offended by his exclusiveness.
As he approached the Bradley house he put all these bitter thoughtsaside. What were they in comparison with the sorrow Agnes was compelledto endure? His whole soul went out to the suffering girl, and he blamedhimself for allowing any hope of Batavius to delay him. The very househad taken on an air of loneliness and calamity. The door was closed, theblinds down, and the wintry frost that had blackened the garden seemedin some inscrutable way to have touched the dwelling also. He saw theslave woman belonging to the Bradleys talking to a group of negroes downthe road, and he did not call her. If Agnes was within, he would seeher; and if her father had returned, they would probably be together.
Thinking thus, he knocked loudly, and then entered the little hall. Allwas silent as the grave. "Agnes! Agnes!" he cried; and the next momentshe appeared at the head of the stairs. "Agnes!" he cried again, and theword was full of love and sorrow, as he stretched out his arms to thedescending girl. She was whiter than snow, her eyes were heavy and darkwith weeping, her hair had fallen down, and she still wore the plain,blue gingham dress she had put on while Maria was telling her tragicaltale. Yet in spite of these tokens of mental disturbance, she wasencompassed by the serene stillness of a spirit which had reached theheight of "Thy will be done."
When her father left her, smitten afresh by his anger she had fled toher room, and locking the door of this sanctuary, she had sat for twohours astonished, stupefied by the inevitable, speechless andprayerless. Yet while she was musing the fire burned; she becameconscious of that secret voice in her soul which is the spirit thathelpeth our infirmities, and ere she was aware she began to pray. It wasas if she stood alone in some great hall of the universe, with aninfinite, invisible audience of spirits watching her. Then the miracleof the ladder between heaven and earth was renewed, and angels of helpand blessing once more ascended and descended. An inward, deep,untroubled peace calmed the struggle of her soul; one by one the cloudsdeparted and the light steadily grew until fears were slain, and doubtshad become a sure confidence that
Naught should prevail against her or disturb Her cheerful faith that all which looked so dark Was full of blessing.
She was sitting waiting when she heard Neil's call, and Oh! how sweet isthe voice of love in the hour of anxious sorrow! She never thought ofher appearance or her dress; she hasted to Neil, and he folded her tohis heart and for the first time touched her white cheek with his lips.She made no resistance, it was not an hour for coy withdrawals, and theyunderstood, amid their silent tears, far more than any future wordscould explain.
Then Neil told her all that had happened, and when he described JohnBradley's open recognition of his son she smiled proudly and said, "Thatwas like father. If I had been there I would have done the same. It is along time," she said, looking anxiously at Neil. "Will father soon behome?"
"I expected to find him here. I will go to the court now; the trialought to be over."
But complications had arisen in what at first seemed to be a case thatproved itself. Harry was not easily managed. He admitted that he hadbeen in America for more than three years, but declared that his fatherhad been totally ignorant of his presence. When asked where he had dweltand how he had employed himself during that time, he gave to everyquestion the same answer, "I refuse to tell."
Then the saddle found in his boat was brought forward, and he was askedfrom whom he received it and to whom he was taking it. And to both thesequestions there was the same reply, "I refuse to tell."
"It is indisputably a Bradley saddle," said the assistant magistrate,DuBois. "Let John Bradley identify it."
Bradley came forward, looked at the saddle, and answered, "I made it;every stitch of it."
"For whom? Mr. Bradley?"
"I should have few saddles to make if I talked about my patrons in thisplace. I refuse to tell for whom I made it."
"The court can fine you, sir, for contempt of its requests."
"I would rather pay the fine than bring my patron's name in question andcause him annoyance."
There was considerable legal fencing on this subject, but nothinggained; a parcel also found in the boat was opened and its contentsspread out for examination. They consisted of a piece of damasse for alady's gown, some lace, two pairs of silk stockings, two pairs ofgloves, some ribbon, and a fan that had been mended. Everything in thisparcel was obviously intended for a woman, but Harry was as obduratelynoncommittal as he had been about the saddle. Nothing could be gained bycontinuing an examination so one-sided, and the next witness called wasCaptain Quentin Macpherson. He came forward with more than his usualhaughty clangor, and was first asked if he had ever seen the prisonerbefore.
"Yes," he answered, "for about half an hour yesterday evening, say,between half-past seven and eight o'clock."
"Did you have any conversation with him?"
"Very little. When I began to question him about his residence he roseand went away."
"Who else was present?"
"Miss Bradley and Miss Semple."
"Tell the court what occurred when the prisoner left."
"Miss Bradley went to the gate with him, Miss Semple remained with me. Inoticed that she was anxious, and found my company disagreeable; andsuddenly she excused herself and left the room. As she did so a pebblewas thrown through the window, it fell at my feet; a note was wrappedround it, and I read the note."
There was a low _hiss-s-s-s!_ at these words, which pervaded the wholeroom. Macpherson waited until it had subsided, and then in a loud,defiant voice repeated his last sentence, "I read the note, and actedupon it."
The note was then handed to him, and he positively recognized it, andas it was not his note, nor intended for him, he was unable to protestagainst DuBois's reading it aloud. It made a pleasant impression. Menlooked at the boy prisoner sympathetically, and a little scornful laughpointed the epithet _"that Scot!"_ which infuriated Macpherson.
In this favorable atmosphere Mr. Curtis rose, and sarcastically advisedJudge Matthews that it was "evident the posse of Highland soldiers hadbeen called out to prevent a lovers' tryst and satisfy the woundedvanity or jealousy of Captain Macpherson." The soldier glared at thelawyer, and the lawyer smiled and nodded at the audience, as if tellingthem a secret; and it really seemed possible for a minute or two thatHarry might escape through the never-failing sympathy that lovers drawto themselves.
Unfortunately, at this moment a man entered with a shabby-looking littlebook, and Harry's face showed an unmistakable anxiety.
"What is the purport of this interruption?" asked DuBois as the volumewas handed to him.
"This book fell from the prisoner's jacket last night and John VanBrunt,the jailor, picked it up. This morning he noticed that it had beenfreshly bound, and he ripped open the leather and found this letterbetween the boards."
The letter was eagerly examined, but it was in cipher and nothing couldbe made of it. One thing, however, instantly struck Judge Matthews; itwas written on paper presumably only to be obtained in theCommander-in-Chief's quarters. This discovery caused the greatestsensation, and Harry was angrily questioned as to how the letter gotinside the binding of a book he was carrying.
"The book is one of my schoolbooks," said Harry. "I am a poor counter,and it is, as you see, a Ready Reckoner. I use its tables in my businesscalculations constantly; it was falling to pieces, and a friend offeredto bind it afresh for me. As for the letter, I did not put it there. Ido not know who put it there. I do not know a word of its meaning. Itmay be an old puzzle, put there for want of a better piece of paper.That is all I can tell."
"You can tell the name of the friend who rebound your book?"
"No, I cannot."
"Will not, you mean?"
"As you say."
A recess was taken at this point of the examination, and the Judgesretired to consider what ought to be done. "The letter must, of course,be laid before General Clinton at once,"
said DuBois; "and as for theprisoner, there can now be no doubt of his treason. I am in favor ofhanging him at sunset to-day."
"I think," answered Matthews, "we had better give the young man a day totell us what he knows. This letter proves that there are worse traitors,and more powerful ones, behind him. It is our duty to at least try andreach them through their emissary."
"He will never tell."
"The shadow of the gallows is a great persuader. This cipher message isa most important affair. I propose to make the sentence of deathto-morrow at sunset, with the promise of life if he gives us theinformation we want."
Matthews carried his point, and Neil Semple arrived at the court housejust as the sentence in accord with this opinion was pronounced. Harryhardly appeared to notice it; his gaze was fixed upon his father. Thewords had transfigured, not petrified him. His soul was at his eyes, andthat fiery particle went through those on whom he looked and infectedthem with fear or with sympathy. He had risen to his feet when his sondid, and every one looked at him, rather than at the prisoner. Formental, or spiritual, stature is as real a thing as physical; and in theday of trial this large-souled man, far from shrinking, appeared to growmore imposing. He had a look about him of a mountain among hills. Theaccepted son of a divine Father, he knew himself to be of celestialrace, and he scorned the sentence of shameful death that had fallen fromthe lips of man upon his only son.
As he turned to the door he smiled bravely on Harry, and his smile wasfull of promise. He declined all help from both Medway and Semple, andwas almost the first to leave the room. The crowd fell away from him ashe passed; though he neither spoke nor moved his hands, it fell away asif he pushed it aside. Yet it was a pitiful, friendly crowd; not a manin it but would have gladly helped him to save his boy's life.
"What will he do?" asked Medway of his companion.
"I cannot tell," answered Semple. "He has some purpose, for he walkslike a man who knows what he intends and is in a hurry to perform it."
"This is a very bad case. I see not how, in any ordinary way, the youngman can be saved. You are a lawyer, what think you?"
"Unless there are extraordinary ways of helping him; there are noordinary ones. He is undoubtedly a rebel spy. Any court, either policeor court-martial, would consider his life justifiably forfeit."
"Have you any influence, secret or open?"
"None whatever. If I had, we should not have been fined. Bradley mayhave, but I doubt it."
"I think he has. Men are not silent and observant year after year fornothing. But we must not trust to Bradley. Can I see Miss Semple atseven o'clock this evening? I know, madame your mother is averse toEnglishmen, but in this case----"
"Miss Semple will certainly see you."
Then the young men parted and Neil returned to his home, for he did notdare to intrude his presence at that hour between the distressed fatherand daughter. It was hard enough to have Maria to meet; and the momentshe heard his step she came weeping to him.
"Tell me, Uncle Neil," she cried, "what have they done to Harry? I amsick with suspense. Are they going to kill--to hang him?"
Her voice had sunk to a terrified whisper, and he looked pitifully ather and drew her within his embrace. "My dear Maria!" then his lipsrefused to say more, and he suffered his silence to confirm her worstfears. After a few moments he added:
"His only hope is in Lord Medway's influence. I think Medway may dosomething."
"Oh!" she sobbed "if he can only save his life! I would be content neverto see him again! Only ask him to save his life. If Harry is killed Ishall feel like a murderer as long as I live. I shall not dare to lookat myself, no one will want to look at me. I shall die of grief andshame! Uncle, pity me! pity me!"
"My dear Maria, it is not your fault."
"It is, it is! He took his life in his hand just to see me."
"He was a selfish fool to do such a thing. See what misery he has made.It is his own fault and folly."
"Every one will despise me. I cannot bear it. People will say, 'Shedeserves it all. Why did she meet the young man unknown to her friends?See what she has done to her grandparents and her uncle.' People likeCaptain DeVries will frown at me and cross the street; and their wivesand children will go into their houses when I come near and peep at methrough the windows, and the mothers will say, 'Look at her! look ather! She brought a fine young man to the gallows, and her friends toshame and poverty.' Uncle, how am I to bear it?"
"I think, my poor child, Lord Medway has some plan. Money unbars alldoors but heaven's, and Medway has plenty of money. Besides, GeneralClinton is easily moved by him. I do not think Clinton will refuseMedway anything; certainly not, if Harry will tell who wrote the ciphermessage he was carrying."
"But Harry will not tell, will he?"
"I feel sure he will not."
"If he did, he would deserve to die. I would not shed a tear for him. Asfor Quentin Macpherson!--I wish that I was a man. I would cut his tongueout."
"Maria!"
"I would, truly. Then I would flog him to death."
Neil's dark face flushed crimson; his fingers twitched; he looked withapproval and admiration at the passionate girl. "One hundred yearsago--in Scotland," he said, "I would have answered, 'Yes! He deservesit! I will do it for you!'"
"It is so wretched to be a woman! You can go out, see for yourself, hearfor yourself; a girl can only suffer. Hour after hour, all night long,all day long, I have walked the floor in misery. How does Agnes bear it?She was cross, and sent me away this morning."
"She looks very ill; but she is calm, and not without hope. She hasspoken to God and been comforted. Can you not do so?"
"No. I am not Agnes. I cannot pray. I want to _do_ something. Oh, dearme! all this shame and sorrow because I had a little love-making withher brother and we did not tell the whole town about it. It is too greata punishment! It is not just nor kind. What wrong have I done? Yet how Ihave to suffer! No, I cannot pray, but if I can _do_ anything, see anyone, be of any earthly help or use----"
"I think Medway has some scheme, if Clinton should fail, and that thisscheme requires a woman's help."
"I hope it does! I hope it does! I will run any risk."
"Medway is coming here at seven o'clock. He wishes distinctly to seeyou. Run what risk you choose. I am not afraid of you. Nothing will makeyou forget you are Maria Semple."
"Thank you, Uncle Neil. Lord Medway and I have always been good friends.He will not ask me to do anything wrong; and if he did, I would not doit."
The prospect of his visit somewhat soothed Maria. Though Medway hadnever said a word of love to her, she knew she was adorable in his eyesas well as she knew the fact of her own existence. Women need no formaldeclarations; they have considered a lover's case and decided it many atime before he comes to actual confession. In her great trouble shehoped to find this love sufficient in some way for the alleviation ofHarry's desperate position. But though she really was in the greatestsorrow, she was not oblivious to her beauty. She knew if she had a favorto ask, it was the best reason she had to offer. So, as the hourapproached, she bathed her face and put on the _negligee_ of scarletsilk, which was one of her most becoming house costumes. She thought herintentional, pleasing carelessness of dress would only be noticed in itseffect; but Lord Medway was much in love, and love is an occultteacher. He noticed at once the studied effort to make griefattractive--the glowing silk of her gown, the bronze slippers, thebewitching abandon of her dark, curling hair against the amber cushionof the chair on which she sat. And though he had an astonishing plan forHarry's life to propose, Maria's careful negligence gave him hope andcourage. For if he had been quite indifferent to her, she would havebeen more indifferent to the dress she was to meet him in.
Nothing else in her surroundings spoke of love or happiness. The bestparlor had been opened for his reception; but the few sticks of woodsobbed and sung wearily on the cold hearth, and the room was chill andhalf-lighted and full of shadows. He noticed, nothing, however, but thelov
ely girl who came to meet him as he entered it, and who, even in thegloom, showed signs of the violent grief which she soon ceased torestrain. For his tenderness loosed afresh all her complaining; and heencouraged her to open her heart, and to weep with that passionateabandon youth finds comfort in. But when she was weary and had sobbedherself into silence he said:
"Miss Semple--may I call you Maria?"
"Yes, if you will be my friend, if you will help me."
"I am your friend, and if there is help in man I will get it for you."
"I want Harry's life; he risked it for me. If they kill him, all my daysI shall see that sight and feel that horror. I shall go mad, or die."
"Would you be content if I saved his life? He may be sent to prison."
"There is hope in that. I could bear it better."
"He will certainly be forbidden to come near New York, for----"
"Only let him live."
"He is without doubt a rebel."
"So am I, from this day forth."
"And a spy."
"I wish I could be one. There is nothing I would not tell."
He looked at her with the unreasoning adoration of a lover; then takingher cold hands between his own, he said in a slow, fervent voice:
"If you will promise to marry me, I will save the young man's life."
"You are taking advantage of my trouble."
"I know I am. A man who loves as I do must make all events go to furtherhis love."
"But I love Harry Bradley."
"You think so. If you had met him under ordinary circumstances you wouldnot have looked twice at him. It was the romance, the secrecy, thedanger, the stolen minutes--all that kind of thing. There is no root insuch love."
"I shall never cease to love Harry."
"I will teach you to forget him."
"No, no! How can you ask me in an hour like this? It is cruel."
"Love is cruel. Sooner or later love wounds; for love is selfish. I wantyou for my wife, Maria. I put aside so," and he swept his hand outward,"everything that comes in the way."
"You want to buy me! You say plainly, 'I will give you your lover's lifefor yourself.' I cannot listen to you!"
"Be sensible, Maria. This infatuation for a rebel spy is infatuation.There is nothing real to it. If the war were over, and you saw youngBradley helping his father in his shop and going about in ordinaryclothes about ordinary business, you would wonder what possessed youever to have fancied yourself in love with him."
"Oh, but you are mistaken!"
"You would say to yourself, 'I wish I had listened to Ernest Medway. Hewould have taken me all over the happy, beautiful world, to every lovelyland, to every splendid court. He would have surrounded me with a lovethat no trouble could put aside; he would have given me all that wealthcan buy; he would have loved me more and more until the very last momentof my life, and followed me beyond life with longings that would soonhave brought us together again.' Yes, Maria, that is how I love you."
"Harry loves me."
"Not he! If he had loved you he would not, for his own pleasure, haverun any risk of giving you this trouble. What did I say? Love isselfish, love wounds----"
"You wound me. You are selfish."
"I am. I love you. You seemed to belong to me that first hour I saw you.I will not give you up."
"If you really loved me, if you were really noble, you would save Harrywithout any conditions."
"Perhaps. I am not really noble. I can't trust such fine sentiments.They will lead, I know not where, only away from you. I tell youplainly, I will save the young fellow's life, if it be possible, oncondition that you promise to marry me."
"I am not eighteen years old yet."
"I will wait any reasonable time."
"Till the end of the war?"
"Yes, provided it is over when you are twenty-one."
She pondered this answer, looking up covertly a moment at the handsome,determined face watching her. Three years held innumerablepossibilities. It was a period very far away. Lord Medway might haveceased to love her before it was over; he might have fallen in love withsome other girl. He might die; she might die; the wide Atlantic oceanmight be between them. The chances were many in her favor. She remainedsilent, considering them, and Medway watched with a curious devotion theexpressions flitting across her face.
"Think well, Maria," he said at last, letting her hands drop gently fromhis own. "Remember that I shall hold you to every letter of yourpromise. Do not try to make yourself believe that if Bradley escapes andyou come weeping and entreating to me I shall give way. _I shall not._ Iwant to be very plain with you. I insist that you understand, HarryBradley is to be given up finally and forever. He is to have no more todo with your life. I am planning for _our_ future; I do not think of himat all. When he leaves New York to-morrow he must be to you as if he hadnever been."
"Suppose I do not promise to marry you, what then?"
"Nothing. I shall go away till you want me, and send for me."
"Oh!"
"Yes."
"And not even try to save Harry's life? Not even try?"
"Why should I? Better men than Harry Bradley have died in the samecause."
She rose and walked across the room a few times, and then, being cold,came back to the fire, knelt on the rug and warmed her hands. He watchedher intently, but did not speak. She was trying to find something whichshould atone to her better self for such a contract. It came with thethought of Harry's father and Agnes. For their sakes, she ought to doall she could. Harry, for her sake, had taken his life in his hand andforfeited it; surely, then, it was right that she, having the power todo so, should redeem it. Better that he should live for others than diefor her. Better that she should lose him in the living world than in thesilent grave. Through Agnes she would hear of his comings and goings,his prosperity, and his happiness; but there would come no word to herfrom the dead whether at all he lived and loved, or not. With a quick,decisive motion she rose and looked at the man who was waiting in suchmotionless, but eager, silence.
"A life for a life!" she said simply, offering Medway her hand.
"You mean that you will be my wife?"
"Yes. I will marry you when the war is over."
"Or when you are twenty-one, even if it be not over?"
"Yes."
"Now, then," he said, "you are my betrothed;" and he drew her within hisarm. "My honor, my hopes, my happiness, are in your hands."
"They are safe. Though I am only a girl, I know what my promise means. Ishall keep it."
"I believe you. And you will love me? You will learn to love me, Maria?"
"I will do my best to make you happy, you ought not to ask more."
"Very well." He looked at her with a new and delightful interest. Shewas his own, her promise had been given. He could, indeed, tell by hereyes,--languid, but obstinately masterful--that she would not be easilywon, but he did not dislike that; he would conquer her by the strengthof his own love; he would make her understand what love really meant.Still, he felt that for the present it would be better to go away, so hesaid:
"You shall hear from me as soon as possible. Try and sleep, my dear one.You may tell yourself, 'Ernest is doing all that can be done.'" Then hetook her hands and kissed them, and in a moment she was alone. Her heartwas heavy as lead, and she was cold and trembling, but she was no longerin the shadow of Death. Medway's face, turned to her in thesemi-darkness of the open door, was full of hope; and there was anatmosphere of power about the man which assured her of success; but shetruly felt at that hour as if it was bought with her life. She was inthe dungeon of despair; there seemed nothing to hope for, nothing todesire, in all the to-morrows of the years before her. "And I may havesixty years to live," she moaned; for youth exaggerates every feeling,and would be grieved to believe that its sorrows were not immortal.
She pushed the dying fire safely together, looked mournfully round thedarksome room, closed and locked the door. Then Neil came toward her andasked
if Lord Medway could do anything, and she answered, "He can saveHarry's life; he has promised that. I suppose he will be imprisoned, buthis life is saved. What did grandmother say about Lord Medway beinghere?"
"She has never been down stairs. She does not know he was here."
"Then we will not tell her. What is the use?"
"None at all. Father and mother have their own trouble. They are veryanxious and almost broken-hearted at the indignity put upon our family.I heard my father crying as I passed his door and mother trying tocomfort him, but crying, too. It made my heart stand still."
"It is my fault! It is my fault! Oh! what a wicked, miserable girl I am!What can I do? What can I do?"
"Try and sleep, and get a little strength for tomorrow. Within the nexttwenty-four hours Harry Bradley will be saved or dead."
"I think he is saved. I am sure of it."
"Then try and sleep; will you try, Maria?"
"Yes."
She said the word with a hopeless indifference, half nullifying thepromise. Then, lighting her candle, she went slowly to her room. Oh, butthe joy that is dead weighs heavy! Maria could hardly trail her bodyupstairs. Her life felt haggard and thin, as if it was in its eleventhhour; and she was too physically exhausted to stretch out her hand intothe dark and find the clasp of that Unseen Hand always waiting the hourof need, strong to uphold, and ready to comfort. No, she could not pray;she had lost Harry: there was nothing else she desired. In her roomthere was a picture of the crucifixion, and she cast her eyes up to theChrist hanging there, forsaken in the dark, and wondered if He pitiedher, but the pang of unpermitted prayer made her dumb in her lonelygrief.
Alas, God Christ! along the weary lands, What lone, invisible Calvaries are set! What drooping brows with dews of anguish wet, What faint outspreading of unwilling hands Bound to a viewless cross, with viewless bands.