looks like yo', missy." And then they hadlaughed, shut away with maimed chairs, tired spinets, and other voicelessthings, glad to have escaped from Knickerbocker frowns.
"_How lovely she is, Juma!_"]
It was a dismal household, that of the old mansion--the master absorbed inhis passion for wealth and worship of family; the three eldest daughters,who might once have had some individuality but now were moulded in theform of their father. "Callow old maids," any individual of the lowerranks of York would have dubbed them. They wore little bunches of sedatecurls over each ear, and dressed in sombre, genteel colors proper to theirexalted rank. On the first day of the week they dozed through a longsermon; on its last day they simpered politely at the Whist Club. Fears ofbroken jelly-moulds or of the romping Patricia's next prank were the onlydisturbers of the tranquillity of their lives. Jonathan Knickerbocker wastheir one Almighty Mirror. When he labelled Mrs. Scruggins, the draper'sniece, a person not fit to associate with, their stiff gowns obedientlygave forth hisses at the said lady. When he prated of his father'sshrewdness, they nodded discreet approval; and at the mere mention of theloyal friend of Lord Cornbury, they bobbed like grass before a gale.
Patricia's impressionable temperament was saved by Juma's advent from thesirocco of dulness that wafted her sisters over the lake of years. His"ole Miss," a looker on at the "Court of Florizel," had unconsciouslytaught him to imbibe the atmosphere surrounding the Graces. A democracycould not spoil her elegance, for Chesterfield's warning was ever beforeher eyes. She who copied the footsteps of Baccelli, adored her Sterne andBeattie, and though her eyes grew dim, never let romance pass her windowunmolested, had left her impress upon the mind of the faithful servitor.Life to him was a gay-colored picture-book, brighter perhaps because hecould not read the printed page. All his maids were cherry-ribboned andbelaced; all his roystering sparks clinked gilded canakins. Love was eversmiling on them! For wellnigh half a century he had listened to tales ofthe gay god as he bound one romance-loving woman's silken tresses. Smallwonder that he thought the urchin ruled the world!
* * * * *
When the bells rested their brassy throats for the first time that night,and Jonathan Knickerbocker could take up his West Indies accountsundisturbed, giving his daughters freedom to doze in peace, "Miss Patsy"stole on tiptoe from the room. She wanted to be alone. Juma, amblingthrough the dim hall to his pantry, caught sight of her flutteringgarments, but did not speak. Only an hour or two before, he had placed inthe chamber where she slept a bunch of arbutus which young Sheridan, theorganist, had given into his keeping. The wild, sweet-scented flower grewin but one spot near the town--an island in the centre of the WoodbridgeSwamp, where Captain Kidd in a freak of fancy had planted it over the bodyof a comrade, tradition said, and no one ever disputed the story. To reachit, even the most sure-footed ran the danger of being caught in the bog.
Patricia wondered as she mounted the stairs how her lover had been able tocome with her gift unseen. The watching negro smiled sadly and shook hishead when the last bit of her garment disappeared over the staircase likea white moth moving treeward.
Oh, how terrible it was never to see him in her father's house! Never tohave seen him alone, only that one time, after twilight service, when shehad stolen a meeting at the Battery, while her family were taking theirSabbath-day ride up the Bowery Road!
The old vehicle held but six, and as the aunts always rode home with theirbrother, Patricia was left to the escort of Juma, custodian of theprayer-books. By the clump of protecting boxwood at the end of the MarineParade she had come upon him. The sea held his eyes until there was nomistaking the footsteps. Her approaching crinoline made soft littlerustles, as if entreating him to leave his musings. Her body-guard'sshuffles, too, were unmistakable. Like some young potentate her loverturned about, describing an elaborate bow with his white castor. The verypicture of starched tranquillity he looked, but underneath the bluehammer-tail coat a heart was beating wildly, as she, made wise by love,knew well--for her own was its echo.
There was a brief moment while she watched the color mount to hissun-bronzed face, the blue eyes glow, the strong form quiver ever soslightly. Then her lips framed "Richard"--the key of the universe."Patricia!" came the answer.
Juma, from his discreet distance, heard her compared to the magnolia wornon the lapel of the coat she admired so much. In her white and fragrantyoung womanhood she was like it from sheer inaccessibility. The flowerexpressed her character and position--Patricia Knickerbocker, a daughterof the autocrat of York. When he mentioned her father's name the girlshivered. An invisible wall seemed to rise between them. Then the feelingdied away. Her soul grew wider awake each moment her lover gazed at her.
As he drew her closer to him Juma's figure in the background bent over aflower in the path.
"Let 'em kiss," he mumbled. "Ole Miss used to say de female dat never lubam a sour pippin, and dere's enough ter start a vinegar press in disfamily."
"You'll not permit them to take you away from me? You will be mine foreverand ever?" said the youth.
A sigh of happiness answered him.
"I know I'm poor, Patricia, and my family can never equal yours."
"Don't!" she whispered. "What does it matter, what does anythingmatter--only that I'm here _with you_!"
"See the night creeping in off there, dear heart. It holds nothing morewonderful than this moment."
"How black the water looks," she faltered.
"I will go to your father and demand your hand." She was trembling.
"You do not know what a Knickerbocker is--an awful creature with a hundredgorgon heads constantly leering and preaching; detecting flaws in otherpeople's families. One head will tell you that you play the organ in St.Paul's, and another may see that your coat is a trifle worn. We're not theonly clan of them in the land."
"We must not fear them--not to-night, when love is filling the world."
"Only one of my grandmothers married for love, and she was thought to bedisgraced."
"You will follow her?" he asked, a catch in his voice.
Juma was signalling for them to part, and on his forehead she kissed "Iwill!"
Now alone on the dark staircase she meditated on his words. When thatmalignant crone, Gossip, started on her round, what would happen?
Suddenly the voice of her father adding up the indigo cargo fell upon herears. He would end their happiness; a man powerful enough to kill thespirit of Easter in his home could do anything. Creeping through thenarrow passage she came to the great north balcony window. There shepaused and raised her eyes to the dome of the night. Long lines of starswere strung across the meadows of heaven. The dials of the world seemedsuddenly stilled. Below the infinite peace a budding landscape slopedgently into a placid sea. Myriads of little lights in humble cots blinkedan answer to the fires above. Leaning on the broad window-seat ofblackened Jersey oak she tried to descry his dwelling, but the tree-topsshut it away.
A few hours before, he had asked her to be his wife, and she, aKnickerbocker, had thrilled at his words. Like a tide the memory of hislove swept back to her. Then on its surges came the stupor of desolation.The gates of Knickerbocker pride were strong. A second David might fail toforce them. All her dreams were fantasies, with no bearing upon reality.All her hopes were sunbeams vanquished by one dark shadow. To herdistorted imagination her family seemed accursed. Every face bore somemark of it, even the row of dim portraits in the room below. But, ah!there was one, a face turned to the rafters of the attic, whose brighteyes and red lips knew love untinctured by the dross of the world. In thedarkness it rose before her strangely insistent. As in a time-blurredmirror she looked and saw herself, and the feeling, though uncanny, gaveher a sense of comfort.
A wind began to sigh in the garden. Through the boxwood maze and barrenurns it swept. Smiling Flora, sleeping Endymion, and all the fabulouscourt that had stood there years before the coming of the Knickerbockersgrew more humanly colored as the moon passed behind a clo
ud. Since Yorkhad become a queenly city and the wonder of the western world, mute andpeacefully passive they had watched the seasons come and go. Countlesslovers must have known them. She saw back into the springs, the flowertimes. Sedan chairs and swaying post-chaises had borne these dainty loversall away. Oh, strange, sweet thought! She, too, would have to go--withhim.
Down by the pale and shivering elms the iron bar of the gate clicked. Darkfigures were entering the garden. The gods and goddesses faded before hereyes. No one visited them on Easter eve. Her father did not keep theseason.
She steadied her knees on the slippery seat. The spray of arbutus she waswearing over her heart cut her hands as she pressed closer to the pane.
"My aunts! they know!" she whispered to herself.
Terror of her father--of them all--swept over her, chilling the veryrecesses of her being. As the habiliments of her august relatives becamemore distinct, she grew calmer. With slow and measured tread they walked,while to their right minced Betty, a small abigail, swaying a lantern.
"It is the march of pride coming to crush me!" she cried.
Then the bells began to peal again--"Pride--pride" they seemed to mock."Love must die for pride!"