An Unwilling Maid Part 18

"Not I," answered Yorke carelessly; "the poor devil had luck on his wide, or doubled marvelously well on his pursuers, for I am told that not a trace of him nor of his confederate, the little fiddler, did our men find. It's well for them, as Sir Henry was much enraged and their shrift would have been short, I fear, had they been captured."

"These rebels grow bolder than ever," said Gulian, uttering a secret thanksgiving which spoke better for his kindness of heart than his loyalty to King and Crown; "I marvel at their adroitness."

"So do we all;--but, Verplanck, I came on a different errand to-day than politics. I came"--and Geoffrey hesitated, as a questioning look came on Gulian's face--"I came--I--In short, am I right in esteeming you for the present as brother and guardian to Mistress Betty Wolcott?"

"Aye; in her father's absence, of course, I stand in that relation toward her. Well, what of Betty?"

"Only this," and rising, Yorke bowed in courtly fas.h.i.+on: "I have the honor to ask your permission to pay my addresses to your sister, Mistress Betty."

"To Betty?" was Gulian's astonished and delighted response. "You surprise me. Your acquaintance is but recent, and, I think, somewhat formal?"

"Love is hardly a matter of time or formality," returned Yorke, with a smile, as a remembrance of his first meeting with Betty occurred to him, "and that I do truly and honestly love her you have my honorable a.s.surance. Do you give me your permission to proceed in the matter?"

"With all my heart," said Gulian, this new aspect of things driving all unpleasantness connected with Betty from his head; "but her father's consent is, I fear me, quite a different matter."

"That is not for to-day," cried the lover, as he shook Gulian's hand with almost boyish delight, "and to-morrow may take care of itself if I can but gain Betty's ear."

"But my consent and Clarissa's can be but conditional," proceeded Gulian, his habitual caution returning to him. "I am not sure that I should be altogether justified--Nay," seeing Yorke's face cloud with keen disappointment, "I will myself lay the matter before Betty, and endeavor to ascertain if she may be well disposed toward you."

"Heaven forbid!" thought the impetuous lover. But he only said aloud, "Thank you, Verplanck, I am delighted to receive your sanction. How are you spending the afternoon?"

"I have business at Breucklen Heights, but I shall be at home this evening, when I will approach Betty in the matter, and tell my wife of the honor you do us. For I have not forgotten my many visits to your father, Lord Herbert, at Yorke Towers, and the kindness extended me while in England. Indeed, Yorke, for my personal share in the matter, I know of no alliance which could gratify me more."

This was unwonted warmth on Gulian's part, and Yorke, feeling it to be such, grasped his hand warmly at parting, as he flung himself in his saddle, and rode gayly up Maiden Lane.

But the "best laid plans o' mice and men" often meet with unsuspected hindrances, as both Gulian and Yorke were destined to discover. What special imp prompted Betty to sally forth for a walk after dinner, thereby missing a call from Yorke (who came thus early to prevent Gulian's intended interview), it would be vain to speculate; but when the maid returned, feeling more like her old happy self than she had done in weeks, the irony of fate prompted an encounter with her brother-in-law at the library door.

"I have somewhat to say to you, Betty," began Gulian, with an air of importance, which set Betty's nerves on edge at once. If there was one thing more than another that annoyed her it was Gulian's pompous manner.

"Will you come inside before going upstairs? I will not detain you long."

Wondering what could have occurred to wipe out the displeasure with which he had dismissed her to bed the last time they met, Betty followed him, and throwing off her hood and cloak seated herself calmly as Gillian entered and closed the door with the solemnity he considered befitting the occasion.

"I had the unhappiness--the very great unhappiness," he began, "to feel much displeased with you last night; but upon thinking the whole matter over carefully, I am convinced that in a.s.sisting your unfortunate brother to escape you did your best under the circ.u.mstances, and were justified in yielding to a very natural and proper sisterly impulse."

"Thank you," said Betty demurely, but with a sparkle of fun in her liquid eyes as she turned them upon Gulian, secretly amused at this curiously characteristic apology.

"We will dismiss that event and endeavor to forget it; I only wish, to repeat my injunction that I desire Clarissa should know nothing of the matter." He paused, and Betty made a movement of a.s.sent.

"How old are you, Betty?" came the next remark.

"I am turned sixteen," replied Betty, somewhat surprised at the question.

"So I thought." Gulian paused again to give weight and dignity to the disclosure. "You are now of a marriageable age. I have this morning received a proposal for your hand."

"Indeed," said Betty calmly, "And who, pray, has done me that honor, in this city, where I am but a recent comer?"

"Precisely what I remarked; the acquaintance has been, perhaps, unduly short. But nevertheless a most honorable and distinguished gentleman intends to offer you, through me, his hand"--

"He had been wiser to present _me_ with his heart," interrupted Betty, with a mischievous laugh. But mirth died on her lips as Gulian, frowning slightly, proceeded with his story in his own way.

"His hand, and I presume his heart; do not be flippant, Betty; it ill becomes you. This young gentleman will be called upon to fill a high position; he is the son of a man of t.i.tle and"--

"Stay," said Betty coldly. "It is not necessary to rehea.r.s.e his advantages. May I ask the name of this somewhat audacious gentleman?"

"Audacious?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Gulian, falling back a step to gaze full at the haughty face uplifted toward him. "Surely you misunderstand me. Pending your father, General Wolcott's consent, I trust you are able to perceive the advantages of this match, for Captain Geoffrey Yorke is a son of Lord Herbert Yorke, and grandson of the Earl of Hardwicke. It is an exceptionally good offer, in my opinion, for any colonist, as in this country, alas, we have no rank. Moreover, Betty, when the war ends it will be wise to have some affiliation with the mother country, and by so doing be in a position to ask protection for your unhappy and misguided relatives who now bear arms against the King."

Up rose Mistress Betty, her slender form trembling with indignation, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng, and her cheeks scarlet.--

"I would to G.o.d," she cried pa.s.sionately, "that my father could hear you insult his child, his country, and his cause. There is no need for you to ask his consent to my marriage with Captain Yorke, for here, this moment, I promptly decline any alliance which possesses the advantages you so feelingly describe."

"Betty, Betty "--Gulian saw his mistake, but it was too late; on rushed the torrent of her indignation.

"I wish you--and him--to understand that Betty Wolcott is heart and soul with her 'misguided relatives' in rebellion against British rule; that nothing--no, nothing, would induce her to wed an enemy to her country."

"Nothing, Betty?" said a manly voice behind her, as Yorke himself crossed the threshold, where for the last few seconds he had been an angry listener to Gulian's blunders. "Surely you will grant me a moment to plead on my own behalf?"

"And wherefore?" cried Betty. "You sent your message by him," with a scornful wave of her hand toward Gulian's retreating figure; "through him, then, receive my reply."

"I will not," said Geoffrey firmly, as the door closed behind Verplanck.

"Sweetheart, will you listen to me?"

"It is useless," murmured Betty, with a choking sob. "I was mad to even dream it might be possible. Gulian has made it all too plain to me."

"Nay, you must and shall hear me. I will not leave you until I tell you that I love you devotedly; ah, why should politics and war come between our hearts? Consider, Betty, I will do all a gentleman and a man of honor can to please you"--

"But you cannot desert your own people," she said despairingly. "I could not love you if you did, for, Geoffrey, it is but due you to confess in this hour of parting that you are very, very dear to me," and the last words just reached his eager ears as Betty sank, trembling, into a chair.

"Dearest," he cried, kissing the little hand which lay in his, "will you not bid me hope? Think, the tide may turn; we are both young, and who can predict the fortunes of war? I will not bind you, but to you I must myself be bound by the pa.s.sionate love I bear you."

"Oh, Geoffrey, my beloved, it cannot be! I know what my dear and honored father would say. G.o.d guard you--farewell!"

He caught the dainty form in his arms, he held her next his heart and vowed that come what would he defied fate itself to separate her from him. "See," he cried, s.n.a.t.c.hing the knot of rose-colored ribbon from his breast, "I will wear this token always as I have done since the day it dropped from your gown on the gra.s.s. If it be twenty years, I will yet come, with your father's consent, to win you, and then, _then_, sweetheart, may I claim my reward?"

"I cannot wed my country's foe," she faltered. "Oh, Geoffrey, be merciful--let me go." At that moment there came a violent knock upon the street door, a sound of voices, and Pompey's slow step approaching the library door.

"An express for Ma.s.sa Captain brought by Sir Henry's orderly," said the faithful old negro, handing a sealed envelope to Yorke, as he closed the door behind him. Yorke tore it open; it fell from his hand. For a moment he stood, tall, gallant, and brave, before Betty; his eyes met hers in long, lingering farewell.

"Sir Henry leads the expedition to South Carolina to-night, Betty, and I go with him. Nay, sweetheart, sweetheart, we shall meet again in happier days."

She gave a little cry and flung herself into his arms; she kissed him with all her warm frank heart on her lips, and then she slipped from his embrace and was gone as Yorke dashed from the house, mounted his horse, and galloped swiftly away.

CHAPTER XVI

MOPPET MAKES A DISCOVERY