University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Romeo.

Ah! Lincoln! Lincoln!” cried the weeping
bride, gently extricating herself from the long
embrace of Lionel, “at what a moment did
you desert me!”

“And how have I been punished, love! a night
of phrenzy, and a morrow of useless regrets!
How early have I been made to feel the strength
of those ties which unite us;—unless, indeed, my
own folly may have already severed them for
ever!”

“Truant! I know you! and shall hereafter
weave a web, with woman's art, to keep you in my
toils! If you love me, Lionel, as I would fain
believe, let all the past be forgotten. I ask—I
wish, no explanation. You have been deceived,
and that repentant eye assures me of your returning
reason. Let us now speak only of yourself.
Why do I find you thus guarded, more
like a criminal than an officer of the crown?”

“They have, indeed, bestowed especial watchfulness
on my safety!”

“How came you in their power! and why do
they abuse their advantage?”

“'Tis easily explained. Presuming on the tempestuousness
of the night—what a bridal was ours,
Cecil!”

“'Twas terrible!” she answered, shuddering;
then with a bright and instant smile, as if sedulous
to chase every appearance of distrust or care
from her countenance, she continued—“but I
have no longer faith in omens, Lincoln! or, if
one has been given, is not the awful fulfilment already
come? I know not how you value the benedictions
of a parting soul, Lionel, but to me there
is holy consolation in knowing that my dying parent
left her blessing on our sudden union!”

Disregarding the hand, which, with gentle earnestness,
she had laid upon his shoulder, he walked
gloomily away, into a distant corner of the
apartment.

“Cecil, I do love you, as you would fain believe,”
he said, “and I listen readily to your wish
to bury the past in oblivion. But I leave my tale
unfinished!—You know the night was such that
none would choose, uselessly, to brave its fury—
I attempted to profit by the storm, and availing
myself of a flag, which is regularly granted to
the simpleton, Job Pray, I left the town. Impatient—do
I say impatient! borne along rather by
a tempest of passions that mocked the feebler elements,
we ventured too much—Cecil, I was not
alone!”

“I know it—I know it,” she said, hurriedly,
though speaking barely above her breath—“you
ventured too much?”—

“And encountered a piquet that would not
mistake a royal officer for an impoverished,
though privileged idiot. In our anxiety we overlooked—believe
me, dearest Cecil, that if you
knew all—the scene I had witnessed—the motives

which urged—they, at least, would, justify this
strange and seeming desertion.”

“Did I doubt it, would I forget my condition,
my recent loss, and my sex, to follow in
the footsteps of one unworthy of my solicitude!”
returned the bride, colouring as much with innate
modesty, as with the power of her emotions.
“Think not I come, with girlish weakness, to reproach
you with any fancied wrongs! I am your
wife, Major Lincoln; and as such would I serve you,
at a moment when I know all the tenderness of the
tie will most be needed. At the altar, and in the
presence of my God, have I acknowledged the
sacred duty; and shall I hesitate to discharge it
because the eyes of man are on me!”

“I shall go mad!—I shall go mad!” cried Lionel,
in ungovernable mental anguish, as he paced
the floor, in violent disorder.—“There are moments
when I think that the curse, which destroyed
the father, has already lighted on the son!”

“Lionel!” said the soft, soothing voice of his
companion, at his elbow, “is this to render me
more happy!—the welcome you bestow on the
confiding girl who has committed her happiness to
your keeping! I see you relent, and will be more
just to us both; more dutiful to your God!
Now let us speak of your confinement. Surely,
you are not suspected of any criminal designs in
this rash visit to the camp of the Americans!
'Twere easy to convince their leaders that you
are innocent of so base a purpose!”

“'Tis difficult to evade the vigilance of those
who struggle for liberty!” returned the low,
calm voice of Ralph, who stood before them,
unexpectedly. “Major Lincoln has too long listened
to the councils of tyrants and slaves, and
forgotten the land of his birth. If he would be

safe, let him retract the error, while yet he may,
with honour.”

“Honour!” repeated Lionel, with unconcealed
disdain—again pacing the room with swift and
uneasy steps, without deigning any other notice
of the unwelcome intruder. Cecil bowed her
head, and sinking in a chair, concealed her face
in her small muff, as if to exclude some horrid
and fearful sight from her view.

The momentary silence was broken by the
sound of footsteps and of voices in the passage;
and at the next instant the door of the room opening,
Meriton was seen on its threshold. His appearance
roused Cecil, who springing on her
feet, beckoned him away, with a sort of phrenzied
earnestness, exclaiming—

“Not here! not here!—for the love of heaven,
not here!”

The valet hesitated, but catching a glimpse of
his master, his attachment got the ascendency of
his respect—

“God be praised for this blessed sight, Master
Lionel!” he cried—“'tis the happiest hour I have
seen since I lost the look at the shores of old
England! If 'twas only at Ravenscliffe, or in Soho,
I should be the most contented fool in the three
kingdoms! Ah, Master Lionel, let us get out of
this province, into a country where there is no
rebels; or any thing worse than King, Lords, and
Commons!”

“Enough now; for this time, worthy Meriton,
enough!” interrupted Cecil, breathing with difficulty,
in her eagerness to be heard.—“Go—return
to the inn—the colleges—any where—do but
go!”

“Don't send a loyal subject, Ma'am, again
among the rebels, I desire to entreat of you.
Such awful blasphemies, sir, as I heard while I

was there! They spoke of his sacred majesty just
as freely, sir, as if he had been a gentleman, like
yourself. Joyful was the news of my release!”

“And had it been a guard-room on the opposite
shore,” said Ralph, “the liberties they used
with your earthly monarch, would have been as
freely taken with the King of kings!”

“You shall remain then,” said Cecil, probably
mistaking the look of high disdain which Meriton
bestowed on his aged fellow-voyager, for one of
a very different meaning—“but not here. You
have other apartments, Major Lincoln; let my
attendants be received there—you surely would
not admit the menials to our interview!”

“Why this sudden terror, love! Here, if not
happy, you at least are safe. Go, Meriton, into
the adjoining room; if wanted, there is admission
through this door of communication.”

The valet murmured some half-uttered sentences,
of which only the emphatic word “genteel”
was audible, while the direction of his discontented
eye, sufficiently betrayed that Ralph
was the subject of his meditations. The old man
followed his footsteps, and the door of the passage
soon closed on both, leaving Cecil standing,
like a beautiful statue, in an attitude of absorbed
thought. When the noise of her attendants, as
they quietly entered the adjoining room, was
heard, she breathed again, with a tremulous sigh,
that seemed to raise a weight of apprehension
from her heart.

“Fear not for me, Cecil, and least of all for
yourself,” said Lionel, drawing her to his bosom
with fond solicitude—“my headlong rashness,
or, rather, that fatal bane to the happiness of my
house, the distempered feeling which you must
have often seen and deplored, has indeed led me
into a seeming danger. But I have a reason for my

conduct, which avowed, shall lull the suspicions
of even our enemies to sleep!”

“I have no suspicions—no knowledge of any
imperfections—no regrets, Lionel; nothing but
the most ardent wishes for your peace of mind;
and—if I might explain!—yes, now is a time—
Lionel, kind, but truant Lionel”—

Her words were interrupted by Ralph, who
appeared again in the room, with that noiseless
step, which, in conjunction with his great age and
attenuated frame, sometimes gave to his movements
and aspect the character of a being superior
to the attributes of humanity. On his arm
he bore an over-coat and a hat, both of which
Cecil recognized, at a glance, as the property of
the unknown man who had attended her person
throughout all the vicissitudes of that eventful
night.

“See!” said Ralph, exhibiting his spoils with
a ghastly, but meaning smile, “see in how many
forms Liberty appears to aid her votaries! Here
is the guise in which she will now be courted!.
Wear them, young man, and be free!”

“Believe him not—listen not,” whispered Cecil,
while she shrunk from his approach in undisguised
terror—“nay, do listen, but act with caution!”

“Dost thou delay to receive the blessed boon
of freedom, when offered?” demanded Ralph;
“wouldst thou remain, and brave the angry justice
of the American chief, and make thy wife, of
a day, a widow for an age!”

“In what manner am I to profit by this dress?”
said Lionel—“to submit to the degradation of a
disguise, success should be certain.”

“Turn thy haughty eyes, young man, on the
picture of innocence and terror, at thy side. For
the sake of her whose fate is wrapped in thine, if

not for your own, consult thy safety, and fly—another
minute may be too late.”

“Oh! hesitate not a moment longer, Lincoln,”
cried Cecil, with a change of purpose as sudden
as the impulse was powerful—“fly, leave me;
my sex and station will be”—

“Never,” said Lionel, casting the garment from
him, in cool disdain.—“Once, when Death was
busy, did I abandon thee; but, ere I do it again,
his blow must fall on me!”

“I will follow—I will rejoin you.”

“You shall not part,” said Ralph, once more
raising the rejected coat, and lending his aid to
envelop the form of Lionel, who stood passive
under the united efforts of his bride and her
aged assistant—“Remain here,” the latter added,
when their brief task was ended, “and await the
summons to freedom. And thou, sweet flower
of innocence and love, follow, and share in the
honour of liberating him who has enslaved
thee!”

Cecil blushed with virgin shame, at the strength
of his expressions, but bowed her head in silent
acquiescence to his will. Proceeding to the door,
he beckoned her to approach, indicating, by an
expressive gesture to Lionel, that he was to remain
stationary. When Cecil had complied,
and they were in the narrow passage of the building,
Ralph, instead of betraying any apprehension
of the sentinel who paced its length, fearlessly
approached, and addressed him with the confidence
of a known friend—

“See!” he said, removing the calash from
before the pale features of his companion, “how
terror for the fate of her husband has caused
the good child to weep! She quits him now,
friend, with one of her attendants, while the
other tarries to administer to his master's wants.

Look at her; is't not a sweet, though mourning
partner, to smooth the path of a soldier's
life.

The man seemed awkwardly sensible of the unusual
charms that Ralph so unceremoniously exhibited
to his view, and while he stood in admiring
embarrassment, ashamed to gaze, and yet unwilling
to retire, Cecil traced the light footsteps of the
old man, entering the room occupied by Meriton
and the stranger. She was still in the act of veiling
her features from the eyes of the sentinel,
when Ralph re-appeared, attended by a figure
muffled in the well-known over-coat. Notwithstanding
the flopped hat, and studied concealment
of his gait, the keen eyes of the wife penetrated
the disguise of her husband, and recollecting,
at the same instant, the door of communication
between the two apartments, the whole artifice
was at once revealed. With trembling
eagerness she glided past the sentinel, and pressed
to the side of Lionel, with a dependence that
might have betrayed the deception to one more
accustomed to the forms of life, than was the honest
countrymen who had, so recently, thrown aside
the flail to carry a musket.

Ralph allowed the sentinel no time to deliberate,
but waving his hand in token of adieu, he
led the way into the street, with his accustomed
activity. Here they found themselves in
the presence of the other soldier, who moved to
and fro, along the alloted ground in front of the
building, rendering the watchfulness by which they
were environed, doubly embarrassing. Following
the example of their aged conductor, Lionel
and his trembling companion walked with apparent
indifference towards this man, who, as it
proved, was better deserving of his trust than
his fellow, within doors. Dropping his musket

across their path, in a manner which announced
an intention to inquire into their movements, before
he suffered them to proceed, he roughly demanded—

“How's this, old gentleman! you come out of
the prisoners' rooms by squads! one, two, three;
our English gallant might be among you, and
there would still be two left! Come, come, old
father, render some account of yourself, and of
your command. For, to be plain with you, there
are those who think you are no better than a spy
of Howe's, notwithstanding you are left to run up
and down the camp, as you please. In plain Yankee
dialect, and that's intelligible English, you
have been caught in bad company of late, and
there has been hard talk about shutting you up,
as well as your comrade!”

“Hear ye that!” said Ralph, calmly smiling,
and addressing himself to his companions, instead
of the man whose interrogatories he was expected
to answer—“think you the hirelings of the crown
are thus alert! Would not the slaves be sleeping
the moment the eyes of their tyrants are turned
on their own lawless pleasures! Thus it is with
Liberty! The sacred spirit hallows its meanest
votaries, and elevates the private to all the virtues
of the proudest captain!”

“Come, come,” returned the flattered sentinel,
throwing his musket back to his shoulder again,
“I believe a man gains nothing by battling you
with words! I should have spent a year or two inside
yonder colleges to dive at all your meaning.
Though I can guess you are more than half-right
in one thing; for if a poor fellow who loves his
country, and the good cause, finds it so hard to
keep his eyes open on post, what must it be to a
half-starved devil on six-pence a-day! Go along,
go along, old father; there is one less of you than

went in, and if there was any thing wrong, the
man in the house should know it!”

As he concluded, the sentinel continued his
walk, humming a verse of Yankee-doodle, in excellent
favour with himself and all mankind, with
the sweeping exception of his country's enemies.
To say that this was not the first instance of
well-meaning integrity being cajoled by the jargon
of liberty, might be an assertion too hazardous;
but that it has not been the last, we conscientiously
believe, though no immediate example
may present itself to quote in support of such
heretical credulity.

Ralph appeared, however, perfectly innocent
of intending to utter more than the spirit of the
times justified; for, when left to his own pleasure,
he pursued his way, muttering rapidly to himself,
and with an earnestness that attested his sincerity.
When they had turned a corner, at a little distance
from any pressing danger, he relaxed in his movements,
and suffering his eager companions to approach,
he stole to the side of Lionel, and clenching
his hand fiercely, he whispered in a voice
half choked by inward exultation—

“I have him now? he is no longer dangerous!
Ay—ay—I have him closely watched by the
vigilance of three incorruptible patriots!”

“Of whom speak you,” demanded Lionel—
“what is his offence, and where is your captive?”

“A dog! a man in form, but a tiger in heart!
Ay! but I have him!” the old man continued,
with a hollow laugh, that seemed to heave up
from his inmost soul—“a dog; a veritable dog!
I have him, and God grant that he may drink of
the cup of slavery to its dregs!”

“Old man,” said Lionel, firmly, “that I have
followed you thus far on no unworthy errand,
you best may testify—I have forgotten the oath
which, at the altar, I had sworn to, to cherish

this sweet and spotless being at my side, at your
instigation, aided by the maddening circumstances
of a moment; but the delusion has
already passed away! Here we part for ever,
unless your solemn and often-repeated promises
are, on the instant, redeemed.”

The high exultation which had, so lately,
rendered the emaciated countenance of Ralph
hideously ghastly, disappeared like a passing
shadow, and he listened to the words of Lionel
with calm and settled attention. But when
he would have answered, he was interrupted by
Cecil, who uttered, in a voice nearly suppressed
by her fears—

“Oh! delay not a moment! Let us proceed;
any where, or any-how! even now the pursuers
may be on our track. I am strong, dearest
Lionel, and will follow to the ends of the
earth, so you but lead!”

“Lionel Lincoln, I have not deceived thee!”
said the old man, solemnly. “Providence has
already led us on our way, and a few minutes will
bring us to our goal—suffer, then, that gentle
trembler to return into the village, and follow!”

“Not an inch!” returned Lionel, pressing
Cecil still closer to his side—“here we part, or
your promises are fulfilled.”

“Nay, go with him—go,” again whispered the
being who clung to him in trembling dependence.
“This very controversy may prove your ruin—
did I not say I would accompany you, Lincoln?”

“Lead on, then,” said her husband, motioning
Ralph to proceed—“once again will I confide
in you; but use the trust with discretion,
for my guardian spirit is at hand, and remember,
thou no longer leadest a lunatic!”

The moon fell upon the wan features of the
old man, and exhibited their contented smile, as
he silently turned away, and resumed his progress
with his wonted, rapid, and noiseless tread.
Their route still lay towards the skirts of the
village. While the buildings of the University
were yet in the near view, and the loud laugh of
the idlers about the inn, with the frequent
challenges of the sentinels, were still distinctly
audible, their conductor bent his way beneath
the walls of a church, that rose in solemn solitude
in the deceptive light of the evening.
Pointing upward at its somewhat unusual, because
regular architecture, Ralph muttered as he
passed—

“Here, at least, God possesses his own, without
insult!”

Lionel and Cecil slightly glanced their eyes
at the silent walls, and followed into a small enclosure,
through a gap in its humble and dilapidated
fence. Here the former again paused,
and spoke—

“I will go no further,” he said, unconsciously
strengthening the declaration by placing his foot
firmly on a mound of frozen earth, in an attitude
of resistance—“'tis time to cease thinking of
'self, and to listen to the weakness of her whom
I support!”

“Think not of me, dearest Lincoln”—

Cecil was interrupted by the voice of the old
man, who raising his hat, and baring his gray
locks to the mild rays of the planet, answered,
with tremulous emotion—

“Thy task is already ended! Thou hast reached
the spot where moulder the bones of one who
long supported thee. Unthinking boy, that sacrilegious
foot treads on thy mother's grave!”