University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE DEPARTURE.

We now return to the villa. The hour had arrived when Freemantle
was to take his departure for town. A horse had been offered him
by Colonel Hood and Henry proposed to accompany him a few miles
across the country till they should enter the turnpike. The leave taking
between the young privateersman and his hospitable host was frank
and cordial, and on the part of Mr. Forrest marked by strong expressions
of gratitude for the services that had been rendered to him and his
daughter.

`You will certainly be back in two days, my brave friend said Colonel
Hood warmly.

`Yes to remain for a day or two only.'

`In hurry to get to sea again hey? well you will have to be active
for there is no doubt but that within a week we shall have intelligence
of peace being ratified.'

`I hope we shall see you again, before you go to sea, Captain Freemantle,'
said Mary speaking with a slightly embarrassed air.

`I cannot resist so many inducements as are held out to me return,
Miss Hood,' he said with an air at once frank and friendly.

`But you are not going without taking leave of Miss Forrest,' said
Colonel Hood as the young man passed out from the room upon the
piazza in front of which a groom was in waiting with the two saddle
horses.

`She is in the library,' said Mary readily. `If you will follow me,
Captain Freemantle I will conduct you to her.'

These words were suggested by the secret art of woman—an amiable
woman who loves to promote the happiness of others. Mary had
discovered with the penetration of her sex that between the two there
was a sympathy of feeling which instinct taught her was love. She
knew that they would like to meet alone as he was about to depart, and
therefore she had previously told Clara in an arch way, to remain in
the library and she would bring the young seaman there, `for,' she
added smiling, `I know you would like to see him for a moment without
prying eyes upon you.'

Freemantle half guessed Mary's motive from something in her looks
and tone as she spoke, and returning her a grateful glance he followed
her to the library.

`You need not come, father,' she said as the Colonel was accompanying
him. `I wont run away with him and I will see that Clara
does not.'

The fair East Indian was standing in the room near the window in
an attitude eager and expecting.

`Clara, dear, Captain Freemantle has come to say good bye,' said

Mary; and then passing into the room she crossed it and returning
Clara's look of thank with a smile she passed out of the farther door.

`Once more we are alone my dearest life,' said the young privateersman
clasping her to his heart.

`Do you leave at once, Norman? why so soon?'

`I must be in town to night. My schooner is already there, and I
have much to do, for I must proceed to sea again in a few days.'

`Are we then to be separated again?'

`No I shall have my sweet bride with me.'

`You do not mean to ask me to leave my father and go with you to
sea?'

`No, dearest Clara! As soon as I make arrangements for sailing, I
intend to return here and see your father and explain all to him.'

`This will place a barrier between us no time can remove, dear
Norman.'

No. I have confidence that I can prevail with him to recognize
our union.'

`I fear the worst.'

`I am sure that all will be sunshine yet! within two or three days
you will see me.'

`But if news of peace comes?'

`Then I shall dispose of my vessel and with my wealth and you, as my
bride, go to England. The time is near at hand when I should present
myself in the hall of my father.'

`You will return within two days?'

`Yes, whatever be the issue of this rumor of coming peace. I shall
be able to see you oftener and alone.'

`I cling to you Norman, almost with a feeling of despair! To recover
you again only to part with you the next moment.'

`When I see you again, dearest Clara, it shall be to part no more.—
If your father refuses his sanction—'

`Then my heart will fly where it best loves.'

`And that is —?'

`In thine own bosom, my noble husband.'

`Faithful and true Clara! But we cannot prolong the interview
without exciting suspicion. I hear an approaching foot-step! Farewell,
and look for me ere three days elapse. Thank for me the sweet
girl who has kindly contrived this interview! can she suspect our relation
to each other?'

`Oh, no? She only has discovered in some way that we love.'

With one more hurried embrace the young husband left his beautiful
bride and hastened to rejoin the gentleman upon the gallery. In a
moment afterwards he was galloping with Harry by his side along the
avenue in the direction of the main road.

Clara stood at the window watching his departure with tears sparkling
in her eyes and her bosom heaving with emotion. A light hand
was laid upon hers and an arm of affection gently passed around her
waist. She turned and beheld the lovely eyes of Mary Hood softly
looking up into her own. The expression of sympathy in them she
could not mistake. She hastily brushed the tears from her cheek and
smiled.

`Don't try dear Clara to disguise your feelings. Relieve your heart
by tears! I know all. I did not mean to loiter, but I heard as I closed
the door his voice and the endearing term he applied to you.'

`What term, dear cousin said Eliza deeply blushing, her voice trembling
with alarm.

`That of `wife!' But do not look so full of fear! I am true of
heart! I will not betray your secret!'

`I know you will not, dearest girl,' responded the youthful bride, `I
can confide in you, and I meant to do so when I promised to relate to
you how I first met this noble youth! Do not breathe what you have
discovered to any ear, I entreat you. My father is ignorant of the
step I have taken and his anger would overwhelm me if he should by
any means accidentally discover it! I know you will feel differently
towards me now that you know I am a wife—but—'

`No, I love you as fondly as before. I know too, that you must have
good reasons for keeping the secret! Will you let me hear your story,
dear Clara, and all about how you happened to meet him and be married
to him and then be separated and you to meet again so strangely as
you have done to-day on board the ship!'

`Yes, you shall know all, dear Clara. Can we be uninterupted?'

`Yes, in the grounds! Come with me to the summer house upon the
hill in the garden. There we shall be retired and be able to see if any
one approaches. You dont know how vastly my curiosity is aroused to
be let into this mystery concerning you and this noble young sailor!—
And your meeting so singularly! And then for my dear Clara after all
to be a wife!'

`I will gratify your curiosity, my dear Mary,' said the fair East Indian
as she suffered her young friend to conduct her from the room into
the garden and so along the shrubbery paths up a winding way to the
top of a green mound which rose from the lawn and upon which was a
summer-house covered with vines.

Upon reaching it they seated themselves upon a rude but commodious
settee made of oak which was placed fronting the entrance and
from which there was a wide spread prospect. Beneath them were
the grounds and highly cultivated gardens encircling the villa, the villa
itself with its cupola and verandah, the silvery line of the beach stretching
away for a league, the headland at the north, the green islands in
the bay, and the illimitable sea blending with the blue sky itself of as
deep an azure. Here and there far from the land a white sail was visible,
motionless like a rock of shining marble, and near the shore the
minute-appearing skiff of the fisherman rocked lightly on the undulating
bosom of the bay.

The snowy wings of the gulls flashed in the light of the declining
sun as they wheeled in wild airy circles above his head, ever and anon
darting downward like an arrow to catch the fragments of bait cast by
him upon the water.

The low roll of the lazy surf upon the smooth beach and its angry
dash against the isolated rocks that lay upon it, reached their ears with
a soothing and agreeable effect. On either hand in the green meadows
the farmer was visible raking his hay, beguiling his toil by whistling
shrilly and not unmusically some popular air, and along the narrow

lanes between the farms that were visible around the villa, slowly moved
homeward the heavy wagon, or field-ward the light one, the loud cry
of the youthful driver echoed from the woodlands. A cloud of dust a
mile distant marked the course of the evening mail from the city, the
sharp crack of the coachman's lash ever reaching their ears amid the
stillness of the summery air. The green hill sides inland were dotted
with brown cows either grazing or lying down beneath the shade of a
tree, or wending their slow way towards a brook to lave their heated
bodies in its cool flood. In a meadow below the hill several horses
were pastured, who taking fire from the rapid motion of those harnessed
to the coach, coursed around their broad enclosure with streaming tails
and flying manes proudly mocking the trammelled speed of those they
would rival.

The sky above was soft and hazy without being obscure. An island
like cloud white as a bank of the purest snow lay anchored in the west
under the sun, which was an hour high.

`Now, dear Clara, let me hear your tale,' said Miss Hood after they
had for a few moments gazed on this varied scene, and received its
beauty and power into their souls.

The fair East Indian then began to relate the romance in the next
chapter.