University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

We left our lovers at the close of the last
chapter, at a moment the most interesting of
a lover's existence, when the noble heart,
pouring forth all its fulness, waits with trembling
the response of the one beloved.

Jennette heard the impassioned, yet embarrassed
declaration of love, full from the
lips of the young officer, with mingled joy and
pain. She was silent, and grew very pale—
and as he watched her lovely face for some
sign of hope, a glittering tear-drop rolled
down her fair cheek. He was moved—he
was alarmed. He feared he had offended
her.

`Forgive me, Jennette, it I have displeased
you,' he said, trying to possess himself of
her hand.

`You have not offended me, sir,' she answered,
tremblingly, yet scarce lifting her
eyes from the floor.

`I am rejoiced to know this much. Will
you suffer me to hope? I know I am, as it
were, a stranger to you—'

`Oh, no sir! It is fourteen months since
we first saw each other,' she said, with an artless
frankness that charmed him, while it
shadowed forth his hopes.

`I am glad you do not esteem me a stranger.
May I be regarded as your friend? I
am your father's, at least.'

`I did not know that you knew him, sir,
before!'

`I am the lieutenant, as he will tell you,
whom he rescued from the guard in Havana.'

`Lieutenant Hays?' she cried, with looks
of unalloyed pleasure.

`Yes, I am Lieutenant Hays.'

`My father must be overjoyed, when he
knows it.'

`He already knows it, and has recognized
me; and so has Cæsar.'

`And you also saved his life as well as my
father's. And I also owe you—'

`Nothing, Jennette—you owe me nothing.
Only give me your heart, for you have already
had mine more than a year. I have
opened my bosom freely to your father, and
he is on my side. Will you alone look coldly
on me?'

`Indeed, sir, I cannot look coldly, or feel
indifferently towards you,' she said, in a sweet
under tone, as if she feared to trust her voice.

`Then you will not bid me forget you?' he
cried, with joy.

`I can hardly realise, sir, that you are sincere.
I am a poor girl, and have no means
but my needle, and—'

`Do I not know all this?'

`You are rich, sir, and of high rank, and—'

`Your virtues and beauty out-rank all that
I can bestow on you, Jennette. Say that
you will not be so cruel as to send me away
in sorrows'

`I believe I will recall what I told you when
I saw you last,' she said, with an arch smile.

`That I must forget you? Kind Jennette.
There is one step gained,' he said, in a lively
manner. `Let me seal this upon this sweet
hand.'

And, ere she could withdraw it, he had
pressed upon it a kiss. She blushed deeply,
but did not withdraw it. She loved him in
her heart of hearts, and in letting her hand
remain in his, she was only obeying dictates
of feeling, which if carried out, would have
led her to cast herself into his loved arms.—
He saw, he knew that she loved him. No
man with a heart could doubt it.

`You must allow me one other step of hope,
dear Jennette,' he said, tenderly.

`What is that, sir?' she slightly smiled, as
she inquired.

`That I may remember you always.'

`I fear you will forget me, very soon.'

`No, Jennette. I don't mean to try the
experiment, either. I don't mean that we
shall part again, soon. Will you not tell me
that I am loved? I see it in your eyes—feel
it in your trembling fingers—hear it in your
throbbing heart. Say that I am loved again,
and make me happy!'

`Lieutenant Hays,' she said, with a calmness
and evenness of tone that startled him,
`were I of your position in society, your
equal in wealth and rank, I would confess
frankly that I love you, and, from the first,
have not ceased to think upon you with affection.
I should confess this, for I believe that
you are sincere in the attachment you profess
for me. But, as I am a poor, humble, unknown
sewing-girl, I ought to conceal my
feelings, which, as you see, I have given utterance
to.'

`I am now made happy, indeed, Jennette,'
cried Gordon. `Sweet companion! From
this hour we are one, in heart and being.'

`I hardly know what to say—I have either
said too much, or should say more!'

`Say no more nor less. You have confessed
your requital of my deep love. I ask
no more nor less. From this moment you
are mine. This will make your father happy.'

`And does he wish this?'

`Ask him, dearest Jennette.'

`He is here to answer for himself,' called
out the captain, looking in at the window.—
`So, Jennette, all is settled, I see,' he cried,
as he beheld his daughter just being blushingly
released from the enfolding arms of her
lover. `That is right. Did I not tell you,
lieutenant, that she loved you? Saw it in
her eye; but couldn't guess who. Come
and kiss me, Jennette. It isn't fair that this
young gentleman should have all.'

`Father!' cried Jennette, in a tone of play
ful reproach, as she went up to him and
threw her arms around him. `Oh, I am so
happy,' she whispered in his ear.

`Then you have loved him, child?'

`Dearer than life,' she softly replied, as
she hid her head on his shoulder.

`Well, my word for it, he loves you as
well. He is honorable as honor itself. Love
him without fear, child.'

`Thanks, thanks, dear father.'

The captain smiled. He then beckoned
the young lover, and taking him by the hand,
said, with dignity—

`Sir, you have done my child great honor,
and filled her heart with joy; for she has
loved you from the first, with all her young
heart. But she is worthy of you. You are
like each other, or you would never have
loved so at first sight, and so long and faithfully.
I honor you, that you overlook my
poverty—but you will find a treasure in Jenny,
better than gold.'

`I know it, sir. I loved her, ere I knew
her position or circumstances. I love her
more, that I know it is in my power to elevate
her to a position of repose and happiness.
I have feared that she would not love
me.'

`You do not fear that now?' said Jennette,
slowly raising her long-fringed lids, and resting
her beautiful tear-wet eyes upon his own,
for an instant, while a soft, happy smile,
danced in their depths.

`Fear? the word is forever forgotten by
me. Hope and joy hath taken its place.'

`Come, Jennette, thy hand in his, my
child,' said the old captain, as he joined their
hands together. `Now, God in Heaven bless
you. Love each other, and make one another
happy.'

`It shall be the study of my life, to make
Jennette happy, sir,' answered Gordon.

The maiden smiled, and looked already as
happy as one could be, and when, as her father
turned his head away, to hide a tear, he
drew her to his heart and kissed her, she did
not resist very hard, but only showed her surprise

and sweet confusion by the richest
blushes.

`I am a blessed man this day,' exclaimed
the captain. `Here last night I was ready
to give up in despair, and to-day I find my
daughter the honored and affianced wife of
one who loves her and can protect her. All
this, lieutenant, was not brought about by
man's device,' added the captain, reverently.
`If you love Jennette, you must thank Heaven
for her!'

`I do, most fervently, sir,' answered Gordon.

`Now, to matters more grave and sorrowful,'
said the captain. Have you asked Jennette
if she will take the part of the strawberry-girl?'

`No—and I almost fear to ask her, lest
she may be brought into danger.'

`What strawberry-girl, dear father? asked
Jennette.

Gordon then unfolded to her the whole
plot, as planned by him, for Colonel Ogilvie's
escape. She listened with deep attention.
When he had ended, she was for a moment
thoughtful, and then said with frankness, and
smiling,—

`I see who is to be the strawberry-girl. I
am ready,' she added, firmly.

`Noble Jennette! to consent so promptly
and unurged,' cried Gordon, both delighted
and sad: for he shrunk from identifying one
so dear to him, with so dangerous an enterprise.

`Take care of my child, lieutenant, and
see that harm does not become of it to her.—
She is my only child.'

`If I suspected any danger, I should not
suffer her to take part, captain. If the affair
could be planned without her, I would much
prefer it.'

`Can't Cæsar, here, go in and sell apples,
or even strawberries?' asked the captain.

`He might hardly be admitted into the
office, while a young girl would be, and could
hold him engaged in lively conversation,
which Cæsar would hardly be able to do.—
Then it would not be in character, for Cæsar
to have a smelling-bottle, and hold it at the
keeper's nostrils—for the whole of our success
will depend on the stupifying power of
the contents which he inhales.'

`I see—I see. But I would rather some
other mode and scheme had been hit upon.—
Do as you will, Jennette, you are now almost
as much Lieutenant Hays' as mine. But
have you the courage?'

`Yes, dear father. I am persuaded that
Colonel Ogilvie is an innocent man in heart,
though bloody in hand. For his son's sake,
and for the sake of Lieutenant Hays—'

`Of Gordon, dear Jennette; call-me Gordon,
and don't say yes sir and no sir to me,
I beg of you. They are like cheveaux de
frise, between my heart and thine. Be thou
to me Jennette, and I to thee Gordon.'

Jennette smiled, and seemed so glad that
she had one to love her who was so worthy
of her, that her tears mingled with her
smiles. She never was so happy in her life
before—and it is a question if any maiden
was ever made so glad-hearted as Jennette
was, by knowing that he whom she had so
long loved, loved her in return. She felt
that she could do and dare any thing in his
behalf; and, although her kindly sympathies
were touched by the recital of Colonel Ogilvie's
melancholy story, and although she felt
deeply for his son, yet these were not motives
sufficiently persuasive in themselves, to
have influenced her to take part in the rescue.
But when Gordon's wishes were understood,
rather than expressed, she at once
gave herself up to his diction, glad to have
this opportunity of testing before him her love.

`There is no danger, my dear father,'
she exclaimed `I have confidence in myself
in so good a cause, and I know that
Lieut—I mean Gordon,' she added, with a
mantling blush and smile, `would not suffer
me to put myself in peril.'

`That I would never, dearest Jennette,' he
answered, warmly. `Will you be ready at
six o'clock this evening?'

`Yes, Gordon,' she answered, looking into
his face with a beaming glance, as she emphasized
his name. `But what shall I do?'

`Here is money, dear Jennette, with which
to fit yourself with the dress of a country
girl if you can find one at any of the shops.
Nay, do not refuse the money, Jennette dearest.
Are we not one? Besides, it is to be
laid out for our scheme. You must provide
strawberries to fill your basket and a pint
dipper with which to sell them. Everything
must be in keeping, At six, or soon after I
will be here with a hackney coach to take
you up near the prison. Hugh Ogilvie will
also be here with me to go up with us. When
I see you, Jennette, then I will give you the
smelling bottle containing the ether, and give
you more particular directions. If your self-possession
does not fail you there will be no
peril attending your part.'

`I shall think that I do it to please you,
dear Gordon,' she said, timidly uttering the
tender epithet before his name.

`Thanks for that kind expression, dearest
Jennette. I must now leave you for a few
hours to carry out the preparations. I have
two saddle horses to be made ready to be entrusted
to—'

`To me, massa leftenant,' cried Cæsar,
who was standing listening over the captain's
shoulder, who, as we have stated, was leaning
in at the low window of the room, while
Gordon and Jennette were inside of it.'

`Yes, to you, Cæsar,' said the captain,
`and you must perform your part faithfully.'

`I do dat, sure, massa cap'n,' answered
Cæsar, warmly. `Trust dis nigger in any
ting of dis kind and he nebber want back-stay
to hold him in he place.'

`Come with me, Cæsar,' said Gordon.
`captain, I will leave my sailor's clothes
here. I trust this will be the last day you
will remain in this wretched tenement. I
shall remove you and Jennette, as soon as the
colonel's rescue to more fitting lodgings.
Now, Jennette, good bye till evening, and
keep courage.'

`I do not shrink, Gordon.'

`Good-bye, and Heaven bless you,' he said
pressing her hand, and then, as if this were
a cold way of taking leave of her, he drew her
fondly to his heart. Their lips met, and Jennette,
disengaging herself with a delightful
air of confusion, retreated to the farther
window to indulge her joy and her tears.

Gordon shook the captain heartily by the
hand, and said:

`Be ready to receive me and Hugh Ogilvie
at a little before sunset.'

`That I will. You shall sup with me'
But I forgot, we have no tea-pot, nor crockery.

`We shall have no time to eat. To-morrow
you shall have need of nothing. Take
care of Jennette, and tell her she has made
me the happiest of men.'

With these words Gordon left the grateful
captain, and hastened from the house, turning
back once to exchange a glance with
Jennette, and then followed by Cæsar he
took his way up the wharf.