University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
MISS FANNY DARE REPORTS.

THE next morning, Miss. Dare came out from
Mrs. Barrè's to the road, as the Minister was
passing by; and, having saluted him, said, with
a gay manner, which seemed to cost some effort,—

“What do you think of private theatricals, for a Christian
woman, Mr. Wellon? and of my playing magistrate,
as Portia played judge?”

Mr. Wellon was a minister, and stout enough to stand
the shock of a woman's prettiness,—(and more than ever
lovely was Miss Dare that day, for she had a tinge of
color in her cheeks, and, in drawing her slight kerchief
from her head, had disengaged some little locks of hair
that did not know what to do with themselves;)—Mr.
Wellon wore a little more gravity than usual, perhaps.

“I'm too dull to read your riddle,” said he; “will you
interpret?”

“I will;—but first let me ask: Will you tell me,—how
stands the case of our little Lucy, now? Do tell me if
any thing is found out?”

“Not much,” said the Minister; “we only hope she's
not dead; and have some suspicions of which way she
went.”

“Ah!” she answered, in much the same tone as before,
though, in the mean time, her interest about Skipper

George's daughter had, evidently, been most eager.
“You're not quite ready to trust a woman; well, I'll tell
you the result of my doings: I've entered the Convent
at Bay-Harbor, under the protection of our Worshipful
Stipendiary, who has such `Catholic' propensities!”

The Minister was mystified.

—“That is, we have been down there in search of
some trace of Lucy.”

“Mr. Naughton and you?” exclaimed the Minister in
astonishment.

“Yes; just Mr. Naughton and I; only,—if I may take
that liberty with the rules,—I ought to say `I and Mr.
Naughton;' for, as I said, I was the magistrate, and he
only what the Germans call the `doppel-geher'—
the figure of the magistrate, at my side. I said and did.”

“The Minister looked quite curious. “Perhaps we'd
better go inside,” said he.

“We'll go just off the road, here, if you please,” said
she, “and you shall sit upon that rock, and I'll stand before
you, as good young people ought to stand before the
Minister.”

Mr. Wellon, smiling, was persuaded to her arrangement;
and when this disposition was accomplished, she
went on:—

“I got a note from the old priest, Father Terence, who
is a kind old man, and saw the chief of the Sisters, and
asked her, point-blank,—while she was expecting me to
propose to take the veil,—whether Lucy Barbury was
there.”

(The Minister was hearing, attentively.)

“Poor thing! she couldn't help being a woman, if she
was a nun, and she couldn't keep her blood down; and
so she stammered `No!'”

“Did she?” asked the Minister.

“Yes; and I think, honestly and truly; and I'll tell
you why I think so. I asked her, next, if Lucy had
been there; and that time she didn't answer at all; and
when she recovered herself, referred me to Father
Nicholas for information.”

“Did you see him?”

“Oh dear! no. I thought I could do without him;
so, then, I and my double came away, leaving Father
O'Toole to the society of a convert of his, whose voice
came over the fence like a breath from the shores of the
Great Republic. So, there is the report of my womanwork!
Can you make any thing of it?”

The Minister sate, thoughtful.

“I hope I haven't done any harm,” said she, at length,
after waiting, in vain, for him to speak.

“Excuse me,” said he; “I had lost myself;—Oh!
yes, we can use it;—but,” he added, “it's a dark thing,
and we have to go very carefully, and, as you say,” he
added, smiling, “wisely.—The Priest knows, of course;
and Mr. Naughton?”

“The Priest knows that I did not find her, and rejoiced
that I was `satisfied,' as he supposed I was.”

“And Mr. Naughton?”

“He only knows what the Priest knows; perhaps not
that; for his mind seemed to be otherwise occupied while
Father Terence and I were talking; and, all the way
home, he never referred to it.”

That little rogue, Fanny Dare! talking so coolly of
Mr. Naughton's mind being occupied; and how does she
suppose it was occupied?

“That's good!” exclaimed the Minister. “He needn't
know it, yet.”

“No, poor man! He knows nothing about it,” said
Fanny Dare.

The Minister smiled; “You say `poor man!' Is that
the expression of a woman's sympathy because there is
one point in which his curiosity hasn't been indulged?”

Fanny Dare slightly blushed—(she never had much
color;)—she blushed a little, and smiled too. That was a
little breaking-out of the woman, perhaps; but perhaps it
was at some other thought associated with her equestrian
companion than a thought of his ungratified curiosity.

“He doesn't know that I was really usurping his office.
What will Justice say, if it gets the bandage off and sees
what I've been doing!—But would you rather have a
little woman in possession of that information?”

“Yes; since it's happened so:—”

“There's a man's qualification,” interrupted she; and
then, suddenly putting off her gay manner, said, “but are
you willing to trust me a little farther, and tell me
whether you think, as I did, that they've had her there,
and have got her away?”

“I'm sure I'll trust you, if you'll please to count it a
trust, and not speak of it; I do think she has been there.
It's a sad mystery; but you may be sure that, with
God's leave, we shall follow up, to the uttermost, every
clue.”

“And may God bring her back as she went!” said
Fanny.

A figure appeared at a distance, upon the road, in the
direction of Marchants' Cove.

“There comes Mr. Naughton, just as we were speaking
of him,” said Fanny, preparing to go, by throwing her
little kerchief over her head:—“but I mustn't forget Mrs.
Barrè, Mr. Wellon,” she said, lingering, “do see her;

I'm sure she'll be glad of it, though she can't open her
heart to the bottom.”

“I saw her the other day,” he answered, rising, “and
will soon, again, although the press of this other sad
business pushes me off from almost every thing else.
How strong she seems!”

“But she's going through a great struggle,” said Miss
Dare.

The Minister went on his way down the harbor, and
the young lady back to Mrs. Barrè's.

Mr. Wellon and the Magistrate, meeting half-way, exchanged
a few words with one another, and then Mr.
Naughton came on, while the Minister continued on his
way. A sound of steps drew near, as of an approaching
magistrate.

Presently, from among the shrubbery and creepers,
Miss Dare's voice came in song; the air was much like
that of “Saw ye Johnnie comin'?” adapted freely, and
the words of her song were these:—

The melody of that voice of hers was so sweet that it
did seem as if the air would keep it up, and not lose it.

Mr. Naughton may have turned himself about; certainly
he did not go by, up the road, that day.