LIBRARY UHW ERS1TY OF CfvUFORNlA RIVERSIDE Near to Nature's Heart New York Dodd, Mead & Company < Copyright, 1876, By DODD, MEAD & COMPANY Copyright, 1904, By MRS. E. P. ROE PREFACE THE autumn winds are again blowing, and the even- ings are growing longer. At the time when the fires are kindled once more upon the hearth, I send this story out to visit those whom I can almost hope to regard as friends. If it meets the same kind welcome and lenient treatment which my previous works have received, I shall have more than sufficient reason to be satisfied. If, in addition to being a guest at the fireside, it becomes an incentive to the patient performance of duty in the face of all temptation, I shall be profoundly thankful. I am not afraid to inform the reader that these books are written with the honest, earnest purpose of helping him to do right ; and success, in this respect, is the best re- ward I crave. I do not claim for these books the character of beautiful works of art. Many things may have good and wholesome uses without exciting the world's admiration. A man who cannot model a per- fect statue may yet erect a lamp-post, and place thereon a light which shall save many a wayfarer from stum- bling. It is with much diffidence and doubt that I have ventured to construct my story in a past age, fearing lest I should give a modern coloring to everything. But, while the book is not designed to teach history, I have carefully consulted good authorities in regard to those parts which are historical. Captain Molly has her recognized place in the Revo- lution, but my leading characters are entirely imaginary. Still, I hope the reader may not find them such pale iv PREFACE shadows that their joys, sorrows, and temptations will appear mere sickly fancies, but rather the reflex of genuine human experiences. They have become so real and dear to me that I part with them very reluctantly. Cornwatt-on-the-Hudson, N. K CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A CHILD OF NATURE , i II. VERA AND HER HOME 12 III. THE ICONOCLASTS 27 IV. " FOR WORSE " 34 V. WASHINGTON'S SERMON 44 VI. "A SCENE AT BLACK SAM'S" 55 VII. NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 61 VIII. LARRY MEETS His FATE 68 IX. LEFT TO NATURE'S CARE 81 X. THE ROBIN HOOD OF THE HIGHLANDS . . . .113 XL THE MOTHER STILL PROTECTS HER CHILD . .128 XII. BEACON FIRES 146 XIII. LIBERTY PROCLAIMED AMONG THE HIGHLANDS 156 XIV. ECHOES ALONG THE HUDSON 167 XV. SAVILLE'S NIGHT RECONNOISSANCE 178 XVI. DARK DAYS 185 XVII. "THE WHITE WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS" . .198 XVIII. THE BLACK WITCH OF THE HIGHLANDS " . . 204 XIX. A DIRGE ENDING JOYOUSLY 215 XX. GULA HEARS A VERITABLE VOICE 225 XXI. CAMP-FIRES AND SUBTLER FLAMES 239 XXII. THE STORMING OF THE FORTS 254 XXIII. THE WIFE'S QUEST AMONG THE DEAD .... 266 XXIV. VERA'S SEARCH AMONG THE DEAD 269 XXV. THE WOMAN IN VERA AWAKES 277 v vi CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XXVI. VERA'S ONLY CRIME ...... . .287 XXVII. VERA MUST BECOME AN ATHEIST 300 XXVIII. A HASTY MARRIAGE .... 310 XXIX. SEEMING SUCCESS 315 XXX. A MASTER MIND AND WILL , . 320 XXXI. THE REVELATION 333 XXXII. GROPING HER WAY 341 XXXIII. STRONG TEMPTATION 350 XXXIV. A STRANGER'S COUNSEL 356 XXXV. THE PARTING 362 XXXVI. SEEKING DEATH 370 XXXVII. SEEKING LIFE 383 XXXVIII. A MYSTERY SOLVED GREAT CHANGES . . 398 XXXIX. EXPLANATIONS 421 XL. HUSBAND AND WIFE 435 XLI. WEDDED WITH HER MOTHER'S RING . 443 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART CHAPTER I A CHILD OF NATURE THE granite mountains that form the historical High- lands of the Hudson have changed but little during the past century. On the I7th of June, about one hundred years ago, a day inseparably associated in American memory with Bunker Hill, and the practial severance of the cable of love and loyalty that once bound the colonies to the mother country, these bold hills undoubtedly ap- peared much as they do now. In the swales and valleys, the timber, untouched as yet by the woodman's axe, was heavier than the third or fourth growth of our day. But the promontories overhanging the river had then, as now, the same grand and rugged outlines of rock and precipice. The shrubbery, and dwarf trees, that catch and maintain their tenacious hold on every crevice and fissure, softened but little the frowning aspect of the heights, that, like grim sentinels, guard the river. But nature in her harshest moods can scarcely resist the blandishments of June ; even as the sternest features relax under the caresses of youth and beauty. On this warm still day of early summer, when over the city of Boston the wildest storm of war was breaking, the spirit of peace seemed supreme even in that rugged gorge into which the Hudson passes from Newburgh Bay, and a luminous haze softened every sharp outline. The eastern shore was aglow with the afternoon sun, like a glad face radiant 2 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART with smiles. The western bank with its deepening shadows was like a happy face passing from thought into revery, which, if not sad, is at least tinged with melan- choly. From most points of observation there were no evi- dences of other life than that distinctively belonging to the wilderness. If the pressure of population has brought so few inhabitants in our time, there was still less induce- ment then to settle where scarcely a foothold could be obtained among the crags. Therefore the region that is now rilling up with those who prefer beautiful scenery to the richest lowlands, was one of the wildest solitudes on the continent, though amidst rapidly advancing civiliza- tion, north as well as south of the mountains. While at that time the river was one of the chief high- ways of the people, the means of communication between the seaboard and a vast interior, so that the batteaux of voyagers and passing sails were common enough, still the precipitous shores offered slight inducement to land, and the skippers of the little craft were glad to pass hastily through this forbidding region of sudden flaws and violent tides, to the broad expanse of Tappan Zee, where the twinkle of home lights and the curling smoke from farm- house and hamlet in the distance reminded them that they were near their own kind. But there was neither boat nor sail in sight on the memorable afternoon upon which my story opens, not a trace of the human life that now pulsates through this great artery of the land, save a small sailboat drifting slowly under the shadow of Cro' nest. The faint breeze from the west died away as the sun declined, and the occupant had dropped the sail that only flapped idly against the mast. The tide was still setting up in the centre of the river, but had turned close in-shore. There- fore, the young man, who was the sole occupant of the boat, reclined languidly in the stern, with his hand on the A CHILD OF NATURE 3 tiller, and drifted s'owly with the current around the mimic capes and along the slight indentations of the shore, often so close that he could leap upon a jutting rock. Though the almost motionless vessel and the seemingly listless occupant were in keeping with the sultry hour, during which nature appeared in a dreamy revery, still their presence was the result of war. A nearer view of the young man who was mechanically steering, proved that his languid attitude was calculated to mislead. A frown lowered upon his wide brow, and his large, dark eyes were full of trouble now emitting gleams of anger, and again moist in their sympathy with thoughts that must have been very sad or very bitter. His full, flexible mouth was at times tremulous with feeling, but often so firmly compressed as to express not so much resolve, as desperation. In contrast to nature's peace, there was evidently the severest conflict in this man's soul. In his deep preoccupation, he would sometimes permit his boat to drift almost ashore ; then his impatient and powerful grasp upon the tiller bespoke a fiery spirit, and a strong, prompt hand to do its behests. But, by the time he had crossed the flats, south of " Cro'nest," he seemed inclined to escape from his painful revery, and take some interest in surrounding scenes. He looked at his watch, and appeared vexed at his slow progress. He took the oars, pulled a few strokes, then cast them down again, muttering, " After all, what do a few hours signify? Besides, I am infinitely happier and better off here than in New York ; " and he threw himself back again in his old listless attitude. His boat Was now gliding around that remarkable projection of land that has since gained a world-wide celebrity under the name of West Point. When a little beyond .what is now known as the old Steamboat Landing, he thought he heard a woman's voice. He listened 4 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART intently, and a snatch of wild melody, clear and sweet, floated to him through the still air. He was much sur- prised, for he expected to find no one in that solitude, much less a woman with a voice as sweet as that of a brown-thrush that was giving an occasional prelude to its evening song in a shady nook of the mountains. He at once proposed to solve the mystery, and so divert his thoughts from a subject that was evidently torture to dwell upon ; and keeping his boat close to the land, that it might be hidden, and that he could spring ashore the moment he wished, he pursued his way with a pleasant change in a face naturally frank and prepossessing. As he approached the extreme point where now the lighthouse stands, the notes became clear and distinct. But he could distinguish neither air nor words. Indeed, at his distance, the melody seemed improvised, capricious, the utterances of a voice peculiarly sweet but untrained. It soon became evident that the songstress was on the south side of the rocky point, on which grew clumps of low cedar. Standing with an oar in the bow of his boat, and causing it to touch the shore so gently that the keel did not even grate upon the rock, he sprang lightly to land, and secured his vessel. He next stole crouchingly up behind a low, wide-spreading cedar, from whence he could see over the ridge. It was a strange and unexpected vision that greeted him. He naturally supposed that some woodman's or farmer's daughter had come down to the bank, or that a party of pleasure had stopped there for a time. But he saw a creature whom he could in no way account for. Reclining with her back towards him on a little grassy plot just above a rock that shelved down to the water, was a young girl dressed in harmony with her sylvan surroundings. Her attire was as simple as it was strange, consisting of an embroidered tunic of finely dressed fawn- skin, reaching a little below the knee, and ending in a A CHILD OF NATURE 5 blue fringe. Some lighter fabric was worn under it and encased the arms. The shapely neck and throat were bare, though almost hidden by a wealth of wavy, golden tresses that flowed down her shoulders. Her hat ap- peared to have been constructed out of the skin of the snowy heron, with its beak and plumage preserved intact, and dressed into the jauntiest style. Leggings of strong buckskin, that formed a protection against the briars and roughness of the forest, were clasped around-a slender ankle, and embroidered moccasins completed an attire that was not in the style of the girl of the period even a century ago. She might have passed for an Indian maiden, were it not for the snowy whiteness of her neck, where the sun had not browned it, and for her good pro- nunciation of English. In her little brown hand she held a fishing-rod, but she had ceased to watch her floral float, which was the bud of a water-lily tied to the line. Indeed, the end of her pole dipped idly in the water, while she, forgetful of the sport or toil, whichever it might be, sang her passing feelings and fancies as unaffectedly as the birds on the hills around, that now were growing tuneful after the heat of the day. Thus far, our hero, whom we may as well introduce at onceasTheron Saville, had been able to distinguish only disjointed words, that had no seeming connection ; mere musical sparkles, rising from the depths of a glad, in- nocent heart. But imagine his surprise when she com- menced singing to an air that he had often heard in England : " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows." She broke off suddenly, sprang up, and commenced winding the line upon her pole. Then Saville saw that, though very young seemingly, she was taller and more fully developed than he had supposed. At first glance 6 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART she had appeared to be little more than a child, but as she stood erect, he saw that she was somewhat above medium height and straight as an arrow. He was most eager to see her face, thinking that it might help to solve the mystery, but she perversely kept it from him as she leisurely wound up her line, in the meantime chattering to herself in a voice so flexible and natural that it seemed to mirror every passing thought. Now, in mimic anger she cried, " Out upon you, fishes, great and small whales, leviathans, and minnows ! Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook ? Canst thou put a hook into his nose ? ' No, I can't ; nor in the nose of a single perch, white or yellow. Did I not whisper when I first came, ' Come home with me to supper ? ' Scaly, unmannerly knaves, out upon you ; I'll none of you." Then, with instant change to comic pathos, she con- tinued, " ' Alas, 'tis true, 'tis pity ; and pity 'tis, 'tis true.' I'll none of you when I wanted a dozen." Suddenly, with a motion as quick as a bird on its spray, she turned, and appeared to look directly at Saville. He was so startled that he almost discovered himself, but was reassured by noticing that she had not seen him, but was looking over his sheltering cedar at something be- yond, with a pouting vexation, that he learned a mo- ment later was only assumed. He now saw her features, but while they awakened a thrill of admiration, they gave no clue to her mystery. The hue of perfect health glowed upon her oval face, while her eyes were like violets of darkest blue. The mouth was full, yet firm, and unlike Saville's, which was chiefly expressive of sensibility and suggested an emotional nature. Altogether, she seemed a creature that might haunt a painter's or a poet's fancy, but have no right or real exist- ence in this matter-of-fact world. Saville could not ac- count for her, and still his wonder grew when she ex- A CHILD OF NATURE 7 claimed in tones as mellow as the notes of the bird she addressed : " What are you saying there, saucy robin ? You're so proud of your scarlet waistcoat, you're always putting yourself forward. ' The sun's behind the mountain, and it's time for evening songs,' you say. Well, I can see that as well as you. Go sing to your little brown wife on her nest, and cease your ' mops and mowes' at me. " ' I can sing in sunshine, I can sing in shadow, In the darkest forest glen, O'er the grassy meadow, At night, by day, 'tis all the same, Song is praise to his loved name,' " Then she lifted her face and eyes heavenward, as if from an impulse of grateful devotion. Her white throat grew full, as in slower measure, and with a voice that seemed to fill the balmy June evening with enchantment, she sang as a hymn those exquisite words from Isaiah : " For ye shall go out with joy, And be led forth with peace ; The mountains and the hills Shall break forth before you into singing, And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." Saville was in a maze of bewilderment and delight. Was this a creature of earth or heaven ? A fairy or an ideal Indian maiden, the perfect flower of sylvan life ? All his classic lore flashed upon him. Oreads and dryads, nymphs of the mountain and forest tripped through his brain to no purpose. She seemed to him as much a being of the imagination as any of them, but was so tantalizingly near and real, that he could see the blood come and go in her face, the rise and fall of her bosom, the changing light of her eyes ; and yet he feared almost 8 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART to breathe lest she should vanish. Morever, a pure English accent, and familiarity with Shakespeare and the Bible, savored not of tlie wigwam nor of Greek mythology. He resolved to watch her till she seemed about to de- part, and then seek to intercept her, and by questions solve the enigma. The girl stood quietly for a moment as the last sweet notes of her voice were repeating themselves in faint echoes from the hillsides, and then in a low tone murmured, " How can I be lonely when God makes all his crea- tures my playmates? " In the quick transition that seemed one of her character- istics, she soon snatched up her fishing-rod, exclaiming : Old Will Shakespeare, I know more than you." And she sang again, " ' I know a bank ' where the strawberry ' blows,' Where the red ripe strawberry even now grows/ ' Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk roses and with eglantine ; ' These I can gather long before the night, And carry home to mother ' with dances and delight ' with dances and delight" and as she repeated this re- frain, she lifted her slight pole like a wand over her head, and commenced tripping on the little grassy plot as strange and fantastic a measure as ever wearied Titania, the fairy queen. There was another low cedar nearer to her, and Saville determined to reach this, if possible. He did so, unper- ceived, and for a moment gazed with increasing wonder on her strange beauty. Though she seemed a perfect child of nature, as unconventional as a fawn in its gam- bols, there was not a trace of coarseness or vulgarity in feature or action. Suddenly the girl ceased her improvised dance, and looked around as with a vague consciousness of alarm. A CHILD OF NATURE 9 It was evident she had not seen nor heard anything dis- tinctly, but as if possessing an instinct akin to that of other wild creatures of the forest, she felt a danger she could not see. Or, perhaps, it was the influence of the same mysterious power which enables us in a crowded hall to fix our eyes and thoughts on one far removed, and, by something concerning which we hide our ignorance by the term " magnetism," draw their eyes and thoughts to ourselves. From her quivering nostrils and dilating eyes Saville saw that his nymph of the mountain, wood, or water the embodied enigma that he was now most curious to solve was on the eve of flight ; therefore, cap in hand, and with the suave grace of one familiar with the salons of Paris, he stepped forth from his concealment. But, seemingly, his politeness was as utterly lost on the maiden as it would have been on a wild fawn, or the heron whose plumage mingled with her flowing hair ; for like an arrow she darted by him up the steep ascent, with a motion so swift, so seemingly instantaneous, that he stood gazing after her as helplessly as if a bird had taken wing. It was not until she had gained a crag far above him, and there paused a moment, as if her curiosity mastered her fears, that he recovered himself, and cursed his stupid slowness. But, when he again advanced towards her and essayed to speak, she sprang from her perch, and was lost in the thick copse-wood of the bank. Only her light hazel fishing-rod, and the line with the water lily bud, remained to prove that the whole scene was not an illusion, a piece of witchery that comported well with the hour and the romantic region. Correctly imagining that though invisible she might be watching him, he took the flower and put it in his button- hole, leaving the pole on the bank ; then, taking off his hat, he again bowed in the direction whither she had fled. 10 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART with his hand upon his heart, which pantomime he hoped contained enough simplicity and nature to serve in place of the words she would not stay to hear. He then pushed his boat from the shore (for he no more thought of following her than he would a zephyr that had gone fluttering through the leaves), and permitted it to drift down with the tide as before. With the faint hope of inducing her to appear again, he took up a flute, of which he had become quite a master, and which he usually carried with him on his solitary ex- peditions, and commenced playing the air to which she had sung the words, " I know a bank " He was rewarded by seeing first the plumage of the snowy heron, then the graceful outline of the maiden's form on a projecting rock where now frowns Battery Knox. He again doffed his hat, and turned the prow of his boat in-shore, at which she vanished. Believing now that she was too shy to be won as an ac- quaintance, or resolute in her purpose to shun a stranger, he pursued his journey with many wondering surmises. But partly to please himself, and with some hope of pleas- ing her, he made the quiet June evening so resonant with music that even the birds seemed to pause and listen to the unwonted strains. Thus he kept the shores echoing and reechoing till his boat was gliding under a precipitous bluff, where it would be impossible to land. Here a light northern breeze came fluttering down the river with its innumerable retinue of ripples, and Saville threw down the flute and hoisted his sail. As he glided out from the shadow of the bluff to the centre of the river, the same weird and beautiful voice resounded from the rocks above him, with a sweetness and fulness that filled the whole region and hour with enchantment, A CHILD OF NATURE 11 " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows." Then he saw the plumage of the snowy heron waving him a farewell, and distinguished the half concealed form of the maiden. The northern gale tossed her uncon fined hair for a moment, and then the vision vanished. The wind freshened, and soon the water was foaming about the bow of his boat. Taking up his flute, he gave as a responsive farewell the simple melody which had be- come a kind of signal between them, the one link of mutual knowledge, the gossamer thread that might draw their lives closer together. The maiden, who no longer needed the sheltering foliage, but was concealed by the deepening twilight, listened till the faintest echoes had died away in the dis- tance, and then, quite as bewildered and full of wonder- ment as the hero of our story, slowly retraced her steps towards West Point. Saville gazed lingeringly and regretfully back upon the landscape that grew more picturesque every moment in the uncertain light, and felt that he was leaving a fairy land for one of stern and bitter realities. CHAPTER II VERA AND HER HOME WITH slow and thoughtful steps, the young girl pur- sued her way, rinding a path where, to another, there would have been only a tangled forest, growing among steep ridges and jagged rocks. But the freedom and ease with which she picked her way with almost noiseless tread, might have deepened the impression that in some occult manner she was akin to the wilderness in which she seemed so much at home. Having crossed a rocky hill, she entered a grassy foot-path, and soon approached a dwelling whence gleamed a faint light. Though her steps apparently gave forth no sound, they were heard, for suddenly innumerable echoes filled the silent valley, and two dogs, that must have been large and fierce, judg- ing from their deep baying, came bounding towards her. With a low laugh she said : " Here's 'much ado about nothing.' There, there, Tiger and Bull; two precious fools you have made of yourselves, not to know me." The great dogs fawned at her feet and licked her hands, and, by the humblest canine apologies, sought for- giveness for their rude greeting. The light from within fell upon the somewhat haggard and startled face of a man who stood upon the door-step and peered out into the darkness. " It's only I, father ; " and in a moment the girl was at his side. The man responded but slightly to her caress, and, VEEA AND HER HOME 13 entering the one large living-room of the cottage, sat down, without a word, in its most shadowy corner, seem- ingly finding something congenial in its gloom. " What has kept you so late, Vera? " asked a woman who was taking from a rude cupboard the slender ma- terials of the evening meal. " I was watching a queer little sailboat, mother." "Sailboat, sailboat; has it landed near us?" asked the man, starting up. "No, father. I watched till it disappeared down the river," said the girl, soothingly. "That's a good child. Still it does not signify ; no one could have any business with me." But the slight tremor of excitement in the girl's tone caused the mother to give her a quick, searching glance, and she saw that something unusual had occurred. Vera looked smilingly and significantly into the pale, anxious face turned to her, and her glance said, " I will tell you all by and by." The woman continued her tasks, though in a manner so feeble as to indicate that the burden of life was grow- ing too heavy to be borne much longer, while Vera as- sisted her with the quickness of youth and the deftness of experience. From a little " lean-to " against the side of the house, used as a kitchen, an aged negress now appeared. A scarlet handkerchief formed a sort of turban above her wrinkled visage. She was tall, but bent with years, and there was a trace of weird dignity in her bearing, that was scarcely in keeping with her menial position. " Did de young missis bring anyting?" she asked. " Nothing, Gula," said the young girl, lightly. " The unmannerly fish laughed me to scorn. Though I tempted them above with a lily bud, and beneath with a wriggling angle-worm, not one would come home with me. They were afraid of you, Gula." 14 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART " Den dare's nothin' for supper but milk and bread," muttered the old woman. " It will suffice for me. To-morrow I will be up with the lark, and have a dish of strawberries for breakfast." And she hummed to herself : " I know the bank whereon they grow A thing Will Shakespeare does not know." The mother looked at her fondly, but her smile ended in a sigh. With her, almost everything in life was now ending with a sigh. The frugal repast being ready, the father was sum- moned, but before he would leave his partial conceal- ment, he asked Vera to close the window-shutters, so as to preclude the possibility of any one looking in from the outer darkness. The man seemed haunted by some vague fear which was not shared by the rest of the family, but which, in his case, was tacitly recognized and humored. He ate his supper hurriedly, and then retired again to his dusky corner, where he sat the remainder of the evening, silent, save when spoken to by his wife and daughter, who evidently tried to retain him as part of the family circle, though he morbidly shrank within himself. The mother and daughter were left alone at the table, at which they sat even after Gula had removed to the kitchen the slight remnants of the meal. A dip-candle burned dimly between them, and lighted up, but with deep contrasts of shadow, two remarkable faces not such as one would expect to find in a rude log cabin of the wilderness ; for the uncertain rays revealed the fact, though disguised by many a dainty rural device, that the walls of the dwelling were of rough-hewn logs. But the homely surroundings only brought out more clearly the unmistakable refinement of the faces of mother and daughter, now turned towards each other in a subtle irlerchange of sympathy that scarcely needed words. VERA AND HER HOME 15 They seemed to have formed the habit of communicating with each other by significant glances and little signs apparent to no one save themselves, and there existed between them a love so deep and absorbing that it was ever a source of tranquil pleasure to look into each other's eyes. This silent communion was rendered necessary in part, because there was much of which they could not speak in the presence of the father and husband in his present warped, morbid condition of mind. To her mother Vera embodied her name,, and was truth itself, revealing, like her playmates the mountain streams, everything in her crystal thoughts. To her father she was equally true, but was so through a system of loving disguises and concealments. If she had told him of her adventure of the afternoon he would have been greatly excited, and sleep were banished for the night. The mother saw that Vera had a confidence to give, and quietly waited until they should be alone ; and gs she looked tenderly upon her child, her pale, spiritual face might have realized the ideal of pure motherly love. As such, in after years, Vera remembered it. It was well that she should look long and fondly upon those dear features, for in their thin transparency they promised soon to become only a memory. But Vera knew nothing of death. She had never seen a pallid, rigid human face, and the thought that the dear face before her could ever become such, was too dreadful to have even entered her mind. The mother, with a secret and growing uneasiness, had been conscious of her failing powers. Her usual house- hold cares became daily more burdensome. She panted for breath, after tasks that once seemed light. Her rest, instead of being sweet and refreshing, was broken through the long night by a hacking cough, which the bland air of June did not remove as she had fondly hoped. But, in the strange delusion of her disease, she ever expected 16 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART to be "better in a few days," and she never had the courage to blanch the joyous face of Vera with the vague fear which in spite of her hopes sometimes found entrance to her mind. The malady had been so slow and in- sidious in its advances, that Vera had not noticed the daily yet almost imperceptible changes, but old Gula sometimes shook her head ominously, though she said nothing. The husband was too deeply shadowed by one oppressive fear to have thought for anything else ; and so the poor exile (for such she was) unconsciously to her- self and those she loved, daily drew nearer to the only home where the heart is at rest. Upon a rustic shelf above Vera's head were two books that originally had been quite handsomely bound. They were the products of a time when things were made to last ; and yet such had been their vicissitudes and con- stant use that they looked old and worn. They were the only books Vera had ever seen. They had been the story-books of her childhood, and long before she could read them, her mother had beguiled her by the hour with their marvelous tales. They had been the school-books in which she had conned her letters ; and, following her mother's pointing finger, she had spelled her way through them, when the long and unpronounceable words were to her lisping tongue what the rugged boulders around their home were to her little feet. She had often stumbled over both ; still she had learned to love the mossy boulders and the equally formidable words, and the latter had gradually become stepping-stones to her thoughts. These books were now yearly developing for her deeper and richer meanings, and were having no small part in the formation of her character. The gilt letters on their backs were not so faded and worn but that the titles could still be read the " Plays of William Shakespeare," and " Holy Bible." The former had been given to Vera's mother in other VERA AND HER HOME 17 and happier days, and in another land, by the man, now but a wreck of the handsome, spirited youth, who then gave glances and words with the gift, which she valued more than the book. She had given him the Bible in return, and he formerly had read it somewhat for her sake, though seldom for its own. The Bible was much the smaller and plainer volume, and suggested that the purse of the donor might not have been as large as her love. In the sudden and dire emergency which made them exiles, these two gifts of affection had been hastily snatched among the few other things they had been able to take, in the confused and hurried moment of departure. At a sign from her mother, Vera took down this Bible, and drawing the failing candle nearer, read a few verses from the I4th chapter of St. John, commencing, " Let not your heart be troubled." At the close of each day, for many sad and anxious years, the poor woman had tried to sustain her faith by these divine, reassuring words. They were read first, not only for her own sup- port, but in the hope that they might have a soothing, calming effect upon the disquieted mind of her husband. To Vera, also, she believed that they might eventually become a legacy of hope and strength. After they were read, some other passage was also chosen. The mother had opened the kitchen door that Gula might hear, if she would, since she never could be per- suaded to be present at the family altar. Gula had been stolen from her African home, where, as she once hinted in a moment of anger, she had possessed some rude and savage kind of royalty, and since that time she had suffered cruelty and wrongs without stint from those who called themselves Christians ; thus she naturally chose to remain a pagan. As Vera read the sacred words, the mother's face, where she sat, a little back from the light, was sweet and shadowy enough to be that of a guardian spirit. 18 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART The corner in which the father remained had grown so dark that only the gleam of his restless eyes could be seen. Vera's voice was sweet, low, and reverent. It was not a form, but a heartfelt service in which she was leading, and one that she knew to be dear to her mother. She made a pretty picture, with the dim candle light- ing up her classic profile and a bit of her golden hair. All the rest was in partial and suggestive shadow. After the lesson of the day had been read, they sat a few moments in prayerful silence. With the shrinking timidity which some women find it impossible to over- come, this Christian wife had learned to pray unceasingly in her heart, but could never venture upon outspoken words. Her nature was gentleness itself, and strong only in its power to cling with unselfish, unfearing tenacity to those she loved. Had her husband been condemned to suffer any form of death, her meek spirit would have ut- tered no protest, but only force could have prevented her from sharing her fate. If, by interposing her own life she could save her daughter's, she would give it up so nat- urally and instinctively that the thought of self-sacrifice would not even occur to her. Years before, she had re- nounced, for the sake of her love, everything save honor ; and though knowing that exile and soon death itself would result, she never considered the possibility of any other course, but in resignation accepted what she re- garded as her inevitable lot. Where she loved most, with the certainty of gravitation, her steps would follow, while the power remained. She was one whom the world would call weak, but whose strength God would honor, because possessing in her humble sphere his loftiest attri- bute, patient, all-enduring love. Before seeking her own little nest, Vera went out to speak to the old negress, whom she found sitting on a low door-step, smoking her pipe. " Art lonely, Gula ? " VERA AND HER HOME 19 " No, chile, I'se got past clat. Dare's lots talkin' to ole Gula." " Why, I hear nothing save the whippoorwiils, and the frogs in the marsh." " I doesn't hear dem. De voices dat come to me come from far back o f dese mountains. I isn't lonely any mo'." " How queer ! " said Vera musingly. " But you were lonely once, Gula? " " Yes, chile ; for nigh on twenty summer and winter my heart was a-breakin'. I was so homesick like, dat I wanted to die ebery minute. Den I died. My heart was jus' a heavy stun in my bres' ; only my body was kind o' half alive so it could work when dey whipped it. But de heart inside didn't tink nuffin, nor feel nuffin, nor know nuffin. On a sudden, one night, I kind o' woke up and heerd voices a callin' me to run, and I got up and run, and trabbled for days and nights till I got here ; den de voices tole me to stop. And I'se a stoppin' and a waitin' to see what de voices say nex'." " I can't understand it," said Vera wonderingly. " No, chile, you needn't try." " Where do these voices come from ? " " From way back o' dese hills from farder dan de great water whar dem floatin' miseries, dey call ships, go, from whar de sun shine hotter dan it did to-day, all de time. Oh, dis poor ole heart's nebber been warm since dey carried me, screamin', on de floating misery. Go to bed, chile, go to bed ; ole Gula hopes you'se body'll nebber be alive arter your heart's dead." " Poor old Gula," said Vera, in a voice so gentle, so sympathetic, that it would have moved the stoniest nature. " I'm very sorry for you. ' Let not your heart be troubled,' Gula." The old woman was touched by the young girl's com- passion ; but she had a strange, rugged pride, that pre- 20 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART vented her from ever receiving openly what still was balm in secret. Probably the voices that had induced the fugitive to stay at the humble cottage were those of her present mistress and Vera, speaking in the long un- heard accents of kindness, though in the poor creature's disordered fancy they had blended with those she imag- ined coming from her old tropical home. Therefore, the roughness with wWich she said, " Dare, dare, chile, none o' dat, don't keep you'se mudder waitin' ; go to bed," was only assumed to dis- guise the sudden relenting which usually takes place when the flintiest heart is touched by the potent wand of kindness. "Good night, Gula," said Vera. "Among your voices you shall always hear mine ; and I hope it won't be cross often ; " and she followed her mother, who had already gone on before to her child's sleeping apart- ment. It was as strange a little nook as one could imagine ; and if Vera had been a nymph of the mountains, as her appearance had suggested to Saville, this resting- place would have been in harmony. The rude cottage had been built at the sloping base of the rocky height crowned in later years with the frowning walls of Fort Putnam. Just above the cabin on the southern side, a huge crag projected so far from the rocky steep as to form a natural shelter or sort of cave. This little niche had been enlarged by excavation, and the granite eaves extended by rough-hewn boards, so as to form quite a roomy apartment, which Vera and her mother had dis- guised into as dainty a rural bower as any grotto of the Grecian nymphs. It was connected with the main living-room of the cabin by a covered- way securely thatched and protected at the sides by heavy logs, fast- ened in the securest manner. Indeed the entire dwell- ing had been built with almost the strength of a fortress, VERA AND HER HOME 21 and Vera's father seemed to find a growing satisfaction in strengthening its various parts with stone and wood. The brief ascent to her " nest " as the young girl called it was made by stone steps. When her mother grew feeble, Vera brought home a slender grapevine that she had found swinging from a lofty forest-tree, and stretched it from her door to that of the living-room. By laying hold of this, the ascent could be made with greater ease. A stout cord passed along the roof, so that if anything happened, summons or alarm could be given instantly. But though the poor man who arranged all these pre- cautions seemed burdened with an increasing dread, the years had passed, and they had been unmolested in their wilderness retreat. The mother placed the candle on a little bureau, and sat, panting from her climb, on the edge of Vera's couch. The daughter drew a bench forward, and dropping on it, leaned her arms on her mother's lap and looked up into her face as she did when a little child. Indeed, in her guileless innocence and ignorance of the world from which she had ever been secluded, she was still a child, though fully sixteen. " Now, mother, you have been working too hard again to-day," she said reproachfully. " See how tired you are." " No, dear I am only a little breathless from climb- ing to your nest. I get out of breath so easily of late. Now tell me what has happened." Vera described her adventure of the afternoon, which in her tranquil life was a notable event. She dwelt long and somewhat admiringly upon the stranger's appearance and manner, especially his act of putting the water-lily bud in his button-hole. " If he loves flowers, mother, he can't be bad." But it was upon the notes of his flute that she descanted most enthusiastically. "And do you know, mother, he 22 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART played the same air that I had been singing, and which you taught me years ago. But he must have thought me wild as a hawk." " No, dear, as timid as a dove." " Well, I was greatly startled at first. When I got a good look at him I was not so much afraid. But you, and especially father, have so often warned me against making acquaintances. You don't think I was rude, now ? " " No, dear, no more than the birds that take wing when you come too near." " The birds are getting very presuming, mother ; they either think that I am one of them or not worth minding. They only cock their little heads on one side and give me a saucy look, and then go about their business just as if I were not near." "They know and do not fear their friends," said the mother abstractedly, " and you have been their harmless playmate so long that they know all about you." And the poor woman gave a long sigh. " Now what does that mean, mother? " "That you cannot always have such innocent and harmless companions. You are growing up, Vera. You cannot always be a little wild-flower of the woods. You must make acquaintances ere long. It is needful that you should. But how are you to make them ? Where are you to find them ? We are strangely situated. I wish we had some good neighbors, and your father did not feel as he does." "Ought I then to have stayed and spoken to this young man? " " No, darling, you did right. He was an utter stranger. And yet such are all the world. The ordinary ties which unite us to our fellow creatures seem utterly broken, and our isolation is so complete that I see no es- cape from it. For myself I do not mind it. I am con- VESA AND HER HOME 23 tent. But for your sake, Vera, I do indeed wish it were otherwise." " I too am content, mother. The woods are full of playmates for me, and we chatter away to each other as merrily as the day is- long. We are beginning to under- stand each other too. Do you know, mother, that the sounds of nature seem a sort of language which I am fast learning ? I went out on the hills the other day after the shower, and found a brook and a brown-thrush sing- ing a duet together, and I sat down and mocked them till I learned what they were saying " and in almost perfect mimicry she first gave the gurgling murmur of the stream and then the mellow whistle of the thrush. " You are a strange child, Vera. But what did the brook and bird say ? I do not understand their language." "Why, it's plain as can be. They said, ' Cheer up, Vera. Let not your heart be troubled. After the shower comes the sunshine.' What else could they mean? There was the brook sparkling in the sunlight, and sing- ing the louder for the shower ; and there was the little bird, which neither the lightning nor the rain had hurt." Tears came into the mother's eyes, and kissing her child, she said : " Good-night, Vera ; you are so innocent that God talks with you, as he did with Adam and Eve in the garden." The mother returned to the main room, which was also used as a sleeping apartment. Gula had already retired by some rude steps to her loft overhead. With the dawn of the next day, the mother was awak- ened by Vera's receding voice, mingling with the songs of her music-masters, the birds, and knew that she had gone for the promised strawberries. Before very long, she returned with an oddly constructed basket of broad leaves, heaped up with the dantiest fruit of the year, and 24 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART a moment later the cabin was filled with their wild aroma, as, with scarlet fingers, Vera quickly prepared them for breakfast. " How kind it was of you to get us these berries," said her mother. " I thought 1 had lost my appetite alto- gether, but these taste so good that I must be better. Per- haps they will make me well." The flush of pleasure that came into Vera's face vied with the ruby fruit, and she said, joyously : " You shall have them, mother, as long as there is one to be found in the shadiest nook." The light of day now revealed clearly the character of their abode, which, in its exterior, did not differ greatly from the ordinary log cabin of the frontier. There had evidently been an effort to make it exceedingly strong, and on every side were loop-holes, through which could be passed the muzzle of a rifle. But the usual bareness and unsightliness of these primitive dwellings had been quite removed by festoons of the American woodbine (or ivy) which Vera had planted at the corners, and trained along the eaves and to the very ridge. There were also attempts at flower- beds, in which she had sought to tame some of her wild favorites of the woods. But the interior was an interesting study, from the effort of refinement, everywhere manifest, to triumph over the rudest materials. Such of the furniture as had been bought, was strong and plain, and had evidently been selected from motives of economy. This had been added to and supplemented as far as the ingenuity of the inmates permitted, and on every side were seen pretty little things that were not childish, and yet would please a child. Autumn leaves, still brilliant, which Vera had pressed, with great pains, between dry leaves preserved for the purpose, festooned the unsightly walls, producing an ef- VEEA AND HER HOME 25 feet that gave the young girl more content then Gobelin tapestry gives to its princely possessors. Mingling with these festoons were button-balls, cut the preceding autumn from the plane-tree, and bright red berries. In one corner was a huge hornet's nest, suspended from the branch where its savage little architects had built it the year before, and whose construction Vera had watched with great interest, until, in the fall, the paper citadel, that an army would hesitate to attack, was evacuated ; then she had carried it home as a trophy. But she found that it still contained a small garrison, which occasioned no little commotion as they recovered from their torpor in the warmth of the room. On a spray beside this fortress, was placed, for contrast, an abode of peace a hum- ming-bird's tiny nest. In place of prosaic pegs and hooks, the antlers of the stag were fastened here and there, and served many a useful purpose. Rustic brackets, and a cross of gray bark, with a mossy base, divested the apartment of all appearance of the squalid poverty that often characterizes the pioneer's cabin. But the principal feature was the wide stone fireplace into which for many years Vera could pass without stoop- ing, and in the corner of which she still sat on winter evenings, reading by the light of the blazing fire, her in- exhaustible story book, the " Plays of William Shake- speare." Over the hearth was a great iron crane ; and it was a proud day for Vera when she learned to relieve her mother by swinging it in and out, deftly hanging thereon the sooty kettle, without smirching her hands or dress. Above a rude mantel, on which Vera had placed some odd little ornaments gathered in her rambles, were suspended a long rifle of very fine workmanship, and a silver-mounted fowling-piece, which the exiles had brought with them, rightly estimating their value when seeking a refuge in the wilderness. The shotgun was light but strong, and of exquisite finish, and had in other days 26 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART brought down many a pheasant in English parks. It carried just as truly now, and Vera had learned to be almost as unerring in its use as her father. In conse- quence, a plump partridge frequently graced their board that too often was meagre enough. For a large part of the year game was their principal food, as her father sup- ported his family by hunting and trapping. But of late he had grown so moody and uncertain in his actions, that for days he would sit in his shadowy corner brooding over some dark secret of the past. It would then devolve on Vera alone to supply the needs of the household, and at times the poor child's heart was heavy, as weary and dis- couraged she returned in the evening only to report her ill-success. Then her father would rouse up as if his manhood were struggling against the paralysis creeping over his mind, and he would be more like his former self. But as Vera grew older, and more acquainted with the habits and haunts of game, and learned in what waters to drop her line successfully, she became more self-reliant and confident that she could at least maintain a supply of food if the worst came to the worst. On days when the man's mind was most unclouded, he would, at his wife's solicitation, take the skins and products of the chase to some village down the river, and barter them for such things as were needed. A little of the hoard of gold which they had brought with them still remained, and was kept for some emergency of the future. Thus the years passed on, and Vera was ceasing to be a child in appearance, though still a child in guileless simplicity, and content with the pleasures and duties which had filled her time thus far. CHAPTER III THE ICONOCLASTS THE northern breeze caused Saville's boat to glide rap- idly through the looming shadows of the lower Highlands, and in comparatively brief time lights glimmered invitingly from the village of Peekskill, which was situated at the head of a wide bay upon the eastern shore. Here he decided to seek refreshment and spend the night, intending to pursue his homeward journey the following morning. The episode of the afternoon had formed a pleasing but temporary diversion to the thoughts it had interrupted ; but now, with increasing power to pain and agitate, they came trooping back. In the consciousness of solitude and in the enshrouding darkness, he made less effort at self- control. His features were distorted by contending emotions, and he often gave vent to passionate exclama- tions. It was evident that a painful question was press- ing upon him for immediate solution, and that the results of his action in any case would be very serious. But by the time he reached the rude wharf he regained his self-command, and having moored his boat, sought a dwelling which combined the character of farmhouse and tavern. Here he received a welcome that was but in part professional, for in those days of limited travel, a stranger was an event, and a guest in reality as well as in name, being often made much of, and becoming an object of absorbing interest, it might be added also, of curiosity, to his entertainers. Saville found the little inn already in a state of excite-, ment and bustle over the arrival of an old acquaintance 28 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART of his own, a wealthy, pleasure-loving young gentleman from the city below, who was off on a fishing excursion, and who eagerly sought to gain Saville as a companion. " What is the news from the army before Boston? " asked Saville, gloomily. " ' The army before Boston ' be hanged, and the army in Boston also. I could not sit down to dinner but a fire- brand of a patriot would pluck one sleeve, and demand, ' Are you for Liberty ? ' and an. ancient fossil who had brushed against a duke, or mayhap a duchess, would pluck the other sleeve, and querulously question, ' Are you not for the King ? ' It was in vain that I anathema- tized both, and said, ' No, I'm for dinner.' There is no such thing as peace down there, unless you are ranting on one side or the other. So I snatched my fishing tackle, and showing a clean pair of heels, am here among the mountains. It's a confounded poor world for a man to enjoy himself in. There are always two parties in it bound to devour each other, and if you won't raven on one side or the other, they'll both turn in and rend you. I don't care whether the laws are made in Philadelphia or London, if they will only let me alone. There, I'm through with the accursed squabbles of the hour. I'm here to get rid of them, and intend for the next few days to forget the existence of both Parliament and Congress. So come with me, and keep out of purgatory as long as you can." In spite of his prolonged mental conflict, Saville still felt himself unequal to solve the question that burdened him ; and so to gain time and distract his thoughts, he complied with his friend's wish. On the following morning they started, equipped for the sport. It was the Sabbath, but in Saville's estima- tion the day was no more sacred than would be a Decadi of the coming French Revolution. He had lived in in- fidel France sufficiently long to regard the Sabbath as a THE ICONOCLASTS 29 relic of superstition. He was a disciple of the " New Philosophy," and had faith in naught save man, and man was a law unto himself. But the sport which completely absorbed his companion dragged heavily with Saville, and after a few days he returned to his boat, resolving to put off his decision no longer ; so the latter part of the week saw him again beating southward against the wind with many a long tack, as the river broadened before him. Saville' s position was a trying one, and yet not peculiar in that day when the plowshare of division ran, not only through communities, social circles, and churches, but also through families, severing the closest ties. In order that his present circumstances and character may be better understood, it will be necessary to take a brief glance into the past. Theron Saville combined both the F'rench and Dutch elements in his parentage. On his father's side he came from that grand old Huguenot stock which has largely leavened for good the American character. He had thus inherited a legacy of prayer and sacred memories from his ancestry, and might if he would, receive the blessing which descends to children's children : a " cove- nant-keeping God" would faithfully seek to reclaim him from evil. But he had utterly abandoned the faith of his fathers, and was now an open unbeliever. His moral state was the natural result of the influences he had fallen under during his education. In accordance with a custom quite common among patrician families in colonial days, he had been sent to Europe to finish his studies. After a few years at an English university he went to Paris to acquire his profession, that of military and civil engineering. But his tastes did not lead in the di- rection of exact and practical science, and he appreciated the French opera far more than French roads and fortifi- cations. But it was the new and skeptical literature of 30 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART that chaotic age that chiefly fascinated him. The bril- liant theorists and iconoclasts who were then, with jest and infinite wit, recklessly sapping the foundations of the slowly built structures of human belief, of social custom, and of established government, seemed to him the heroes of the world. He, as little as they, foresaw the crashing ruin for which they were preparing. Bigoted violence had succeeded only too well in stamping out and exiling the Huguenot element, and what then passed for religion in France, was such a wretched imposition as to be de- spised even by its consecrated priests. Social distinc- tions were arbitrary and unnatural. Etiquette ruled in the place of fidelity and principle, and behind this tinsel mask gross license rioted. Government had become simply the oppression of the many by the few an organ- ized system to rob the people that the titled might indulge in unbounded extravagance. The corner-stone, which is the family, with its sacred and guarded rights, had crum- bled, and the whole social and political fabric was conse- quently tottering in inevitable weakness. The character of the times made it far easier to scoff and strike at all institutions that should be sacred than to reform them ; and the leading minds of the day were great only in their genius for satire and innovation. But it was the fearful degeneracy in the institutions themselves that gave point to the sarcasm, and it was their crumbling weakness that made blows, which now seem puny, then to appear herculean. Young Saville, unschooled by experience, had just the temperament to be carried away by the railing and ir- reverent spirit of the age. Naturally visionary, enthusi- astic, and gifted with far more imagination than judg- ment, he reveled in the "Atheistic Philosophy," and exulted over it as the groundwork of a new and better order of things. Voltaire enchained him by his bound- less wit. Diderot, and even Helvetius with his grcss, THE ICONOCLASTS 31 materialistic theory, that sensation originates all that there is in man, became his masters, while in political creed he was a disciple of Jean Jacques Rousseau. Liberty, which was of an impossible kind liberty, which from the absence of safeguards and foundations must, and in fact did, degenerate into the wildest license, be- came his dream ; and he hoped to become eventually an apostle of this French ideal of freedom, in his own land. Yet when the time came for Saville to return to New York, he had not become utterly vitiated by the evil in- fluences which were then demoralizing a nation. Some- thing in the old Huguenot blood and in his early training still remained in his nature as a germ that might be de- veloped into healthful growth. He was not false, though unrestrained by religion, or even by what was regarded as morality in his own land ; he accepted the world's code of honor and unlike the world in which he had been living, was true to it. His word bound him ; and though capable of very wrong action, he shrank from anything mean, base, or ungrateful. He was not coldly, selfishly, and deliberately depraved at heart. He scoffed with his favorite author, Voltaire, not at what he believed sacred, but at what, in that false age, pretended to sacredness, and was in fact a solemn and venerable farce. The truth back of this, which had been corrupted or abandoned altogether, he did not recognize nor even be- lieve in its existence. A false priesthood had made re- ligion a byword and a hissing. As ignorant and super- ficial as the leaders of opinion, he did not distinguish the purer faith of his fathers from the gross superstition from which it had separated itself, but condemned all religion as the folly of credulity, the evidence of a weak and unenlightened mind. He was heartily in sympathy with Rousseau's best characteristic, hatred of the artificial and unnatural, and 32 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART joined in his protest against the absurd and arbitrary tyranny of etiquette and monstrous custom. He believed with the great innovator, that after the rags had been taken from the peasant, and the titles and court dress lifted from the noble, in each case remained that essential atom of society man ; and he held that this human unit, with its innate rights and qualities, naturally devel- oped, must be the starting point in the reorganization of the political fabric. He could not then see that he and his teachers would ever build in vain, even were they to attempt reconstruc- tion ; for they ignored man's moral and spiritual nature and its needs. Let man build his side of the arch never so well, the work would crumble, because the opposite side, which is God and the pure morality of his law, and the key-stone, which is intelligent faith and obedience, would be utterly lacking. But there was hope for Saville, because he was so sin- cere in his skepticism ; because he accepted so enthusi- astically theories, the majority of which now have in history a record like that of brilliant meteors only. He had not reached the most hopeless of mental attitudes, that of coldly doubting everything, nor had he sunk into the apathy of discouragement, or plunged into the reck- lessness of those who see nothing good or sure save present gratification. His authors were demi-gods, and adorned a temple of fame which he might enter. He was not near enough to know the selfishness, meanness, and often baseness of their lives. If he had read the confessions of Rousseau, he might not so readily have become his disciple. The fact that he could honestly believe in these writers and their teachings, proved him capable of accepting the truth with equal heartiness, when once apprehended. Saville heard with pleasure of the growing restlessness in the American colonies under British rule, and ardently THE ICONOCLASTS 33 hoped that he might there become a leading advocate of the broad liberty of the new philosophy. It became his favorite dream that he might be one of the founders of a republic in the new world, in which liberty and equality should be the corner-stones, human reason the sole architect, and nature the inspiration. During his voyage home, he spent much of his time in the imaginary construction of this Utopia of the future, in which he hoped to have no mean place. Nor was it at all surprising that one of his age and temperament should have fallen completely under the influence of the philosophy that was then sweeping over the world. CHAPTER IV " FOR WORSE" SAVILLE had not been long in his native city before an event occurred that changed the spirit of his dreams, or rather blended them with others of a different nature. The nebulous goddess of liberty, at whose feet he had been worshiping, was exchanged for a creature of flesh and blood, earthy indeed, material even to her mind. But Saville had a faculty of seeing things, not as they were, but through a transfiguring mist of his own imag- ination. During his voyage home, his father had died suddenly, and, in consequence, young Saville, for a few months immediately after his return, was much secluded from social and political life. Sorrow renders the heart more tender and receptive, and there were long and vacant days to be beguiled. His mother, who had inherited the thrifty traits of her Dutch ancestry, availed herself of this opportunity to secure an alliance which worldly wisdom would commend, inasmuch as the young lady in ques- tion was the heiress of property which would double the large wealth of her son, and thus, of course, double his happiness. Their mutual acres were so situated that they could be joined together with great advantage. Whether the moral and mental qualities of the parties themselves were equally adapted to union, was not con- sidered, and indeed seldom is, by your sagacious match- maker, who to the end of time will be filled with self- congratulation on having united estates. That two poor souls must henceforth dwell in purgatorial fires of dis- cord, or become polished icicles under the steady frost "FOR WORSE" 35 of indifference, is a mere matter of sentiment. Two acres instead of one is a solid consideration, and ought to satisfy any heart. Mrs. Saville loved her son after her fashion, and was serving him, as she supposed, in the best and most en- during manner. She was aware that society would re- gard the match as brilliant ; and to have the world nod approval was as great a thing a hundred years ago as to- day. She had met the parents, the uncles, and aunts of the coveted heiress, in solemn conclave on the subject, and found them quite as ready to enter into the arrange- ment as herself. With many fine speeches they disguised the property considerations uppermost in each mind, and it was agreed that the young lady's disposition should be delicately inclined to assist. That wilful factor in the problem, however, bluntly said, "I'll wait and see him first." This very natural decision disturbed Mrs. Saville but little ; for she knew that unless her son had changed greatly, his appearance would be in his favor. Her chief ground of anxiety was the action of the young man himself. "Men are so unreasonable," she said; "but unless Theron is utterly blind to his own interests, he must see things as we do. The young lady I have chosen for him is rich, handsome, and of one of the first families in the colony. Indeed her relatives in England are titled." All this was true. Mrs. Saville had weighed externals carefully. Julia Ashburton was very handsome after her type and style. The prudent mother had considered everything save the viewless, subtle spirit which dwelt within the beauty, and which would prove, to the sorrow of all concerned, the spirit of a Tartar. Verily Saville was utterly blind to his own interests ; for, soon after his return, he delighted his mother and 36 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART the other schemers by action that accorded with their plans. Miss Ashburton was eminently gifted with the power to awaken passion ; and in one who, like Theron Saville, saw everything through the transfiguring haze of his own fancy, she could even inspire an approach to love. But a man who desired a wife, a home, and domestic peace, would look askance at her. Her black eyes were too near together, and emitted scintillations rather than the pure, steady light of a womanly nature. They could fascinate and beguile with something of a serpent's power, but they would drop abashed before the search- ing gaze of an honest man. Her forehead was none too low, but it was narrow. The development of her lower face was full ; not too much so, perhaps, for sensuous beauty, but to a close observer it would suggest the trait of stubbornness, and the possibility that passion might triumph over all restraint. But it was the perfection of her form which she was not at all chary in displaying and her grace of carriage, which constituted her chief attractions. She was as lithe and supple as a leopard, as well as feline in many of her qualities. But Saville glorified her into ideal womanhood, and she for a time fostered his delusion. Having seen the handsome young stranger, who possessed all the courtly bearing and polish that could be acquired in French salons, she readily joined in the family conspiracy. She was as gentle and sympathetic as it was in her nature to be, and gave him most of her time. A spirit less exuber- ant than Saville' s would have had a vague sense of dis- satisfaction a consciousness of something wanting in both her words and manner ; but his heart, generous to a fault, was deeply touched by her show of regard for his recent bereavement, and his love for her was mingled with gratitude. Soon she saw him a captive at her feet, and could make her own terms. "FOR WORSE" 37 During the long hours spent together, he, hoping to find a sympathetic and congenial spirit, had often en- larged (to her horror) on his favorite dreams of broad, democratic liberty and equality. He even permitted her to see his bitter hostility to everything that bore the name of religion, or superstition, as he would characterize it, and he regarded all forms of faith as the chosen instru- ments of tyranny. He believed that he could soon kindle in her an enthusiasm equal to his own for the new and glorious ideas that he had acquired abroad, and for the reception of which, he imagined, events were rapidly preparing America. Now, Miss Ashburton was, by nature and education, as hostile to these ideas as it was possible for any one to be. She was a Tory and royalist to her heart's core, as were all her family ; and their descent from a titled*house in England was the cherished source of their abounding pride. The girl to whom Saville often discoursed of his Utopian dreams, in a manner so rapt and preoccupied that he scarcely noted her effort to disguise her apathy and distaste, was not capable of enthusiasm for anything save herself. Selfishness, the bane of all character, especially of woman's, had consumed the kindly endow- ments of her nature, and sometimes, when her lover's face was flushed in the excitement of his own thronging thoughts, which were at least large and generous, if mainly erratic, there would come a crafty, and even vindictive, gleam into her eyes, which seemed to say, " I will endure with such patience as I can, until the uniting links in the chain are forged, and then you must listen to me." If, at times, her manner chilled him, and he imagined her lacking in sympathy, he consoled himself by the thought that she did not yet understand these great themes, and that he could not expect her to reach in a 38 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART few weeks the advanced views, which, in his case, had required years, and that, too, where they formed the political and social atmosphere in which men lived. As for Miss Ashburton, she soon perceived what she regarded the weak point in his character the one that would give her the advantage in the inevitable conflict that must come after marriage ; and that was his loyalty to his word a scrupulous, generous, though perverted sense of honor. He was a true gentleman, after the fashionable French ideal, and not according to the French reality. It was a sad fact, that in that debauched and chaotic age, the ninth commandment, and, indeed, every other in the Decalogue, rested as lightly on the French conscience as the seventh. Of course there were many honorable exceptions, and to these Saville belonged. Therefore, when in due time he poured out his passion, she was full of demure hesitancy and doubt. " Would he be faithful to her? " she asked. " He had lived too long in Paris, where men's eyes and fancies were given too great freedom. He believed in such new and strange French doctrines, which seemed to unsettle everything, even religion, and was captivated by French ideas in general. How could she be sure that she had secured a steady, loyal, English husband?" In view of Saville's theories and rhapsodies she might perhaps have urged these objections with some reason. But the astute maiden had no fears on these grounds. She was skilfully playing part of a prearranged game. She would bind him by many and varied pledges. She would keep him. from the course on which his heart was bent, by promises that now seemed silken cords of love and loyalty, but would afterwards prove galling fetters by which she would hold him captive ander a merciless tyranny. Unsuspicious of her object, he gave her pledges in- "FOR WORSE" 39 numerable, which could readily be made to bear the meaning she designed, but which in his mind had -no such purport. Having ensnared and woven a web around her victim, she gracefully permitted herself to be won. It was a rude awakening that Saville had from his de- lirium of love, and dream of inspiring sympathy in his career as an apostle of the broadest liberty, wherein all kings, human and divine, were to be overthrown. His wife had been under restraint too long already for one of her wilful, self-pleasing nature, and she threw off the mask with unseemly haste. To his dismay he found that he had married a pretty bigot, who would not hear a word against church or state, the venerable abuses of which were even dearer to her than their excellencies. Nay, more, she told him that by all his oaths of loyalty to her he was bound to the Tory side, which was then rapidly becoming defined in distinction from the Whig, or patriot party ; and such was the ingenuity of her feminine tact, that in his bewilderment he half feared that she was right ; and that he, like the Hebrew slaves, would be compelled to build the structures he would gladly tear down. At first, he chafed like a lion in the toils ; but on every side she met him with the meshes of his own unwary promises. In vain he protested that loyalty to her did not involve loyalty to institutions that he hated. " I am identified with these causes," she would coolly reply. By this chain of loyalty to her, she would even drag him to church, and made religion seem tenfold more hate- ful by the farce she there enacted. His eyes were now opened, and he readily saw that she was a bigot to the forms of worship, and that the doctrines of her church were neither understood nor considered. Her spirit was that of the Italian bandit, who will shed his own blood 40 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART to carry out the purposes of his priest, and the blood of any one else that his interest or revenge may require. Thus the wretched months dragged on, and Saville was a moody captive. As the stirring events thickened which prepared the way for the overt acts of the Revolution, he was often greatly excited, and inclined to break his fet- ters ; but he was ever confronted by a will more resolute than his own. "To whom do you owe the more sacred duty," she would ask ; " this wretched cabal of blatant rebels who will find halters around their necks if they go much further, or your wife to whom you have pledged your honor ? " His young friends in the patriot ranks were greatly dis- appointed in him. Before marriage, his utterances had been pronounced and radical ; now he was silent and kept himself aloof. There were many sneers about the "apron-strings of a Tory wife," and the "difference between large swell- ing words and the giving and taking of honest blows." Some of these flings reached Saville, and stung him al- most to frenzy. Of course anything like love or even passion died out between these two, whom relatives had so complacently matched, but who never could be mated. At first, Saville often appealed to her, earnestly and even passionately, to be a wife in reality, and not to thwart every hope and aspiration of his life. She would exasperate him by coolly replying, " Only as I check and thwart your wild fancies and mad action can I be a true wife. Can't you see that you are bent on ruining us both ? Your mind is full of monstrous innovations. It is as if you should say in the dead of winter, I have a vague plan of a better home than this. Let me tear down our house, and I will build something different. Not while I keep my senses. What would "FOR WORSE 11 41 our property be worth under the ' nouvelle ordre ' as you call it?" " But, madam, you do not consider me at all, but only the property. Am I to have no other career than that of a steward of our joint estates ? " "That is better than a rebel's halter. But let us end this useless discussion. You are a man of honor, and your word is pledged." The tidings of the battle of Lexington almost brought things to a crisis, and resulted in a stormy scene be- tween husband and wife. His passion and invective were so terrible as to alarm even her for a time. And yet it only served to intensify the settled obstinacy of her nature. It also greatly increased a growing dis- like for him, which needed only time to develop into hatred. At the close of this memorable interview, she said harshly, " I have endured this folly long enough. You must either give up this madness wholly and utterly, or else trample upon your honor and duty, and proclaim your- self a perjured villain. The day you join the rebel crew, you desert your wife ; and I will never so much as touch your hand again." " Do you mean that? " he asked hoarsely. " The God you dare to despise is my witness. I do." " Pitiful are the gods which attract such worshipers," he sneered, and turning on his heel, he left her. He now saw that the crisis had indeed come. He had learned to know his wife sufficiently well to be aware that neither appeals nor circumstances could change her views and actions. She formed her opinions and pur- poses solely on the grounds of her own prejudices and wishes ; and a nature without generous impulses made her coldly obstinate in their maintenance. And now what should he do? The epithet "perjured 42 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART villain ' ' stood in the path to patriotic action, like a grisly spectre, for perjured he knew that she would make him appear to her family. If his own interests only were involved, he would not have had a moment's hesitancy. But was it right to risk his property and life in rebellion, and perhaps bring his mother to poverty and danger in her old age ? For she, too, by many an eloquent appeal assured him that he would be false to the sacred duties which he owed her in her widowhood ; and by the whole force of the filial bond, sought to chain his generous nature to inaction. He was thus torn by contending emotions, and tortured by conflicting claims. His cheeks grew wan, and his face haggard, in as cruel a captivity as ever man endured. But both mother and wife looked on unsympathetically. They were in the most aggravating condition of mind towards the sufferer, complacently sure that they were right and he wrong ; that they were acting for his best good, and that he, like a rash, foolish child, must be held in steady restraint until he should pass beyond the folly of his youth. Their treatment was as humiliating as it was galling. And yet he did not know what was right, for he had no true moral standard. He had cast away that book of divine ethics, which clearly defines the relative force of each claim upon the conscience, and which, in an emergency like this, calmly lifts a man up to the sacrifice of himself and every earthly tie, that God may be honored, and humanity at large served. But, in his creed, as we have seen, man was his own law; and while his heart said, "Join the cause of free- dom," a perverted sense of honor said, " No, your word has made you the slave of your wife's bigotry, and your mother's fears." In vain he appealed to his mother, telling her how patriotic ladies in the city were urging their sons to "FOE WORSE 11 43 heroic action, and teaching even their little children the alphabet of liberty. She would only weep and prophesy dismally. " When these mothers see their sons brought home mangled corpses, and their pleasant homes burned, and their children turned adrift upon the heartless world, they will shed tears of blood over their folly. I love you too well to permit you to rush to your own destruction as truly as to mine." She always assumed that it would be impossible for him to go without her permission. His bitter reply at last became, " Your love will be my death by slow torture." " Nonsense, my child," the old lady answered, almost petulantly. "You will soon see the day when you will thank me from the bottom of your heart for having kept you out of this wretched broil, which will ruin all who engage in it." Thus there was not even sympathy for him at home, but only a riveting of the fetters which were eating into his very soul. So he came to indulge in long and lonely expeditions, by which he sought to escape, in some de- gree, the painful conditions of his city life. CHAPTER V WASHINGTON'S SERMON THE explanatory digression of the two previous chapters left Saville returning from one of these flights from the tormenting difficulties of his position. In due time he approached his native city, passing for miles along rugged and heavily wooded shores, that now are occupied by spacious warehouses, and wharves crowded with the commerce of the world. By the time he reached a point opposite where Canal Street now ends at the North River, his attention was drawn to a large flotilla, just leaving the Jersey shore. Remembering that it was Sunday afternoon, he was still more surprised to find that on grounds adjoining his own estate, near the foot of Murray Street of our day, an immense concourse of people were assembled. His boat soon reached his private quay, where he found his body- servant, who had come down to the shore, with thousands of others, to witness some great event. His master's face was sufficient interrogation to gar- rulous Larry, and he at once launched forth. "Glad ter see yer honor. Yer jist in time. Faix, sure, there's great doin's on foot. The rebels, as yer leddy calls 'em, are gittin' bold as lions, an' will eat us up if we don't jine the bastes. I'm half a mind to turn rebel meself." " Stop your nonsense, Larry. Who are those coming yonder across the river, and what does this concourse mean?" " It manes more than I can tell ye in a breath, yer honor. But that's Gin'ral Washington himself that's a WASHINGTON'S SERMON 46 comin' there, and the rebels have knocked bloody blazes out of the red-coats in Bosting." These tidings were sufficient to arouse Saville's ardent spirit to the highest pitch of excitement. Mingling with the throng at the spot near which the disembarkation must occur, he met an acquaintance from whom he ob- tained a more satisfactory, if not succinct, explanation of what he saw. The battle of Bunker Hill had been fought, and be- hind a slight breast-work constructed by a few hours' labor, his countrymen had met and thrice repulsed the veterans of Europe. In the torrent of blood which flowed that day, the Revolution had become a fact to which men could close their eyes no longer. The time had arrived when all must take sides ; and Saville recog- nized the truth that he must now choose with which party he would east his lot. He was in an agony of conflicting feelings, and hoped that something in the stirring events of the hour might settle the question which he felt scarcely able to decide himself. He gained a standing place upon a projecting rock on the beach, from which he had a good view both of the crowded shore and the approaching flotilla, and his en- thusiastic nature kindled momentarily as he gazed on the scene. It was a lovely summer afternoon. The sun shone bright but not too warm, and gave a touch of beauty and lightsomeness even to things prosaic and common- place in themselves. But there was little that was or- dinary on this occasion. There, facing him on a sloping bank, was such a throng of his fellow townsmen as he had never before seen together, their faces aflame with excitement. Near him were drawn up in martial array a thousand men with glittering accoutrements, and bayonets whose points the declining sun tipped with fire. 46 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART When the boats approached the land, even the heavy booming of the cannon was drowned by that most awe- inspiring sound of earth the shout of a multitude, wherein the thought, the intense feeling and resolute purpose of the soul finds loud, vehement utterance. It is a sound that stirs the most sluggish nature. How then would the spirit of one be moved who, like Theron Saville, believed that the voice of the people was the voice of God ? He did not shout with the others. His excitement was too deep for noisy vent, but his face grew stern, and his lips compressed with his forming purpose. He was growing desperate, and \vas passing into a mood in which he was ready to trample every tie and extorted pledge under foot that he might join what he believed would prove a crusade against all tyrants, temporal and spiritual. But his chief desire now was to look into the face of Washington, of whom he had heard so often, and who had even now gained much of that remarkable influence which he was destined to possess over the young men of the country. His rural and hunting tastes, his romantic, military experience on the frontier, and his reputation for the most daring courage, had already made him a hero in a new country where such qualities would be most ap- preciated. But to Saville, he was more than a hero, more than a patriot and chivalrous soldier : he was a forerunner and inaugurator of the golden age of liberty and equality, which his fancy portrayed in the near future. Groaning himself under the thraldom of the old and hated regime, he regarded the coming commander- in-chief as a captive in hard bondage might welcome a deliverer. He expected to see a face that was a revolu- tion in itself, eager, fiery, kindling others into flame by its intense expression. But, when a tall and stately man in the prow of the foremost batteau uncovered, as he drew near the shore.. WASHINGTON'S SERMON 47 in acknowledgment of the resounding acclamations, he was at first disappointed. He was not looking on the bold, defiant features of an innovator. There was scarcely a trace even on that calm, noble face, of the enthusiasm that was burning like a flame in his own heart. Wherein lay the man's greatness and power? In his eagerness to see more nearly the one he now felt would largely shape his own destiny, as well as that of others, he sprang down the rock, and unconsciously stood in the shallow water. Washington noted his eager action, and turned his face full upon him with a kindly look and half- inclination, while Saville removed his hat at once. As Washington again lifted his eyes to the waiting thousands, the young man scanned his face as if he would there read his own fate. Here was a man who had larger wealth and higher social position than himself, and yet he had joined his fortunes to a cause which Sa- ville's relatives characterized as both desperate and dis- reputable. Here was the man towards whom the national heart instinctively turned, and hailed as leader and chief. As Washington looked to God for guidance and help, Saville looked solely to man, and as we have said before, with all the eagerness which the hope of his own deliver- ance and the realization of his dreams could inspire, he scrutinized the face before him to gather if this were the coming man of the nouvelle ordre. He did not see what he expected the embodied prin- ciples of the French iconoclasts and reckless innovators, but the native quickness of his race enabled him to ap- prehend the spirit which animated Washington, and which found expression in his honest face. There was no elation, no appearance of gratified pride, which such a reception would have evoked, had the elements of per- sonal vanity existed largely in his nature. There was an absence of all complacent self-confidence and self-asser- 48 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART tion, and yet he inspired confidence, and more some- thing of his own heroic and patient spirit of self-sacrifice in behalf of a sacred cause. His face wore the solemn aspect of one who felt himself charged with awful re- sponsibilities. As he saw the thousands turning towards him in hope and trust, the burden of the nation's weal pressed heavier upon him. And yet there was not a trace of weakness or shrinking in view of his mighty tasks. His face had the calm, strong expression of one who had counted the cost, who was wholly consecrated, and who, without a thought of self, proposed to serve a cause in which he fully believed, leaving to God the issue. Like the ancient Hebrew leader who climbed Sinai's height to the presence of God, he also had been prepared above the clouds to lead the people who tarried on the plain below. Though Saville could not understand the source of Washington's strength, still the calm, noble face quieted him. Half unconsciously he was taught the difference between mere enthusiasm and personal ambition, and a resolute purpose combined with unselfish devotion. He was generous and noble enough himself to appreciate the heroic qualities embodied before him, and to be won to something of the same spirit for the time being. Wash- ington's appearance and character reconciled Saville's heart and conscience, which had long been at variance, and made him feel with the certainty of intuition, that the cause which had won such a man was so sacred, that he could be true to it, and at the same time true to every duty he owed his wife and mother. There are times when the mind, thoroughly aroused, works with marvelous rapidity ; and the few moments that intervened between the near approach and disem- barking, gave that face, towards which so many were turning for inspiration, time to preach Saville the only sermon which he had ever heeded. The most effective WASHINGTON'S SERMON 49 sermons, after all, are those which are embodied. The Word of God was a living person a Divine Man. He who had been harassed so long by conflicting claims, hesitated no longer. With his eyes fixed on the man that, in his humanitarian creed, he was ready to worship, he said in the low, deep tone of resolve " His cause is mine from this hour forth. Liberty, equality, or death." Washington had landed, and Saville was possessed with a desire to hear him speak, and so pressed towards him with many others. General Schuyler, who stood at his chief's side, had noticed the eager and interested air of the young man. He knew Saville slightly, and the thought occurred to him that it might be a good oppor- tunity to secure the adherence of one who had thus far stood aloof, but whose wealth and talents would be a welcome addition to the cause. He spoke in a low tone to Washington, and then stepping up to Saville, said, " Let me present you to his Excellency, with others of your fellow-citizens." Before Saville could realize it, the man he adored had taken him by the hand, saying, " Mr. Saville, I hope you are with us in this good cause." With deep emotion, Saville replied, " I am with you in any service the humblest which your Excellency may require." " Rest assured," said Washington, kindly, " that it will be honorable service, for which your country will reward you." The young man stepped back, more proud and pleased than if he had been decorated by all the sovereigns of Europe. The procession was now commencing to form. Saville pushed his way out of the throng to where Larry was gaping at the strange sights, and called, 50 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART " Bring me my horse, saddled, within five minutes." " Och, by the holy poker," gasped Larry, as he ran to obey the order, " the maister is a goin' to turn rebel. Thin I'll be a rebel, too ; for there's nary a man of 'em all that can fight ould England wid a better stomach than meself. Didn't she take the last praty out of me bin at home? " A little later, Saville, mounted on his favorite horse, took a flying leap over his garden wall, and joined the cavalcade of leading citizens who were to escort the Commander-in-chief down Broadway ; while Larry fol- lowed with the populace on foot, chaffing right and left to the amusement of many listeners. At length the pageantry was over, and in the purple twilight Saville sought his home. Everything in nature that Sabbath evening breathed of peace and tenderness, but he justly feared that a scene of bitter and unrelenting hostility was awaiting him. The coming battles in which he would take part, would never require the nerve and self-control that he must maintain this quiet June evening, and in his own home. In his exalted and generous mood, he determined to make one more appeal before the final separation with his wife took place. But meeting her on the piazza, he saw by a glance that it would be a vain and humiliating waste of words. Her features were inflamed with passion, and upon her full lower face rested the very impress of wilful stubborn- ness. She had evidently heard of his action during the afternoon, and surmised the result. Having never been thwarted in her life, she now hated the man whose course and motives were so utterly repugnant to her. She stood in the doorway, dressed for walking, and, not waiting for him to speak, said harshly : " Well, sir, in a word, what is your decision ? " " I have decided that I am a free man and a patriot." WASHINGTON'S SERMON 51 " A rebel and a perjurer, you mean." "That is your unjust version, madam," he replied quietly, for Washington's calm, strong face was before him. Her features grew fairly livid, but she was about to pass out without a word. "Julia!" he exclaimed, intercepting her, "listen for one moment before you take this rash, irrevocable step. If I am true to the sacred cause of Liberty, I can be true to you. I " " Stand aside! " she cried, imperiously stamping her foot. " I will not hear one word of your idiotic drivel. The idea of you being true to anything, who break pledges made at God's altar, and cast off your wife to join a herd of ragged, blaspheming rebels ; I shall never darken your doors again." 11 Well-chosen phrase, madam. You have indeed dark- ened my door, and darkened my life. But farewell : I will not reproach you. I will be loyal to the name of wife : the reality I never had." She deigned no reply, but passed down the path that led to the adjoining residence of her parents, with such hot wrath in her heart that it was strange the roses did not wither as she passed. Saville breathed more freely after she was gone. It seemed as if a deadly nicubus had been lifted from him. But he soon found that the meeting with his mother would be a far severer ordeal. When he entered her room, and saw her, who was usually so stately and com- posed, utterly broken down, rocking back and forth as if in mortal agony, with her gray hair hanging in disorder over her face, he felt as if a sword had pierced him. " Ruined ! ruined ! all is lost ! " groaned the wretched woman. "Why are we ruined," he exclaimed impetuously, 62 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART , " more than thousands of families who have joined the patriotic cause? " " We shall soon be homeless and penniless." " No, mother, not at all. I shall have it distinctly known that you still adhere to the ci-own. I will put all the property in your name, and content myself with a soldier's fare." " And I shall then be childless and alone in the world ! " she continued in the same despairing tone. " Oh, cease, mother ; you may break my heart, but you cannot change my purpose. My word is pledged to Washington and Liberty." "It has been pledged before," was the reproachful reply. " No ! " said the young man sternly ; " do not charge me with dishonor. I can endure that from the woman to whom the miserable haphazard chance of this world and priest-craft temporarily joined me, but not from you. I never deliberately and consciously made a pledge against my present course ; and to-day I have seen a man who has taught me how I can be true to you, and at the same . time true to Liberty. You say, '-my child,' do you not realize that I am a man, who must be guided by his own independent will or be despised by all ? I have chosen my lot." With these decisive words, Saville retired to his room, that he might regain his calmness and form some plans for the future. Among his first acts during the next few weeks was the transfer of a large sum of money to Paris, subject to his own or his mother's order. Having thus cast an anchor to the windward, he felt that he had 'done much to pro- vide against the vicissitudes of that stormy period, and thus could give his thoughts more fully to the stirring work of the hour. He explained his situation, as far as a scrupulous delicacy would permit, to Captain Sears, WASHINGTON'S SERMON 53 more generally known by the sobriquet of " King " Sears, and told this recognized leader of the populace in all daring revolutionary acts, that after the few weeks re- quired to settle his affairs and provide for his mother, he would be ready to enter the regular service, and that, in the meantime, if any enterprise were on foot, he could be depended upon at any moment. His young Whig acquaintances had no further cause to complain of his absence from their councils, or of a disposition to shrink from " honest blows" if any were to be received. He found a congenial spirit in a fiery young student of King's College, whom his companions nick-named " the Little Giant," but who is now known to the world as Alexander Hamilton ; and the two young rebels plotted treason enough, in Tory estimation, to satisfy the shade of Guy Fawkes, and were quite as ready to blow up Parliament and all other anciently constituted authorities. Mrs. Saville's manner was for a time that of cold and stony despair, and considering her views and feelings, it was more real than assumed. But beneath the thick crust of her worldliness and conservatism, there was a warm, motherly heart, which soon began to yearn towards her only son, who, she now feared, might any day be lost to her forever. Her coldness soon gave place to a cling- ing tenderness, which she had never before manifested, and which made it a hundredfold harder for her son to carry out the steadfast purpose which the expression of Washington's face had inspired. Morever, such are the contradictions of woman's heart, she secretly admired her handsome son, in his buff and blue uniform, and re- spected him far more than if he had been content to re- main merely the steward of the large joint estates which her thrifty scheming had united. Both pride and indifference prevented Saville from making advances towards his wife, and there was noth- ing in her nature that would prompt to any relenting. 54 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART On the contrary, as her husband's outspoken republi- canism and skepticism were bruited through the city, her hatred grew more intense and vindictive. Not only was his opposition to church and state most offensive, but the fact that he could break her chains and ignore her ex- istence was humiliating, and taught the spoiled beauty, for the first time, that her despotic will could be disre- garded. Nothing so exasperates some natures as to be first thwarted, and then severely let alone. He scrupulously re-transferred her dower and every vestige of property to which she had the slightest claim ; and she, in impotent spite, refused to be known any longer by his name ; but the irrevocable marriage vows had been spoken, and this past act of folly, like a hidden rock had seemingly wrecked the happiness of both. They might hate each other, but they were forbidden to love any one else. CHAPTER VI "A SCENE AT BLACK SAM'S " ON the evening of the 23d of August, 1775, a large mansion standing at the corner of Broadway and Dock (now Pearl) Street, appeared to be the centre of unusual excitement, even at that time of general ferment. The place was well-known as the down-town tavern of Samuel Fraunces, who, from the swarthiness of his complexion, went by the sobriquet of " Black Sam." This tap-room and restaurant was a general resort, not only because Fraunces was the Delmonico of that day, and could serve a dinner and cater in wines better than any other man in the city, but also because Sam's patriotism ef- fervesced as readily as his champagne or strong beer ; and, it may be added, for the reason that they were often served by his pretty, black-eyed daughter, Phoebe Fraunces. To her, perhaps, in the following year, Washington owed his life, since she was able, through the confidence given her by a lover who was one of Washington's body-guard, to penetrate a Tory plot to destroy the dread commander-in-chief by poison. True- hearted Phoebe was not to be won by a lover who pro- posed to administer such potions, so, having smilingly beguiled from him his secret, she furnished him with an- other noose than that of Hymen's make, and donning her brightest petticoat, went cheerfully to his hanging. But upon this memorable occasion, she was the em- bodiment of exuberant health and spirits, and seemed as sparkling as the wines she brought to the guests that thronged this favorite haunt of the city. It was warm, and her round, stout arms were bare, and her swelling 56 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART throat and bosom snowy white, while her eyes were black as coals. But while she was coquettish and piquant, there was nothing pert or bold in her manner, and he was either drunk or brutish who gave her a wanton word the second time. In her ready tongue she carried a keener weapon than the swords that dangled and clattered at the sides of the incipient warriors on whom she waited ; and when provoked she gave thrusts which brought the hot blood at least to their faces. But while she inspired a wholesome respect, she was generally bubbling over with good humor and arch repartee, and so was a general favorite. Her mercurial nature readily caught the spirit of the hour, and to-night her dark eyes were ablaze with excitement, and her white teeth, which frequent smiles displayed, and her white neck and arms, gave to her quick movements a glancing, scintillating effect. As she flitted here and there among the noisy patriots, many an eager sentence was suspended and but lamely finished, as the speaker's eyes followed her admiringly. Little wonder that she was the blooming Hebe of this bacchanalian Elysium, for the majority habitually craved the boon of drinking to her health. She would graciously comply, and then chuckle with her father over the coins resulting, when, at the late hour (at that primitive time) of ten at night, they counted the gains of the day. It is to such places that men resort who appear to value public and purchased smiles from those who sell to all alike, more than similar glances from wives and children, which they rarely seek to win, and more rarely deserve. Phoebe was not above reaping this harvest from fools ; but she did it so fascinatingly that they felt well repaid. Black Sam, broad and swarthy, stood behind his bar, controlling and directing his large establishment from this central point like a captain on the deck of his ship. His eyes were a trifle duller than Phoebe's, and indicated that he indulged occasionally in more than the sips of a " A SCENE A T BLACK SAM'S 57 connoisseur. But to-night they glanced rapidly and shrewdly around, seeing that his daughter and her as- sistants neglected no one ; and he found time, in the meanwhile, to add a word in his heavy bass to the various pronounced political discussions and utterances going on around him. It was very evident that Sam and his patrons had little reverence for the " divinity which doth hedge a king," and these quasi subjects of George III spoke of him with a refreshing candor which it would have been well for him to have heard, for it might have saved a world of trouble. It has ever been the chief misfortune of potentates that they are surrounded by a dead wall of courtiers that excludes every rude but warning sound. Phoebe's excitable temperament correctly interpreted the occasion. There was something abroad in the air which charged the summer night with subtle and electri- fying power. Though many were evidently in ignorance, it was noted that Fraunces exchanged significant glances with several present, and seemed dilating with some por- tentous secret. His suppressed excitement grew more apparent, as his rooms filled rapidly, and the crowd in- creased about the doors. It was also observed that all the newcomers were armed, and that among the rapidly appearing faces were those which, like beacon fires, always betokened some doughty undertaking. The gen- eral stir and hoarse murmur of voices was greatly aug- mented when Saville entered with young Hamilton, fol- lowed by fifteen students from King's College, all fully armed. The latter were soon chaffing with Phoebe as they took from the tray she brought them, glasses brim- ming over with rich Madeira, for which the tavern was most famous. " With father's compliments, "' said Phoebe, courtesying. Then, boy-like, they proposed three cheers for the prince of caterers and the fair Hebe who had borne 58 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART them the nectar which he alone could furnish ; and they were given with deafening heartiness and glasses raised aloft. They were scarcely drained, before a young man, leaning upon the bar, and who was more noted for his drinking powers than his discretion, cried, " I propose another toast Saville, who is doubly to be congratulated, since he has escaped a double bondage that of King George and also of his Tory wife ; having slipped the cable of her apron-string by which " Before he could finish his sentence, Saville's fist was planted upon his mouth with such force as to send him reeling to the floor, with his glass clattering after him. Standing over the prostrate and half-tipsy man, and trembling with rage, Saville said, threateningly, " The man who dares to cast a slur upon my wife shall do so at his peril." There was the usual uproar and confused sound of conflicting voices, when a cry arose which drowned all else, " Sears, Sears, King Sears," and that great fire- brand of the American Revolution, whose headlong zeal and courage kindled so many fires of contention with the royal authorities, stood among them. " Come, come, comrades," he cried, " no need of in- terchanging blows here among yourselves. Come with me, and I will give you a crack at our common enemy. Colonel Lamb, with his artillerymen, and Captain Lasher, with his company, are marching down Broadway to take the guns at the fort, without saying so much as ' by your leave.' Who will follow me to their aid ? " There was a loud acquiescing shout, while Black Sam sprang over his bar, crying, "Lead on, King Sears, and the man who refuses to follow may choke with thirst before my hand serves him again." " A SCENE A T BLA CK SAM 1 8 ' ' 59 In Fraunces's estimation, this was the direst threat he could make, and in fact, to many present, the fulfilment would be like cutting off the springs of life. Hamilton took Saville's arm, saying, " Come, comrade, fall in. What do the maudlin words of that drunken fellow signify ? Come, you know we've grand work on hand to-night." In a few brief moments the crowded, noisy rooms were deserted. The street became full of hoarse shoutings, and the confused sound of many feet, as Sears, Hamilton, and other extemporized officers marshaled the citizen- soldiery in something like orderly array. Then from the head of the column rang out those stirring words which, though causing many hearts to bound with hope and thrill with grand excitement, have yet been the death- knell of myriads. " Forward march ! ' With strong and steady tramp the dusky figures receded towards Broadway, while Phoebe, with eyes ablaze, stood in the door waving a farewell with her handkerchief, its flutter meaning anything rather than a truce with King George's agents of oppression. Black Sam's buxom wife took his place behind the bar, while Phoebe repaired to an upper window that she might see if the English man-of-war in the harbor had anything to add to the drama of the evening. The hitherto thronged hostelry became silent, being deserted by all save a few old men whose age precluded them from taking part in the events of the night. It was an occasion when not even the famous Madeira of Sam's tavern could tempt any loyalists thither ; and such of the Whigs as were too prudent to join the raid, skulked away, much preferring to face a dozen English batteries than to hear the comments of Phoabe Fraunces upon their dis- cretion. As for the young woman nerself, she repined bitterly 60 at the usages of society which prevented her from taking hand in the promised m^lee, and was half inclined to don her father's habiliments, and be a man in spite of fate. CHAPTER VII NEW YORK UNDER FIRE COLONEL LAMB and Captain Lasher with their com- panies halted on Broadway till Sears and his following of citizens joined them ; then they proceeded at once to Fort George, which had its front on Bowling Green, and was located within the space now bounded by State, Bridge, and Whitehall Streets. Tory informers had revealed to the authorities in charge of this work the in- tended attack. In view of the overwhelming force, no resistance was made by the small garrison. Unmolested at first, the patriots went to work with feverish zeal to dismount the cannon from the bastions, and load them on the heavy wagons that came lumbering down Broad- way for the purpose. To Alexander Hamilton and his party was given the task of capturing Grand Battery, another and smaller work nearer the river, which was also accomplished with- out resistance. But the fiery young spirits composing this band were much disappointed at the quiet and peaceful nature of the enterprise thus far. " We might as well have come armed with only pickaxes and crowbars," growled Hamilton. "Yes," responded Saville, in like discontented mood. " A brigade of carmen was all that was required on this occasion. I had hoped that the night would be enlivened by a few flashes at least. Suppose we go down to the water's edge and take a look at the Asia." Securing the approval of their superior officers, and leaving a guard in charge of the work, the rest of the party 62 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART commenced patrolling the shore, casting wistful glances at the ship, whose masts and yards were faintly outlined against the sky. " Now, if we had only a dozen whale-boats," said Hamilton, " and could go out and board that old tub, we would have a night's work that would stir one's blood." " Not a little would be set running, no doubt," replied Saville ; "and it would not all be on our side either, I imagine. But see, they are waking up on board. We may have a bout with those water dogs yet." It soon became clear that there was an unusual stir and excitement on the vessel. Lights gleamed and glanced rapidly from point to point, and faint and far away came the sound of orders hastily given. Then there was a heavy splash in the water. " Hurrah! " cried Hamilton, "they are manning a boat. We will resolve ourselves into a committee of reception." The measured cadence of oars confirmed the surmise just made, and the young men eagerly pressed to the furthest point of land, and looked well to the priming of their firelocks. The barge was pulled steadily towards them until at last a dusky outline emerged from the night, and then the shadowy figures of the crew. "Make not a sound, and let them land if they will," said Hamilton in a low tone. But the barge approached warily, with lengthening rests after each dip of the oars. At last, the officer in command detected the little party in waiting, and shouted : " Who and what are you ? What deviltry's on foot to- nigh t ? " "Come and see," cried Hamilton laconically. But the officer's night-glass, together with the ominous sounds from Fort George, clearly showed that this was NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 63 not good advice under the circumstances. There was a hurried consultation, and then, whether by order or not cannot be known, some one in the boat fired a musket, and the hot young bloods, for the first time, heard the music of a whistling bullet. " Give 'em a volley quick! " cried Hamilton. Obedience to the order was indeed prompt, and yet not so hasty but that the marksmen, familiar with the rifle from boyhood, took good aim, and several in the barge were killed and wounded. The silent oars at once struck the water sharply, and the boat rapidly disap- peared towards the man-of-war ; but the young men heard enough to satisfy them that their shots had taken effect. Immediately upon the report of the first musket, Colonel Lamb, Captain Lasher, and King Sears hastened to the shore with many others, and learned from Hamilton what had occurred. In the meantime the barge reached the vessel and reported, satisfying Captain Vanderput of the Asia that the intimations he had received of the pro- posed attack upon the forts were correct. The British authorities hitherto had hesitated in taking decisive action, knowing that it would precipitate the conflict at once. But now the point of forbearance seemed passed, and he ordered the port-holes opened and the rebels dispersed by a few shots. In quick succession three flashes came from the ship's sides, and three balls plowed into the Battery. But so far from dispersing quietly, Lamb ordered the drums to beat to arms, and the church bells to be rung, and soon the silent city was in an uproar. English blood, as well as American, was now at boiling point, and the defiant sounds from the shore were no longer answered by single shots but by broadsides, the thundering echoes and crashing balls of which awoke both Whigs and Tories to the realization of the true 64 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART meaning of war. The experiences of Boston, the very thought of which had caused many to tremble, were now their own in the aggravated form of a midnight cannon- ade. Men, women, and children, many but partially clad, rushed into the streets and joined the increasing throng of fugitives that pressed towards the open country, away from the terrible monster in the harbor, whose words were iron, and whose hot breath threatened to burn their homes over their heads. Tories, as they ran, cursed the rebels, whom they regarded as the cause of the trouble ; and the Whigs anathematized British tyranny. But faster and hotter than their oaths the heavy balls crashed into their houses or over their heads, with the peculiar, demoniacal shriek of a flying shot. A night bombardment is a terrible thing for strong, brave men to endure. The roar of cannon is awe-inspir- ing in itself; but when it is remembered that every flash and thunder peal has its resistless bolt which is aimed at one's life, only those who have nerved themselves to risk their lives calmly, or who, like the patriots on the Battery, are lifted by mad excitement above all fears, can stand unmoved. But how could the sick and the aged how could helpless women and children endure such an ordeal ? Only the pitying eye of God noted all the fainting, mortal fear of those who tremblingly snatched children, treasures, or sacred heirlooms, and sought to escape. Hearts almost ceased their beating, as the terror-stricken fugitives heard balls whizzing towards them. The messengers of death might strike out of the darkness anywhere and any one. Broadway has wit- nessed many scenes, but never a more pitiable one than when, in that August midnight, a hundred years ago, it was thronged with half-clad, shrinking, sobbing women, and little children wailing for parents, lost in the dark- ness and the confusion of flight. When, at last, the open fields beyond the range of the Asia s guns were reached, NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 65 the strangely assorted 'multitude, from whom the gloom of night and common misfortune had blotted out all dis- tinctions, sat down panting and weary, and prayed for the light of day. Many who were helpless and a few who were brave remained in their homes, either in an agony of fear or in quiet resignation. Among the latter was Phoebe Fraun- ces. But there was not a particle of resignation in her nature, for she chafed around her father's tavern like a caged lioness ; and when a round shot, well and spite- fully aimed at the " pestilent rebel nest," as it was called on the Asia, crashed through the house, shattering a de- canter of Madeira that the gunner would rather have drained himself, she forgot the softness of her sex utterly, and seizing a huge cutlass that hung over the bar, and leaving her mother to recover from a fit of hysterics as best she might, she started for the scene of action in a mood that would have led her to board the Asia single- handed, had the opportunity offered. But, as she ap- proached Fort George and heard the rough voices of the men at work, her modesty regained its control, and she realized that it was scarcely proper for a young woman to be abroad and alone at that time of the night ; so, she who was ready to attack a man-of-war, turned and fled before that which a true woman fears more than an army the appearance of evil. But it would have been a woful blunder for any rude fellow to have spoken to Phoebe that night, armed as she was with the old cutlass, and abundance of muscle to wield it. His gallant ad- vances would have been cut short instantly. Although there was panic in the city, there was noth- ing of the kind within the dismantled walls of Fort George, from which the cannon were fast disappearing ; nor upon the Battery, where Colonel Lamb's artillery- men, flanked by Hamilton and his students, were drawn up, to prevent the Asia from interfering with their opera- 66 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART tions by landing a force from the vessel. But Captain Vanderput prudently contented himself with striking from a distance, supposing that the terrors of a night bombardment would soon bring the contumacious rebels to their knees. To make the warning lesson still more effectual, and to increase their punishment greatly, he ordered the guns to be loaded occasionally with the deadly grape-shot. But, in the morning, both he and the populace had a surprise. The Battery was not covered with killed and wounded. In fact, there was not a Whig to be seen, dead or alive. But neither was there a cannon to be found in the royal forts. While he had been thundering his disapproval from the harbor, the " raw militia," who, his officers jocularly asserted, " would not stop running south of King's Bridge," had steadily completed their tasks, and spirited off every gun to parts unknown. And when, in the peaceful summer morning, the fugi- tives, who had spent the night in the open air, concluded they had better go home to breakfast, and appear in less picturesque toilets, they found, instead of death, carnage, and gutters running with blood, no wounds save those which the carpenter and joiner could heal. It was an- other remarkable example of how little destruction may be caused by a bombardment even in a crowded city. The mercurial temperament of the people, which their descendants seem to have inherited, led those of Whig proclivities, who were overwhelmed with terror but a few hours previous, to react into cheerfulness and exultation. Many doughty citizens, who stole into their back en- trances, strangely appareled, soon afterwards appeared, dressed in different style, at their front doors, hoping that their flight had been covered by the darkness ; and not a few, who had made excellent time towards King's Bridge, ventured, over their dram at the corners of the NEW YORK UNDER FIRE 67 streets, to descant on ' ' the way we carried off the British bulldogs from the fort." The Tory element in the city was very quiet that day ; but a sullen, vindictive expression lowered upon many faces. The timid and conservative sighed, again and again, " Where is this thing to end ?" In a beautiful up-town villa, the face of one fair woman was often distorted with passion and hate, as she hissed, through her teeth, "He was foremost in this vile night work." But when Saville, hungry and exhausted, reached his home, his mother, who had been a sleepless watcher, only folded him in her arms, murmuring, " Thank God! you are yet spared to me." Then she gave him a breakfast that in future cam- paigning caused many a longing sigh as he remembered it. CHAPTER VIII LARRY MEETS HIS FATE HAVING completed all the arrangements possible for his mother's comfort, and settled his affairs as far as the times permitted, Saville made known his readiness to enter the regular service at any point where he could be most useful. His education as an engineer led to his being sent to Martelear's Rock (Constitution Island) in the Highlands of the Hudson. He would have much preferred serving under Washington, before Boston, but had too much of the spirit of a soldier to think of aught save prompt obedience. Having been commissioned as lieutenant, he repaired to the scene of his duties about the last of September, and found that he was to serve under an officer by the name of Colonel Romans, who had arrived on the ground with a small working force about a month earlier. He was assigned to the duty of superintending the details of labor and the carry- ing out of the plans of the chief engineer in respect to the incipient fortifications. While strolling around the rocky island, the evening after his arrival, he soon came in full view of the extreme point of land on the western shore, whereon he had seen such a strange vision a few months previous. In the press and excitement of succeeding events, the circum- stance had quite faded from his memory ; but now, with the purpose of diverting his mind from painful thoughts, he decided to solve the pretty enigma by which he had been so unexpectedly baffled. He made some inquiries of the small garrison with whom he was associated ; but they, like himself, were newcomers, and knew nothing of LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 69 the few inhabitants of the region. For several days he was too much occupied with the effort to obtain the mas- tery of his duties to think of aught else, and, when even- ing came, was well contented to climb some rocky point on the island, and rest, while he enjoyed the wonderful beauty of the landscape ; for this historic region was just as weird and lovely then as now, when it is admired by thousands of tourists. But one warm afternoon, early in October, he took with him the garrulous Larry, his body-servant, who had followed the fortunes of his master, and started in a little skiff down the river to a cottage on the western bank, which he had noted on his journey up. This might be the home of the wood-nymph, or he there might learn something about her. " Come, Larry, I want time for a little shooting after I land," said Saville, impatiently ; " so pull away, and I will steer, for the tide is against us." " I'm obleeged to yer honor," replied Larry, dryly, tugging at the oars ; " there's nothing like dewision of labor." "You can rest while I am tramping round with my gun," said Saville, who gave Larry something of the license of a court jester. " I shall expect you to wait for me where I leave you, so that there may be no delay in our return." " Faix, sur, I hope ye's gun will be more ready to go off than I'll be, arter this pull." Having descended the river half a mile below the foaming cascade now known as Buttermilk Falls, they fastened their boat and ascended the bank to the cottage, or, more correctly, log cabin. Saville quickly saw enough to convince him that this could not be the home of the young girl who sang " I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows." 70 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART A huge, fat hog reclined in the sun near the step, and chickens passed in and out of the door, as if they had equal rights with the family, while the cow-stable formed an extension to the dwelling, and was quite as well built as the rest of it. Were it not for his wish to make in- quiries, he would have turned away in disgust. But for Larry the scene appeared to have unwonted attractions. With arms akimbo he struck an attitude of admiring contemplation, as he exclaimed, " I'm glad I come wid your honor, for I've seen nothink so swate since I left the ould counthry. Now, isn't that a beautiful soight ? Pace and plenty ! 'Twas jist such a pig as that as grunted at me father's door. Faix, sur, it makes me a bit homesick ; " and Larry's shrewd, twinkling eyes grew moist from early memories. As they proceeded a little further, Larry saw that which proved quite as attractive to him as the vision of Vera had been to Saville a few months before ; but the elements of mystery and romance were wholly wanting. In a small inclosure back of the house a young Irish- woman was digging potatoes. As the men approached, she leaned leisurely upon her fork-handle, and stared at them unblenchingly. Her head was bare, but well thatched with thick, tangled tresses which were a little too fiery to be called golden. Her eyes were dark, ex- pressive, and bold ; her stout arms were red and freckled, as was also her full and rather handsome face. In sim- plicity and picturesqueness no fault could be found with her dress, for it appeared to consist only of a red petti- coat and a scant blue bodice ; but it might well have been mended at several points. Her feet and ankles were as bare as those of Maud Muller, if not so shapely and slender. But, as she stood there, aglow with exer- cise, in the afternoon sun, she seemed to Larry a genuine Irish houri the most perfect flower of the Green Isle that he had ever seen ; and he hoped that his master, who LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 71 had accosted an old woman knitting in the doorway, would keep him waiting indefinitely, so that he might make the acquaintance of this rave creature. "I'm glad to see you well, madam, and enjoying the fine afternoon," began Saville, with French suavity. " Umph ! " responded the old woman, and after looking him over briefly, went on with her knitting. "Have you any neighbors in this region?" asked Saville, undaunted by his forbidding reception. " Mighty few as is neighborly." " But there are other families living near." " A small sprinklin'." " Haven't you some neighbors further up the river, and nearly opposite the island where we are building the fort?" " Indade, an' we have not Our neighbors be dacent folks who own their land, and not skulkin' and hidin' squatters." ' i . " Would you mind taking a shilling for a bowl of milk?" said Saville, pursuing his object with a little finesse. " Now ye talk sinse," replied the old woman, rising. " No, nor two on 'em. I ax your pardon for being a bit offish, for I've seen sogers in the ould counthry, an' no good came o' 'em. Yer grinnin' man there is not a soger, be he ? " " No, indeed ; Larry is a man of peace." " 'Kase I want 'em all to understand that if any sogers come a snoopin' round here arter Molly, they'll be arter catchin' me 'stead o' her." " I don't think any will come, then," said Saville gravely. " But I'm sorry you give your neighbors up the river such a bad character." "It's not meself that gives 'em a bad character, bur their own bad dades." " Why, what have they done ? " 72 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART "That's more'n any one knows; sumpin' the ould man's mighty 'shamed on, for he won't look honest folk in the face ; and as for that wild hawk of a gal o' his'n, the less said 'bout her the better. She's kind of a witch, anyhow, and 'pears and dodges out o' sight while yer winkin'. She needn't turn up her nose at my Molly there, that's come o' dacent folk." " And has she been guilty of that offense ? " " Dade an' she has ; Molly comes 'cross her now an' thin, out berryin', and fust she tried to speak her fair, but the ill-mannered crather would kinder stare at her a minute, and thin vanish in a flash. She's larnt more o' that ould heathen black witch, as lives wid 'em, than any thin' good." " What is the name of the family ? " "That, too, is more'n anybody knows. They calls 'emselves ' Brown ' ; but I know 'tain't their name ; for it was meself that did a bit o' washin' for 'em once when the woman was sick, and there was two names on the linen, but nary one nor tother was Brown. I couldn't jist make out what they was, for I hain't good at readin' ; but one thing is sartin, husband and wife don't have two names." " Have they done anything wrong since they came here ?" " Well, I can't say they are robbin' and murderin' every night, and yet how they live nobody knows. But it's 'nuff that they're hathen. They did widout the praste in the fust place, and nary a thing have they had to do wid praste or parson since. The ould black witch worships the divil, for Molly's seen her in the woods a-goin' on as would make yer har stan' up ; and I'm a-thinkin" the divil will git 'em all ; an' he may, for all o' me." By the time Saville had finished his bowl of bread and milk, he came to the conclusion that the crone had more LARRY MEETS HIS FATE 73 spite and prejudice against her neighbors than knowledge of them. It was the old story of resentment on the part of the ignorant and the vulgar towards superiority and exclusiveness. It was very probable, however, that some guilty secret of the past led to this utter seclusion. Saville well knew that there were many hiding in the wilderness whose antecedents would not bear much light. And yet his curiosity, so far from being satisfied, was only piqued the more by the old woman's dark intima- tions. Taking his gun, he said to Larry, who was now digging potatoes vigorously, " So that is the way you are resting." " Diggin' praties is an aisy change, and kind o' home- like ; and thin, yer honor, ye wud not have me a-standin' like a great lazy lout, while a fair leddy was a-workin'." " Very well ; but save enough muscle to row me home." And he went back upon the hills in quest of game, leav- ing his deeply smitten factotum to the wiles of Molly, who, with hands upon her hips, contemplated his chivalric labors in her behalf with great complacency. " The top o' the mornm' to ye," Larry had said as he approached, doffing his hat. " Faix, an' ye're a green Irishman not to know the afthernoon from mornin'," was Molly's rather brusque greeting. " The sight o' ye wud make any time o' night or day seem the bright mornin'," was Larry's gallant re- joinder. " Ye kissed the blarney-stone afore ye left home, I'm a-thinkin'." " An' ye'll let me kiss yer own red lips, I'll dig all these praties for ye." " I see ye're good at a sharp bargain, if ye be a bit green. But I'll wait till ye dig the praties."