Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
I bowed to him again and to the Governor, then gave my hand to Mistress
Percy. The crowd opening before us, we passed through it, and crossed
the parade by the west bulwark. At the further end was a bit of rising
ground. This we mounted; then, before descending the other side into the
lane leading to the minister's house, we turned as by one impulse and
looked back. Life is like one of those endless Italian corridors,
painted, picture after picture, by a master hand; and man is the
traveller through it, taking his eyes from one scene but to rest them
upon another. Some remain a blur in his mind; some he remembers not; for
some he has but to close his eyes and he sees them again, line for line,
tint for tint, the whole spirit of the piece. I close my eyes, and I see
the sunshine hot and bright, the blue of the skies, the sheen of the
river. The sails are white again upon boats long lost; the _Santa
Teresa_, sunk in a fight with an Algerine rover two years afterward,
rides at anchor there forever in the James, her crew in the waist and
the rigging, her master and his mates on the poop, above them the flag.
I see the plain at our feet and the crowd beyond, all staring with
upturned faces; and standing out from the group of perplexed and
wondering dignitaries a man in black and scarlet, one hand busy at his
mouth, the other clenched upon the newly restored and unsheathed sword.
And I see, standing on the green hillock, hand in hand, us two,--myself
and the woman so near to me, and yet so far away that a common enemy
seemed our only tie.
We turned and descended to the green lane and the deserted houses. When
we were quite hidden from those we had left on the bank below the fort,
she dropped my hand and moved to the other side of the lane; and thus,
with never a word to spare, we walked sedately on until we reached the
minister's house.
CHAPTER IX
In which Two Drink of One Cup
Waiting for us in the doorway we found Master Jeremy Sparrow, relieved
of his battered armour, his face wreathed with hospitable smiles, and a
posy in his hand.
"When the Spaniard turned out to be only the King's minion, I slipped
away to see that all was in order," he said genially. "Here are roses,
madam, that you are not to treat as you did those others."
She took them from him with a smile, and we went into the house to find
three fair large rooms, something bare of furnishing, but clean and
sweet, with here and there a bow pot of newly gathered flowers, a dish
of wardens on the table, and a cool air laden with the fragrance of the
pine blowing through the open window.
"This is your demesne," quoth the minister. "I have worthy Master
Bucke's own chamber upstairs. Ah, good man, I wish he may quickly
recover his strength and come back to his own, and so relieve me of the
burden of all this luxury. I, whom nature meant for an eremite, have no
business in kings' chambers such as these."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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