Philip Winwood: A Sketch of the Domestic History of an American Captain in the War of Independence; Embracing Events that Occurred between and during the Years 1763 and 1786, in New York and London: written by His Enemy in War, Herbert Russell, Lieutenant in the Loyalist Forces.Stephens, Robert Neilson
History
Philip Winwood: A Sketch of the Domestic History of an American Captain in the War of Independence; Embracing Events that Occurred between and during the Years 1763 and 1786, in New York and London: written by His Enemy in War, Herbert Russell, Lieutenant in the Loyalist Forces.
Stephens, Robert Neilson
United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
"Wait and see. His being here, may not in any way concern her. Mere
coincidence, no doubt."
"I hope to God it is!" whispered Phil, though his voice quivered.
"Nay, I'll believe it is, too, till I see otherwise."
"Good! And when I learn his haunts, as I shall before I sleep, you may
find him at any time."
And so we continued to wait, keeping in the darkness, so that the
captain, even if he had deigned to be curious, could not have made out
our faces from where he stood. Philip watched him keenly, to stamp his
features upon memory, as well as they could be observed in the yellow
light of the sickly lamp; but yet, every few moments Phil cast an
eager glance at the door. I grant I was less confident that Falconer's
presence was mere coincidence, than I had appeared, and I was in a
tremble of apprehension for what Madge's coming might reveal.
The captain, who was very finely dressed, and, like us, carried a cane
but no sword, allowed impatience to show upon his usually serene
countenance: evidently he was unused to waiting in such a place, and I
wondered why he did not make free of the greenroom instead of doing
so. But he composed himself to patience as with a long breath, and
fell to humming softly a gay French air the while he stood leaning
motionlessly, in an odd but graceful attitude, upon his slender cane.
Sometimes he glanced back toward the waiting coach, and then, without
change of position as to his body, returned his gaze to the door.
Two or three false alarms were occasioned him, and us, by the coming
forth of ladies who proved, as soon as the light struck them, to be
other than the person we awaited. But at last she appeared, looking
her years and cares a little more than upon the stage, but still
beautiful and girlish. She was followed by a young waiting-woman; but
before we had time to note this, or to step out of the shadow, we saw
Captain Falconer bound across the way, seize her hand, and bend very
gallantly to kiss it.
So, then, it was for her he had waited: such was the bitter thought of
Phil and me; and how our hearts sickened at it, may be imagined when I
say that his hope and mine, though unexpressed, had been to find her
penitent and hence worthy of all forgiveness, in which case she would
not have renewed even acquaintance with this captain. And there he
was, kissing her hand!
But ere either of us could put our thought into speech, our sunken
hearts were suddenly revived, by Madge's conduct.
She drew her hand instantly away, and as soon as she saw who it was
that had seized it, she took on a look of extreme annoyance and anger,
and would have hastened past him, but that he stood right in her way.
"You again!" she said. "Has my absence been for nothing, then?"
"Had you stayed from London twice three years, you would have found me
the same, madam," he replied.
"Then I must leave London again, that's all," said she.
"It shall be with me, then," said he. "My coach is waiting yonder."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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