Maryland -- History -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
I went slowly upstairs, threw off my clothes mechanically, and tumbled
into bed. The captain had long been asleep. By the exertion of all the
will power I could command, I was able gradually to think more and more
soberly, and the more I thought, the more absurd, impossible, it seemed
that I, a rough provincial not yet of age, should possess the heart of a
beauty who had but to choose from the best of all England. An hundred
times I went over the scene of poor Comyn's proposal, nay, saw it
vividly, as though the whole of it had been acted before me: and as I
became calmer, the plainer I perceived that Dorothy, thinking me dead,
was willing to let Comyn believe that she had loved me, and had so eased
the soreness of her refusal. Perhaps, in truth, a sentiment had sprung
up in her breast when she heard of my disappearance, which she mistook
for love. But surely the impulse that sent her to Castle Yard was not
the same as that Comyn had depicted: it was merely the survival of the
fancy of a little girl in a grass-stained frock, who had romped on the
lawn at Carvel Hall. I sighed as I remembered the sun and the flowers
and the blue Chesapeake, and recalled the very toss of her head when she
had said she would marry nothing less than a duke.
Alas, Dolly, perchance it was to be nothing more than a duke! The
bloated face and beady eyes and the broad crooked back I had seen that
day in Arlington Street rose before me,--I should know his Grace of
Chartersea again were I to meet him in purgatory. Was it, indeed,
possible that I could prevent her marriage with this man? I fell asleep,
repeating the query, as the dawn was sifting through the blinds.
I awakened late. Banks was already there to dress me, to congratulate me
as discreetly as a well-trained servant should; nor did he remind me of
the fact that he had offered to lend me money, for which omission I liked
him the better. In the parlour I found the captain sipping his chocolate
and reading his morning Chronicle, as though all his life he had done
nothing else.
"Good morning, captain." And fetching him a lick on the back that nearly
upset his bowl, I cried as heartily as I could:
"Egad, if our luck holds, we'll be sailing before the week is out."
But he looked troubled. He hemmed and hawed, and finally broke out into
Scotch:
"Indeed, laddie, y'ell no be leaving Miss Dorothy for me."
"What nonsense has Comyn put into your head?" I demanded, with a stitch
in my side; I am no more to Miss Manners than--"
"Than John Paul! Faith, y'ell not make me believe that. Ah, Richard,"
said he, "ye're a sly dog. You and I have been as thick these twa months
as men can well live, and never a word out of you of the most sublime
creature that walks. I have seen women in many countries, lad, beauties
to set thoughts afire and swords a-play,--and 'tis not her beauty alone.
She hath a spirit for a queen to covet, and air and carriage, too."
This eloquent harangue left me purple.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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