For Love of Country, Cyrus Townsend Brady [best romance books of all time .TXT] 📗

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"It was nothing," she said simply; "I loved to do it; he was your friend. It seemed to bring me closer to you." Then she told him of the foundering of the ship, of the frightful voyage in the boat, and rang the changes upon Desborough's name, his cheerfulness, his unfailing zeal and energy, until Seymour's heart filled with jealous pain.

"Kate," he said at last, "as I came up the road I saw a man leave the boat-house and climb the hill; who was it?"

"It was Lord Desborough, John."

Seymour was human, and filled with human feeling. He drew away from her.

"What was he doing here?" he said coldly. She smiled at him merrily.

"Bidding me good-by. He was made prisoner, of course, by the first soldier we came across after we landed, and has been spending the days of his captivity with us. He was exchanged to-day, and leaves to-night."

"Katharine, he was in love with you!" he said, with what seemed to him marvellous perspicacity.

"Yes, John," she answered, still smiling.

"Was he making love to you here?"

"Yes."

"And you? You praise this man, you like him, you--"

"I think him the bravest man, the truest gentleman in the world--except this one," she said, laying her hand upon his shoulder and her head upon his breast. "No, no; he pleaded in vain. I only pitied him; I loved you. Do not be jealous, foolish boy. No one should have me. I am yours alone."

"But if I had not come back, Kate,--how then?"

"It would have made no difference. I told him so."

Neither of them in their mutual absorption had noticed that a horse had stopped in the road opposite the boat-house, and a horseman had walked to the door and had halted at the sight which met his eyes. Desborough recognized Seymour at once, and he had unwittingly heard the end of the conversation. He was the second. The man was back again. It was true. The gallant gentleman stood still a moment, making no sound, then turned back and mounted his horse, and rode madly away with despair in his heart.

"Oh, Katharine," Seymour said at last, "do you know that I am a poor man now? Lame! See, I can no longer walk straight." He stood up. "Poor surgery after the battle did that."

"The more reason that in the future you should not go alone," she said softly, standing by his side.

"And with but one arm," he continued.

"No, three," she said again, "for here are two."

"Besides, my trading ships have been captured by the enemy, my private fortune has been spent for the cause. I am a poor man in every sense."

"Nay, John, you are a rich man," she said gayly.

"Oh, yes, rich in your love, Katharine."

"Yes, that of course, if that be riches, and richer in honor too; but that's not all."

"What else pray, dearest?"

"Did you know that Madam Talbot had died?" she answered, with apparent irrelevance.

"No, but I am not surprised at it. After her son's death I expected it, poor lady. He loved you too, Kate. We fought about you once," he said; and then he told her briefly of Talbot's end, his burial, the interview he had with Talbot's mother, and the letter.

"I have seen that letter since I returned," she said. "It is at Fairview Hall now awaiting you, awaiting its master like the other things there,--and here. Shall we live there, think you, John?"

"Awaiting me! Its master! Live there! What mean you, Kate?" he cried in surprise.

"Yes, yes, it is all yours," she replied, laughing at his astonishment. "A codicil to her will, written and signed the day before she died, the day after you saw her, left it all to you. It was to have been her son's and then mine; and when she believed us dead, as she had no relatives in this land she left it to you, 'As,' I quote her own words, 'a true and noble gentleman who honors any cause, however mistaken, to which he may give his allegiance.' I quote them, but they are my own words as well. You are a rich man, John, and the two estates will come together as father and Madam Talbot had hoped, after all."

"I am glad, Kate, for your sake."

"It is nothing. I should have taken you, if you had nothing at all."

A young man ran down the little pier and into the house at this moment. "Kate," he cried, "where are you? It is so dark here I can hardly see-- Ah, there you are!" he ran forward and kissed her boisterously. "You 'll have to forgive me, I could not wait any longer, Captain Seymour. Father rode down the hill after Lord Desborough galloped by me, and met me there, waiting. Oh, I was so glad to know you were alive again! We felt like a pair of murderers, did n't we, Captain Seymour? Father told me you were here, Kate, and then we waited until now, to give you a little time, and then I could n't stand it any longer, I had to see you. Father's coming too, but I ran ahead."

"Why, Philip," cried Kate, as soon as he gave her an opportunity, kissing him again and laughing light-heartedly as she has not done for days, "how you have grown! You are quite a man now."

"It is entirely due to Philip, Katharine, that I am here," said Seymour. "He commanded the little brig which ran down to the Yarmouth at the risk of destruction, and picked me up. Disobeyed orders too, the young rogue. He brought me into Charleston, nursed me like a woman, and then brought me here. I should have died without him."

"Oh, Philip," said the delighted girl, kissing the proud and happy youngster with more warmth than he had ever known before, "promise me always to disobey your orders. How can I thank you!"

"Very bad advice that. Promise nothing of the kind, Philip; but what are you thanking him for, Kate?" said the cheery voice of the colonel as he came in the door.

"Thanking him for Seymour, father."

"Ah, my boy," said the colonel, grasping his hand, "you don't know how glad I am to see you. It is like one returning from the dead. But it is late and cold and quite dark. Supper is ready, let us go up to the Hall. I shall see the Naval Commissioners in a few days, Seymour, and get you another and a better ship. The country is full of your action; they 've struck a medal for you and voted you prize money and thanks, and all that. I make no doubt I can get you the best ship there is on the ways, or planned. 'T was a most heroic action--"

"Not now, father," said Katharine, jealously, throwing her arm about her lover. "He shall not, cannot, go now; he must have rest for a long time, and he must have me! We are to be married as soon as he is well, and the country must wait. Is it not so, John?"

"What's that?" said the colonel, pretending great surprise.

"Sir," answered Seymour, nervously, "I have something to say to you,--something I must say. Will you give me the privilege of a few moments' conversation with you?"

"Seymour," said the colonel, smiling, "you asked me that once before, did you not?"

"Yes, sir, I believe so."

"And I answered you--how?"

"Why, you said, if my memory serves me, that you--"

"Exactly, that I would see you after supper, and so I will. Come, children, let us go in; this time I warrant you there will be no interruptions."

The father and son turned considerately and walked away, leaving the two lovers to follow.

"You won't leave me, John, will you, now that you have just come back?"

"No, Kate, not now; I am good for nothing until I get strong."

"Good for me, though; but when you do get strong?"

"Then, if my country needs me, dearest, I shall have to go. But I fear there will be no more ships of ours to get to sea, the blockade is getting more strict every day. I can be a soldier, though. No, Kate, do not beg me. My duty to my country constrains me."

"Don't talk about it now, then, John. At least I shall have you for a long time; it will be long before you are well again."

"Yes, I fear so," he said with a sigh.

"Why do you sigh, dearest?"

"Because I want to stay with you, and I ought to welcome any opportunity to enter active service. Think what old Bentley would say."

"Old Bentley did not love you," she replied quickly, with a jealous pang.

"Ah, did he not!" said Seymour, softly.

There was a long pause.

"Well," said Katharine at last, "I suppose nothing will move you if your duty calls you, but I warn you if you get killed again, I shall die. I could not stand it another time," she cried piteously.

"Well, dearest, I shall try to live for you. Now we must go to the Hall."

But, to anticipate, fate would be kinder toward Katharine in the future than she had been in the past and it was many a day before her lover, her husband rather, was able to get to sea; and, as if they had suffered enough, he went through the rest of the war on land and sea scatheless, and was one of those who stood beside the great commander before the trenches of Yorktown, when the British soldiers laid down their arms. But this was all of the future, and now they turned quietly and somewhat sadly to follow the others.

This time it was Katharine who helped Seymour up the hill. Slowly, hand in hand, they walked across the lawn, up the steps of the porch, and toward the door of the Hall. The night had fallen, and the house was filled with a soft light from the wax candles. They paused a moment on the threshhold; Katharine resolutely mastered her fears and resolved to be happy in the present, then, heedless of all who might see, she kissed him.

"Home at last, John," she said, beaming upon him. And there, with the dark behind, and the light before, we may say good-by to them.