Part 15 (1/2)
”Ah, here is some of my own Maryland tobacco and a pipe the Germans call meerschaum; and one word more: you have infinitely obliged me and my wife. G.o.d bless you! Good-by! _Bon voyage!_ Your boat is ready, and Captain Biddle is impatient to be gone.”
In a few minutes the _Marie_, wing-and-wing, was flying down the Delaware with the first of the ebb, the skim of ice crackling at her bow and a fair wind after her. They were like enough to carry the ebb-tide with them to the capes or even to outsail it.
De Courval stood on the quarter-deck, in the clear, sharp wintry air, while the sun rose over Jersey and deepened the prevalent reds which had so struck his mother when in May, nine months before, they first saw the city. Now he recalled his sad memories of France, their unhappy poverty in England until their old notary in Paris contrived to send them the few thousand livres with which they had come to Pennsylvania with the hopes which so often deceived the emigrant, and then G.o.d had found for them friends. He saw as he thought of them, the German, who held to him some relation of affectionate nearness which was more than friends.h.i.+p and seemed like such as comes, though rarely, when the ties of blood are drawn closer by respect, service, and love. He had ceased to think of the mystery which puzzled many and of which Hamilton and Mr. Justice Wilson were believed to know more than any others. Being of the religion, he had said to Schmidt in a quiet, natural way that their coming together was providential, and the German had said: ”Why not? It was provided.” Then he saw Gainor Wynne, so st.u.r.dy and full of insistent kindness; the strong, decisive nephew; the Quaker homes; all these amazing people; and, somehow with a distinctness no other figure had, the Pearl in the sunlight of an August evening.
The name Margaret fits well--ah--yes. To sing to her the old French verse--there in the garden above the river--well, that would be pleasant--and to hear how it would sound he must try it, being in a happy mood.
The captain turned to listen, for first he whistled the air and then sang:
LE BLASON DE LA MARGUERITE
En Avril ou naquit amour, J'entrai dans son jardin un jour, Ou la beaute d'une fleurette Me plut sur celles que j'y vis.
Ce ne fut pas la paquerette, L'oeillet, la rose, ni le lys: Ce fut la belle Marguerite, Qu'au coeur j'aurai toujours ecrite.
He laughed. That would hardly do--”_au coeur ecrite_”; but then, it is only a song.
”Well sung,” said the captain, not ignorant of French. ”Do you sing that to the lady who is written in your heart?”
”Always,” laughed De Courval--”always.”
IX
It is well for us to follow the fortunes of some of those who were in De Courval's mind as the _Marie_ lost sight of the steeple of Christ Church.
Mrs. Swanwick, born in the creed and customs of the Church of England, was by many ties of kindred allied to the Masters, Willings, Morrises, and to that good Whig rector, the Rev. Richard Peters. She had conformed with some doubts to the creed of John Swanwick, her dead husband, but was of no mind to separate her daughter altogether from the gay cousins whose ways her simpler tastes in no wise always approved.
It was also black Nanny's opinion that the girl should see the gayer world, and she expressed herself on this matter to her mistress with the freedom of an old servant. She could neither read nor even tell the time, and never left the house or garden, except for church or the funeral of some relative. Just now, a week after the vicomte had gone, she was busy in the kitchen when Mrs. Swanwick came in.
”Were there many at thy cousin's burial?” asked the mistress.
”Yes, there was; but this goin' out don't agree with me. I ain't young enough to enjoy it.” Then she said abruptly: ”Miss Margaret she's pinin'
like. She ain't no Quaker--no more than me.”
Mrs. Swanwick smiled, and Nanny went on peeling potatoes.
”I don't go with Friends--I'm church people, and I likes the real quality.”
”Yes, I know, Nanny.” She had heard all this many times.
”I heard the Governor askin' you--”
”Yes, yes. I think she may go, Nanny.”
”She'll go, and some time she'll stay,” said Nanny.
”Indeed? Well--I shall see,” said the mistress.
”Potatoes ain't what they used to be, and neither is folks.”