Part 49 (1/2)
”Yes. I used to say no to men, and think no more of the thing or of them, but I am troubled; and this awful war! I am grown older, and to hurt a man--a man like you--gives me pain as it did not use to do.”
”But you have not said no,” said I; ”and I am an obstinate man.”
”Why will you force me to say no? Why should I? You know well enough what I think and feel. Why insist that I put it in words? It were kinder--not to urge me.”
It seemed a strange speech. I said I did not understand her.
”Then you had better go. I am engaged to Mr. Arthur Wynne, sir. I have had no word of him for a year, and can get no letter to him.”
I might have given her Miss Franks's letter, and poured out to her the story of his treachery and baseness. I may have been wrong, but something in me forbade it, and I preferred to wait yet longer.
”Shall I get you a letter through the lines? I can.”
”You are a strange man, Mr. Wynne, and an honest gentleman. No, you cannot do me this service. I thank you.”
”Then good-by; and it is love to the end, Darthea.”
”I wish you would go,” she said faintly.
”Good-by,” I repeated, and rose.
”Come and see me some day when you can,--not now, not this time,--and do not think ill of me.”
”Think ill of you! Why should I?”
”Yes! yes!”
I did not understand her, but I saw that she was shaken by some great emotion. Then she spoke:
”I have given my word, Mr. Wynne, and _I_ do not lightly break it.
Perhaps, like some men, you may think that women have no such sense of honour as men believe to be theirs.”
”But do you love him, Darthea?”
”He is not here to answer you?” she cried, looking up at me steadily, her eyes ablaze. ”Nor will I. You have no right to question me--none!”
”I have every right,” I said.
”Oh, will you never go away?” And she stamped one little foot impatiently. ”If you don't go I shall hate you, and I--I don't want to hate you, Hugh Wynne.”
I stood a moment, and once more the temptation to tell her all I knew was strong upon me, but, as she said, Arthur was not here; first I must tell him face to face, and after that G.o.d alone knew what might come. I must tell him, too, with such proof as neither her love nor his subtlety could gainsay. And when this hour came--what then? If I killed him,--and I meant to,--what of Darthea? That would end my slender chance, and yet I knew myself so surely as to be certain that, when the hour came, no human consideration would be listened to for a moment. I could hate in those days, and I did. If I had had the a.s.sured love of Darthea, I should perhaps have hesitated; but not having it, I only longed once to have that man at the point of the sword. It is all very savage and brutal, but in those my young days men loved and hated as I do not think they do of late. It was a strong and a choleric generation, but we did some things for which the world should thank us.
XXVII
By the 7th of September Marquis Lafayette was holding the neck of the peninsula of York. A more daring man than Cornwallis would have tried a fall with this army, but he waited for a fleet to relieve him, and behold! none came save that of De Gra.s.se. By September 26 sixteen thousand men were added to those of the marquis, and lay about Williamsburg. Our quiet old hawk had my lord in his clutches, and meant no long delay.
Not to be in advance of the army, his Excellency, who left Philadelphia before us, lingered a few days on the way to visit the home he had not seen for six long years, and we of the staff followed him the day after.
Both in town and on the march through Delaware I was occupied as I had never been in my life. The French marched with us, and to keep things straight duplicate orders in both tongues were needed, and there were notes, letters, and despatches to be done into French or English. An aide who spoke French fluently was apt to be in the saddle whenever his pen was not in use.