Part 17 (1/2)
Pompey, somewhat alarmed at the tone and catching sight of Betty's white face and burning eyes, vanished on the instant. The girls drew into the shadow as far as they were able, and holding their breath peered into the darkness.
”What is that?” whispered Kitty, as a swift footstep crossed the piazza.
”Oh, 'tis Yorke! Have a care, Betty, or we are discovered,” and she endeavored to drag her farther back against the wall. As she did so, the crouching figure of a man rose up against the trunk of one of the oak-trees on the lawn; it was Oliver. His padded coat cast off, they could dimly distinguish his tall slender form. Some singular instinct for which he could never account made Yorke pause as he set his foot on the threshold of the front door; he wheeled just in time to see Betty's face, as one pale ray from a distant lantern fell across it.
”Betty, what are you doing here?” he cried, darting to her side. At that instant a sound of voices broke on the stillness of the night; it came from behind the mansion in the direction of the pine woods.
”Kitty is ill,” faltered Betty. ”I am taking her home--do not, I pray you, detain me--oh, there is Pompey”--as the welcome sound of sleigh-bells rang out on the frosty air. ”Geoffrey, Geoffrey, let me go!”
Her tone of agonized supplication went to Geoffrey's heart. Kitty flew down the steps into the sleigh, una.s.sisted, and Betty followed, her hand in Yorke's. There arose a hoa.r.s.e shout ”The spy, the spy--he has escaped by the road!” and as Betty set her foot on the runner, a dark figure vaulted over Kitty and buried itself in the robes at the bottom of the sleigh.
”At last, sweetheart, I pay my debt,” whispered Yorke in her ear, as he thrust Betty safely into the seat. ”Pompey, drive for your life!” The startled negro needed no second bidding, down came the whip-lash on the horses' backs, and with a furious plunge, a mad rear, they were off, a quarter of a mile ahead before their pursuers turned the corner of the mansion.
Oh, that wild race through the snow! Even in after years, when long days of happiness had crowded out much of those stirring times from Betty's mind, a shudder would creep over her, and closing her eyes she could see again the tall gaunt trees, the frozen road, the snow that glittered so still and cold in the cruel starlight, and hear the distant shouts that she feared told of pursuit. On they flew, Oliver giving occasional directions to the trembling and excited Pompey. Now that he knew the danger, the faithful negro would have died sooner than fail to carry the fugitive into comparative safety. On, through the Lispenard meadows, on,--until they struck Broadway; no pursuers within sight, and at Crown Street Oliver bade him turn in the direction of the river, and drive down until he reached the slip which lay at the foot of the street. All was still. Save an occasional belated pedestrian, nothing seemed stirring, and as they neared the dingy old tavern at the Sign of the St.u.r.dy Beggar, Pompey pulled up his smoking, panting horses.
”Don't want to got too near dose lights,” he said, pointing to the swinging lantern which adorned the hostelry; ”da.r.s.en't let n.o.body see my young mistress; Ma.s.sa Gulian would flog Pompey for shuah if dis tale gets tole.”
”You're right, Pompey,” answered Oliver, springing up and flinging the long dark cloak with which Betty had provided herself around his shoulders; ”take the ladies home slowly. Kitty, my beloved, farewell--farewell, Betty, brave little soul that you are; I'll tell my father how your quick wits came to my relief. Here I cross the river on the ice, and, G.o.d willing, reach the commander-in-chief with the tidings he desires by eight o'clock in the morning.”
A sob from Kitty, a low ”G.o.d guard you!” from Betty, and Oliver vanished as Pompey turned his horses and proceeded leisurely back to Broadway.
The girls were literally too spent with emotion to do more than sink down breathless among the fur robes, and not one word did they exchange as they drove through Wall Street and finally drew up at the Verplancks'
door. On the steps stood Gulian, a tall and silent figure, awaiting the truants.
”What does this mean?” he began sternly, as he lifted Kitty out. ”Did the hue and cry for that wretched, miserable Whig spy frighten the horses? Clarissa is nearly distracted”--
”I will explain all to your satisfaction,” interrupted Betty. ”Meantime, listen, and be thankful;” and as she held up a warning hand, they heard through the stillness of the night the watchman's distant cry float down the frosty air:--
”Half past three o'clock--and all's--well!”
CHAPTER XV
LOVE OR LOYALTY
”Do you mean to tell me that you, Clarissa's sister, had anything to do with the escape of a Whig spy?”
”Even so,” said Betty calmly, though her face was pale and her brilliant eyes burning with excitement.
”d.a.m.nation!” retorted Gulian angrily. ”Even your mistaken ideas of patriotism could hardly carry a well-behaved maiden so far.”
”Gulian! how _dare_ you!”
”What am I to conclude?” with a scornful wave of his hand; ”your story is somewhat disjointed. Kitty is taken ill; you suddenly decide to carry her off in my sleigh without farewell of any kind to your hostess, without paying your sister or me the respect to ask permission. Then you state that a man--confound the beggar's impudence!--sprang into the sleigh, and you were foolish enough to fetch him out of the danger of pursuit, all because of loyalty to the cause of so-called freedom. I cannot understand--Stay! Captain Yorke was on the steps as I came out, hearing the shouts; did he witness this extraordinary occurrence?”
”I told you the fugitive had concealed himself in the bottom of the sleigh before I entered it,” said Betty, terror seizing her lest a chance word should implicate Geoffrey in the matter. ”Would you have me turn a helpless man loose among your Hessians? I have too vivid recollection of Nathan Hale's fate to contribute another victim to English mercy.”
The taunt stung Verplanck, for, like many of the more liberal Tories, he had deeply deplored the tragic ending of the gallant Hale, although forced to regard it as one of the stern necessities of war. He bit his lip as he answered:--
”Thank you, Betty; I am glad Clarissa does not regard me as quite so bloodthirsty as you evidently deem me.” Then, eying her keenly, as if struck by a sudden thought, ”Did you know the man, or was it all pure patriotism?”