CHAPTER XXII

All the outdoor world seemed encased in burnished silver, as the new

moon of early December came up from the black bed of the ocean's

far-out rim, and mounting high and higher in the pale flush yet

lingering from the gorgeous sunset, brought out sparklings from the

snow drifted over the fields and fences of the old town.

The roads were transformed into pavements of glittering mosaics and

pellucid crystals; and all about the Devereux house the meadow lands

stretched away like a shining sea whose waves had suddenly congealed,

catching and holding jewels in their white depths.

Dorothy was looking out at the beauty of it all, her face close to the

pane her warm breath dimmed now and then, compelling her to raise a

small hand to make it clear again for her vision.

It was her brother's wedding night. And the girl was very fair and

sweet to look upon, in her soft pink gown, with its dainty laces and

ribbons, as she stood there awaiting the others; for they were all to

drive into town, to the house of Mistress Horton, where the marriage

was to be celebrated.

Nicholson Broughton was away from his home, enforced to tarry near

Cambridge, where several of his townsmen were holding weighty conclaves

which it was important for him to attend. But he had urged John

Devereux to make no delay in the ceremony, feeling that his daughter,

once wedded, and an established member of the family at the Devereux

farm, would be happier, as well as safer, now that riots in the town

were becoming more frequent and fierce.

Hugh Knollys also was absent, having undertaken an important mission in

the neighborhood of Boston.

Only the young man himself knew how eagerly he had desired to be given

this responsibility, as a reason for being away. For as the time drew

near for his friend's wedding, he feared to trust his self-control

should he find himself again in Dorothy's presence.

And then, besides, the hated redcoats were still on the Neck, and

several of the officers, among them Cornet Southorn, having accepted

more comfortable quarters at Jameson's house, Hugh thought it the wiser

course to remove himself from the vicinity for a time.

It seemed as though these two young men were continually meeting one

another on the roads and byways of the town and its neighborhood. And

the sight of the stalwart form dashing along upon a spirited horse,--of

the handsome face and reckless eyes, raised in Hugh a fierce desire to

lay them in the dust through the medium of an enforced quarrel.

Dorothy had been by Hugh's side at several of these encounters; and it

had made him heartsick to see the fluttered way in which her eyes would

turn from the young Britisher after meeting his ardent gaze, and how

for a time she would be uneasy and abstracted, resisting all attempts

to gain her attention.

But he bravely held his own counsel, and since that memorable day in

October had never mentioned the Englishman's name, nor made any

allusion to him or his doings.

As for Dorothy, she had gone about all these days with a face grave

almost to sadness; and it was well for her own peace that the others of

the family ascribed her altered mien to jealousy, thinking that her

exacting heart found it a hard matter to share her adored brother with

another whom he reckoned more precious than her own spoiled self.

Her musings were now disturbed by Jack coming into the room.

He looked the brave soldier in his new regimentals,--a round jacket and

breeches of blue cloth, with trimmings of leather buttons; and his dark

handsome face was aglow with happiness.

His curling locks were gathered at the back of the neck, and tied with

a black watered-silk ribbon; and in his hand was a broad-brimmed hat,

caught up on one side, as was the fashion, and adorned with a cockade

of blue ribbons belonging to his sweetheart.

"Ah, Dot, and so you are here! Leet is at the door, child, and Aunt

Lettice and 'Bitha are with father, in the drawing-room, all ready to

start. Come, get your cloak, and let us be off."

He was close beside her as she turned from the window; and thinking he

saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes, he laid a detaining hand on her

arm.

"You must be happy to-night, Dot," he said, "for my sake. I should

like all the world to be so, and you, my little sister, more than all

the rest."

She let him kiss her on the cheek, but stood silent, with lowered eyes.

"What is it, child,--don't you rejoice with me, when I am happier than

ever before in my life?"

He gently took her chin in his hand and raised her downcast face. In

an instant her arms were clasped about his neck and her head buried

against his breast.

Just then they heard Aunt Lettice, in the hall, calling as if she

supposed Dorothy to be above stairs.

"Come, Dot," urged her brother,--"they are waiting for us, and we must

be off." And kissing her, he quietly unclasped her clinging arms.

At this she drew herself away from him, and fixing her eyes searchingly

upon his face, said, "You are so happy, Jack, are n't you, because you

and Mary love each other?"

"Why, surely," he replied, wondering at the words, and at her way of

speaking them. But he smiled as he looked into her troubled face.

"Do you not think, Jack," she asked, still with that strange look in

her eyes, "that when love comes in, it changes all of one's world?"

He now laughed outright. But she paid no attention to his gayety,

going on in a way to have troubled him had he been less selfishly happy

at the moment, "If you know this so well, Jack, you will never cease to

love me, if ever love comes to change my own world, the same as it has

yours? No matter what you may feel is wrong about it, you will not

blame me?"

"Why, Dot, little girl, whatever are you dreaming about,--what should

make you talk in this way?" And he looked at her with real anxiety.

But she only laughed, and passing her hand across her eyes, answered

nervously, "I don't know, Jack,--I was but thinking on future

possibilities."

"Rather upon the most remote impossibilities," he said laughingly.

"But come, child, think no more of anything but this,--that 't is high

time for you to put on your cloak and come to see your brother take

unto himself a wife, who is to be your own dear sister."

"I am glad it is Mary Broughton," Dorothy said quietly, as she took her

cloak from a chair.

"So am I," he laughed, as he wrapped the warm garment about her,

shutting away all her pink sweetness with its heavy folds. Then, while

he helped her to draw the hood over her curly head, "What if it were

Polly Chine, now?"

"Then," she answered with an odd smile, "you would have to fight Hugh

Knollys."

They were passing through the door, and he said with a keen glance at

her, "I've good cause to know better than that, Dot."

But she gave no heed to this, and they joined the others outside.

The old family sleigh moved sedately along the hard, snow-packed road,

the moon making a shadowy, grotesque mass of it along the high drifts,

while Leet, enveloped in furs, sat soberly erect, full of the

importance now attaching to him.

When they were well on their way, a body of mounted Britishers swept

by, evidently bound for the town; and Joseph Devereux remarked to his

son, as the two sat opposite one another, while Dorothy, riding

backwards with her brother, seemed lost in the contemplation of the

snowy fields they were passing, "I trust, Jack, those fellows will stir

up no trouble this night."

"They are most likely to do so," was the low-spoken reply; "for you

know the mere sight of their red coats acts upon our men much as the

like color affects an angry bull."

"I wish they might be ordered from the Neck," observed Aunt Lettice,

who sat alongside her brother-in-law, and had caught enough to guess at

the rest of the talk.

"They must wish so themselves, by this time," Jack said with a laugh.

"It must now be rarely cold quarters for them over there."

"Why did you not ask them to your wedding, Cousin Jack?"

The question came from small 'Bitha, who was sitting between Dorothy

and her brother. "I wonder if the one Mary pushed over the rocks last

summer would not like to see her married?"

"'Bitha!" Dorothy exclaimed sharply, seeming to awaken to what was

being said. "Why will you always put it so? Mary did not push him

over; he fell himself."

"Aye,--but, Cousin Dot, he fell over while he was stepping back from

her," the child answered. "She looked so angry that I think he was

sorely frightened."

Dorothy did not reply; but her brother said gayly, "Well, 'Bitha, I

hope Mary will never look at me in a way to frighten me so much as

that."

"She never would," 'Bitha asserted with confidence, "for you are not a

Britisher."

"What a stanch little rebel it is," Joseph Devereux said laughingly;

and Jack went on in a teasing way to 'Bitha, "I expect we shall all go

to see 'Bitha married to a redcoat as soon as she is big enough."

"You will see no such thing, Cousin Jack," the child replied angrily.

"I'd run away, so that no one could ever find me, before I'd do such a

thing. Would not you, Cousin Dorothy?"

Dorothy did not answer, and 'Bitha repeated the question.

"Would I do what, 'Bitha?" Dorothy now asked, but indifferently, and as

though with the object of quieting the child.

"Why, marry a redcoat?"

"Nonsense, 'Bitha,--don't let Jack tease you." And Dorothy turned away

again to look off over the snow fields through which they were passing.

But she wondered if the others noticed how oddly her voice sounded, and

what a tremble there was in it.

The Horton house loomed up full of importance from amid its darker

fellows, and warm lights twinkled out here and there where a parted

curtain let them through to shine forth like welcoming smiles into the

cold night.

Within there was much bustle and good-natured badinage, as the

neighbors, bidden to the feast, assisted the people of the

house,--playing the part of entertainer or caterer, hairdresser or

maid, as the needs of the other guests demanded.

It was a simple, homely wedding, as was the custom of the day; and the

festivities were enjoyed with all the more zest by reason of the relief

they offered from the anxiety felt by all, on account of the disturbed

condition of public affairs.

There were games--such as "Twirl the Trencher" and "Hunt the

Slipper"--for those who liked them; and the elders endeavored to enter

at least into the spirit of all that was going on, and not dampen the

younger folks' pleasure by the exhibition of gloomy faces and

constrained actions.

Later in the evening there was dancing. And it was a goodly sight to

look at the handsome groom and his lovely bride go through the stately

minuet, with his father and Aunt Lettice opposite them,--the slow,

dignified step making the feat a no-wise difficult one for the old

gentleman, who had in his day been accounted one of the most graceful

of dancers.

Dorothy acted for a time as though she were made of quicksilver. She

was leader in all the games and frolics, and seemed the very

impersonation of happy, laughter-loving girlhood. Then, and without

any apparent reason, another and different mood took possession of her,

and she suddenly became very quiet, taking but little part in what was

going on.

Her father's fond eyes were quick to notice this; but when he hastened

to draw her to one side and ask for the cause, she made light of his

anxiety, and gave him a smiling assurance of her perfect well-being.

As a matter of fact, something had occurred to disturb the girl very

seriously.

During one of the games she had been alone for a few minutes in a room

facing upon the side yard,--a small orchard; and chancing to glance

toward the window, she saw, as if pressed against the glass, the face

of Cornet Southorn.

While she stood, silent and rigid, staring at it, the face disappeared;

and some of the other guests now entering the room, she slipped away to

recover her composure.

What, she asked herself, did he seek, and why was he here? She

dismissed at once the thought of his meaning any harm, for surely he

would not bring about any disturbance upon this, her brother's wedding

night. And even should he seek to intrude himself upon them, there

could be no just cause to warrant such an act, for although the King

might expect to enforce the Acts of his Parliament, he had not as yet

sought to control the marrying or giving in marriage of his American

subjects.

But even so, she was startled, almost alarmed; and the matter filled

her thoughts for the remainder of the evening.

It had been arranged that Aunt Lettice and 'Bitha were to remain with

the Hortons for a time, while Joseph Devereux was to accept the

invitation of his friend, Colonel Lee, to pass a few days at the

latter's house, not far away.

This would make the bride and groom the only ones who would return with

Leet to the farm, as Dorothy was going to the home of a girl friend,

feeling that it would be a relief to be among new faces and in a

strange house.

"Dorothy, are you going to let me be a good sister to you,--one of the

sort you will come to with all your joys and troubles?"

The two girls were standing close to each other in one of the upper

rooms, where Mary was donning a dark gray slip pelisse and hood, with

warm fur linings peeping about the edges, while Mistress Horton was

bustling about out of earshot, getting some last stray articles bundled

for their conveyance to the sleigh waiting below.

The earnest blue eyes were bent searchingly upon Dorothy's face, as if

the speaker had more than a passing notion of the impulses stirring the

heart lying beneath the laces of the dainty pink gown.

But Dorothy laughed, albeit a little constrainedly, and replied, "I

thought you knew all about that long ago, Mary."

"Do you know, Dot,"--and Mary's white brows contracted into a puzzled

frown--"somehow you are changed. What is it, dear?"

"Your imaginings, I should say," was the careless reply. "My hair is

not turning gray, is it?" And she touched her dark curls.

"Well, never mind now," said Mary, diplomatically, and not caring to

press the matter, "but you will tell me when we are together again,

won't you, Dot?"

Dorothy only smiled, and said nothing.

Jack had spoken to Mary more than once of some change that had come

over his sister. But his words were not needed, as she herself, not

having seen much of the girl these last few months, would have observed

it had he not spoken.

Dorothy was as impulsive and affectionate as of old, but to Mary's keen

eyes there now seemed a new-born womanliness about her. She was

sensible of the absence of that childish frankness and ingenuousness

which had been so much a part of the girl's nature. She was now more

like a woman, and one whose mind held a secret she herself tried to

evade, as well as have others blind to its existence.

It was as if a new self had been born, dominating the old self, and

sending her thoughts far from where her body might be.

"She must be in love with some one, and 't is sure to be Hugh Knollys,"

said Mary to herself, with a glow of happiness, as the two went

downstairs, Mistress Horton and a servant following them, both laden

with packages to be stowed away in the Devereux equipage, whereon Leet

sat rigidly upright, the darkness hiding his black face and its unusual

grin.

"Take good care of her, Strings," Joseph Devereux cautioned, as he took

his place within the vehicle, and pointing to the open doorway, where a

pink gown and dark curly head showed foremost amongst the guests

crowded there to see the bride and groom on their way. The pedler--an

humble onlooker at the wedding--had urged his protection for Dorothy's

safer piloting through the town to her friend's house; and this her

father and brother had been glad to accept.

"That I will, sir,--never fear," was the hearty response; and as Jack

Devereux sprang into the sleigh, Leet turned the horses' heads to the

street and drove off, followed by a shower of old shoes and peals of

merry laughter from the doorway.