Amelia E. Barr - The Bow of Orange Ribbon

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"I would advise you to be more prudent, Captain Hyde, if it is in your
power."

"I would advise you to mind your own affairs, Lord Paget."

"It is said that you married an American."

"If you are perfectly in your senses, my lord, leave my affairs alone."

"For my part, I never believed it; and now that Lady Suffolk is a widow,
with revenues, possibly you may"--

"Ah, you are jealous, I perceive!" and Hyde laughed scornfully, and
turned on his heel as if to go upstairs.

Lord Paget followed, and laid his hand upon Hyde's arm.

"Hands off, my lord. Hands off all that belongs to me. And I advise you
also to cease your impertinent attentions to my cousin, Lady Suffolk."

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Hervey, "this is no time for private quarrels;
and, Captain, here is a fellow with a note for you. It is my Lady
Capel's footman, and he says he comes in urgent speed."

Hyde glanced at the message. "It is a last command, Mr. Harvey; and I
must beg you to say what is proper for my honour to Lord Paget. Lady
Capel is at the death-point, and to her requests I am first bounden."

It was raining hard when he left the club, a most dreary night in the
city. The coach rattled through the muddy streets, and brought, as it
went along, many a bored, heavy countenance to the steaming windows, to
watch and to wonder at its pace. Lady Capel had been death-stricken
while at whist, and she had not been removed from the parlour in which
she had been playing her last game. She was stretched upon a sofa in the
midst of the deserted tables, yet covered with scattered cards and
half-emptied tea-cups. Only Lady Suffolk and a physician were with her;
though the corridor was full of terrified, curious servants, gloating
not unkindly over such a bit of sensation in their prosaic lives.

At this hour it was evident that, above everything in the world, the old
lady had loved the wild extravagant grandson, whose debts she had paid
over and over, and whom she had for years alternately petted and
scolded.

"O Dick," she whispered, "I've got to die! We all have. I've had a good
time, Dick."

"Shall I go for cousin Harold? I can bring him in an hour."

"No, no. I want no priests; no better than we are, Dick. Harold is a
proud sinner; Lord, what a proud sinner he is!" Then, with a glint of
her usual temper, "He'd snub the twelve apostles if he met them without
mitres. No priests, Dick. It is you I want. I have left you eight
thousand pounds--all I could save, Dick. Everything goes back to William
now; but the eight thousand pounds is yours. Arabella is witness to it.
Dick, Dick, you will think of me sometimes?"

And Hyde kissed her fondly. Ugly, heartless, sinful, she might be to
others; but to him she had been a double mother. "I'll never forget
you," he answered; "never, grandmother."

"I know what the town will say: 'Well, well, old Lady Capel has gone to
her deserts at last.' Don't mind them, Dick. Let them talk. They will
have to go too; it's the old round--meat and mirth, and then to
bed--a--long--sleep."

"Grandmother?"

"I hear you, Dick. Good-night."

"Is there anything you want done? Think, dear grandmother."

"Don't let Exmouth come to my funeral. I don't want him--grinning
over--my coffin."

"Any other thing?"

"Put me beside Jack Capel. I wonder--if I shall--see Jack." A shadow,
gray and swift, passed over her face. Her eyes flashed one piteous look
into Hyde's eyes, and then closed forever.

And while in the rainy, dreary London twilight Lady Capel was dying,
Katherine was in the garden at Hyde Manor, watching the planting of
seeds that were in a few weeks to be living things of beauty and
sweetness. It had ceased raining at noon in Norfolk, and the gravel
walks were perfectly dry, and the air full of the fragrance of
innumerable violets. All the level land was wearing buttercups. Full of
secrets, of fluttering wings, and building nests were the trees. In the
apple-blooms the bees were humming, delirious with delight. From the
beehives came the peculiar and exquisite odour of virgin wax. Somewhere
near, also, the gurgle of running water spread an air of freshness all
around.

[Illustration: She was stretched upon a sofa]

And Katherine, with a little basket full of flower-seeds, was going with
the gardener from bed to bed, watching him plant them. No one who had
seen her in the childlike loveliness of her early girlhood could have
imagined the splendour of her matured beauty. She had grown "divinely
tall," and the exercise of undisputed authority had added a gracious
stateliness of manner. Her complexion was wonderful, her large blue eyes
shining with tender lights, her face full of sympathetic revelations.
Above all, she had that nameless charm which comes from a freedom from
all anxious thought for the morrow; that charm of which the sweet secret
is generally lost after the twentieth summer. Her basket of seeds was
clasped to her side within the hollow of her left arm, and with her
right hand she lifted a long petticoat of quilted blue satin. Above this
garment she wore a gown of wood-coloured taffeta, sprigged with
rose-buds, and a stomacher of fine lace to match the deep rufflings on
her elbow-sleeves.

Little Joris was with his mother, running hither and thither, as his
eager spirits led him: now pausing to watch her drop from her white
fingers the precious seed into its prepared bed, anon darting after some
fancied joy among the pyramidal yews, and dusky treillages, and cradle
walks of holly and privet. For, as Sir Thomas Swaffham said, "Hyde
garden looked just as if brought from Holland;" and especially so in the
spring, when it was ablaze with gorgeous tulips and hyacinths.

She had heard much of Lady Capel, and she had a certain tenderness for
the old woman who loved her husband so truly; but no thought of her
entered into Katherine's mind that calm evening hour. Neither had she
any presentiment of sorrow. Her soul was happy and untroubled, and she
lingered in the sweet place until the tender touch of gray twilight was
over fen and field. Then her maid, with a manner full of pleasant
excitement, came to her, and said,--

"Here be a London pedler, madam; and he do have all the latest fashions,
and the news of the king and the Americans."

Now, for many reasons, the advent of a London pedler was a great and
pleasant event at the Manor House. Katherine had that delightful and
excusable womanly foible, a love of fine clothing; and shops for its
sale were very rare, even in towns of considerable size. It was from
packmen and hawkers that fine ladies bought their laces and ribbons and
gloves; their precious toilet and hair pins, their paints and powders,
and India scarfs and fans, and even jewellery. These hawkers were also
the great news-bearers to the lonely halls and granges and farmhouses;
and they were everywhere sure of a welcome, and of such entertainment as
they required. Generally each pedler had his recognized route and
regular customers; but occasionally a strange dealer called, and such,
having unfamiliar wares, was doubly welcome. "Is it Parkins, Lettice?"
asked Katherine, as she turned with interest toward the house.

"No, ma'am, it isn't Parkins; and I do think as the man never showed a
face in Hyde before; but he do say that he has a miracle of fine
things."

In a few minutes he was exhibiting them to Katherine, and she was too
much interested in the wares to notice their merchant particularly.

Indeed, he had one of those faces which reveal nothing; a face flat,
hard, secret as a wall, wrinkled as an old banner. He was a hale,
thick-set man, dressed in breeches of corduroy, and a sleeved waistcoat
down to his knees of the same material. His fur cap was on the carpet
beside his pack; and he had a fluent tongue in praise of his wares, as
he hung his silks over Lettice's outstretched arm, or arranged the
scarfs across her shoulders.

There was a slow but mutually satisfactory exchange of goods and money;
and then the pedler began to repack his treasures, and Lettice to carry
away the pretty trifles and the piece of satin her mistress had bought.
Then, also, he found time to talk, to take out the last newspapers, and
to describe the popular dissatisfaction at the stupid tyranny of the
Government toward the Colonies. For either from information, or by some
process rapid as instinct, he understood to which side Katherine's
sympathies went.

"Here be the 'Flying Postman,' madam, with the great speech of Mr. Burke
in it about the port of Boston; but it won't do a mossel o' good, madam,
though he do tell 'em to keep their hands out o' the Americans'
pockets."

"The port of Boston?"

"See you, madam, they are a-going to shut the port o' Boston, and make
Salem the place of entry; that's to punish the Bostonians; and Mr.
Burke, he says, 'The House has been told that Salem is only seventeen
miles from Boston but justice is not an idea of geography, and the
Americans are condemned without being heard. Yet the universal custom,
on any alteration of charters, is to hear the parties at the bar of the
House. Now, the question is, Are the Americans to be heard, or not,
before the charter is broken for our convenience?... The Boston bill is
a diabolical bill.'"

He read aloud this bit of Mr. Burke's fiery eloquence, in a high,
droning voice, and would, according to his custom, have continued the
entertainment; but Katherine, preferring to use her own intelligence,
borrowed the paper and was about to leave the room with it, when he
suddenly remembered a scarf of great beauty which he had not shown.

"I bought it for my Lady Suffolk," he said; "but Lord Suffolk died
sudden, and black my lady had to wear. It's forrin, madam; and here it
is--the very colour of affradiles. But mayhap, as it is candle-teening,
you'd like to wait till the day comes again."

A singular look of speculation came into Katherine's face. She examined
the scarf without delay; and, as she fingered the delicate silk, she led
the man on to talk of Lady Suffolk, though, indeed, he scarcely needed
the stimulus of questioning. Without regard as to whether Katherine was
taking any interest or not in his information, he detailed with hurried
avidity the town talk that had clung to her reputation for so many
years; and he so fully described the handsome cavalry officer that was
her devoted attendant that Katherine had no difficulty in recognizing
her husband, even without the clews which her own knowledge of the
parties gave her.

She stood in the gray light by the window, fingering the delicate
satin, and listening. The pedler glanced from his goods to her face, and
talked rapidly, interloping bits of news about the court and the
fashions; but going always back to Lady Suffolk and her lover, and what
was likely to take place now that Lord Suffolk was out of the way.
"Though there's them that do say the captain has a comely wife hid up in
the country."

Suddenly she turned and faced the stooping man: "Your scarf take: I will
not have it. No, and I will not have anything that I have bought from
you. All of the goods you shall receive back; and my money, give it to
me. You are no honest hawker: you are a bad man, who have come here for
a bad woman. You know that of my husband you have been talking--I mean
_lying_. You know that this is his house, and that his true wife am I.
Not one more word shall you speak.--Lettice, bring here all the goods I
bought from this man; poisoned may be the unguents and scents and
gloves. Of such things I have heard."

She had spoken with an angry rapidity that for the moment confounded the
stranger; but at this point he lifted himself with an insolent air, and
said, "The goods be bought and paid for, madam; and, in faith, I will
not buy them back again."

"In faith, then, I will send for Sir Thomas Swaffham. A magistrate is
he, and Captain Hyde's friend. Not one penny of my money shall you have;
for, indeed, your goods I will not wear."

She pointed then to the various articles which Lettice had brought
back; and, with the shrug of a man who accepts the inevitable, he
replaced them in his pack, and then ostentatiously counted back the
money Katherine had given him. She examined every coin, and returned a
crown. "My piece this is not. It may be false. I will have the one I
gave to you.--Lettice, bring here water in a bowl; let the silver and
gold lay in it until morning."

[Illustration: She stood in the gray light by the window]

And, turning to the pedler, "Your cap take from the floor, and go."

"Of a truth, madam, you be not so cruel as to turn me on the fens, and
it a dark night. There be bogs all about; and how the road do lay for
the next house, I know not."

"The road to my house was easy to find; well, then, you can find the
road back to whoever it was sent you here. With my servants you shall
not sit; under my roof you shall not stay."

"I have no mind to go."

"See you the mastiff at my feet? I advise you stir him not up, for
death is in his jaw. To the gate, and with good haste! In one half-hour
the kennels I will have opened. If then within my boundaries you are, it
is at your life's peril."

She spoke without passion and without hurry or alarm; but there was no
mistaking the purpose in her white, resolute face and fearless attitude.
And the pedler took in the situation very quickly; for the dog was
already watching him with eyes of fiery suspicion, and an occasional
deep growl was either a note of warning to his mistress, or of defiance
to the intruder. With an evil glance at the beautiful, disdainful woman
standing over him, the pedler rose and left the house; Katherine and the
dog so closely following that the man, stooping under his heavy burden,
heard her light footsteps and the mastiff's heavy breathing close at his
heels, until he passed the large gates and found himself on the dark
fen, with just half an hour to get clear of a precinct he had made so
dangerous to himself.

For, when he remembered Katherine's face, he muttered, "There isn't a
mossel o' doubt but what she'll hev the brutes turned loose. Dash it!
women do beat all. But I do hev one bit o' comfort--high-to-instep as
she is, she's heving a bad time of it now by herself. I do think that,
for sure." And the reflection gave him some gratification, as he
cautiously felt his steps forward with his strong staff.

[Illustration: Chapter heading]

XIV.

"_Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments: love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds._"

In some respects, the pedler's anticipations were correct. Katherine had
"a bad time by herself" that night; for evil has this woful
prerogative,--it can wound the good and the innocent, it can make
wretched without provocation and without desert. But, whatever her
suffering, it was altogether her own. She made no complaint, and she
offered no explanation of her singular conduct. Her household, however,
had learned to trust her; and the men and women servants sitting around
the kitchen-fire that night, talked over the circumstance, and found its
very mystery a greater charm than any possible certainty, however
terrible, could have given them.

"She be a stout-hearted one," said the ostler admiringly. "Tony and I
a-watched her and the dog a-driving him through the gates. With his
bundle on his back, he was a-shuffling along, a-nigh on his all-fours;
and the madam at his heels, with her head up in the air, and her eyes
a-shining like candles."

"It would be about the captain he spoke."

The remark was ventured by Lettice in a low voice, and the company
looked at each other and nodded confidentially. For the captain was a
person of great and mysterious importance in the house. All that was
done was in obedience to some order received from him. Katherine quoted
him continually, granted every favour in his name, made him the
authority for every change necessary. His visits were times of holiday,
when discipline was relaxed, and the methodical economy of life at the
manor house changed into festival. And Hyde had precisely that dashing
manner, that mixture of frankness and authority, which dependents
admire. The one place in the whole world where nobody would have
believed wrong of Hyde was in Hyde's own home.

And yet Katherine, in the secrecy of her chamber, felt her heart quake.
She had refused to think of the circumstance until after she had made a
pretence of eating her supper, and had seen little Joris asleep, and
dismissed Lettice, with all her accustomed deliberation and order. But,
oh, how gratefully she turned the key of her room! How glad she felt to
be alone with the fear and the sorrow that had come to her! For she
wanted to face it honestly; and as she stood with eyes cast down, and
hands clasped behind her back, the calm, resolute spirit of her fathers
gathered in her heart, and gave an air of sorrowful purpose to her face
and attitude. At that hour she was singularly like Joris Van Heemskirk;
and any one familiar with the councillor would have known Katherine to
be his daughter.

Most women are restless when they are in anxiety. Katherine felt motion
to be a mental disturbance. She sat down, and remained still as a carven
image, thinking over what had been told her. There had been a time when
her husband's constant talk of Lady Suffolk had pained her, and when she
had been a little jealous of the apparent familiarity which existed in
their relations with each other; but Hyde had laughed at her fears, and
she had taken a pride in putting _his word_ above all her suspicions.
She had seen him receive letters which she knew to be from Lady Suffolk.
She had seen him read and destroy them without remark. She was aware
that many a love-billet from fine ladies followed him to Hyde. But it
was in accord with the integrity of her own nature to believe in her
husband's faithfulness. She had made one inquiry on the subject, and his
assurance at that time she accepted as a final settlement of all doubts.
And if she had needed further evidence, she had found it in his
affectionate and constant regard for her, and in his love for his child
and his home.

It was also a part of Katherine's just and upright disposition to make
allowances for the life by which her husband was surrounded. She
understood that he must often be placed in circumstances of great
temptation and suspicion. Hyde had told her that there were necessarily
events in his daily experience of which it was better for her to be
ignorant. "They belong to it, as my uniform does," he said; "they are a
part of its appearance; but they never touch my feelings, and they never
do you a moment's wrong, Katherine." This explanation it had been the
duty both of love and of wisdom to accept; and she had done so with a
faith which asked for no conviction beyond it.

And now she was told that for years he had been the lover of another
woman; that her own existence was doubted or denied; that if it were
admitted, it was with a supposition which affected both her own good
name and the rights of her child. In those days, America was at the ends
of the earth. A war with it was imminent. The Colonies might be
conquered. She knew nothing of international rights, nor what changes
such a condition might render possible. Hyde was the probable
representative of an ancient noble English family, and its influence was
great: if he really wished to annul their marriage, perhaps it was in
his power to do so. She knew well how greedy rank was of rank and
riches, and she could understand that there might be powerful family
reasons for an alliance which would add Lady Suffolk's wealth to the
Hyde earldom.

[Illustration: She knelt speechless and motionless]

She was no craven, and she faced the position in all its cruel bearings.
She asked herself if, even for the sake of her little Joris, she would
remain a wife on sufferance, or by the tie of rights which she would
have to legally enforce; and then she lifted the candle, and passed
softly into his room to look at him. Though physically like the large,
fair, handsome Van Heemskirks, little Joris had certain tricks of
expression, certain movements and attitudes, which were the very
reflection of his father's,--the same smile, the same droop of the hair
on the forehead, the same careless toss of the arm upward in sleep. It
was the father in the son that answered her at that hour. She slipped
down upon her knees by the sleeping boy, and out of the terror and
sorrow of her soul spoke to the Fatherhood in heaven. Nay, but she knelt
speechless and motionless, and waited until He spoke to her; spoke to
her by the sweet, trustful little lips whose lightest touch was dear to
her. For the boy suddenly awoke; he flung his arms around her neck, he
laid his face close to hers, and said,--

"Oh, mother, beautiful mother, I thought my father was here!"

"You have been dreaming, darling Joris."

"Yes; I am sorry I have been dreaming. I thought my father was here--my
good father, that loves us so much."

Then, with a happy face, Katherine rose and gave the child cool water,
and turned his hot pillow, and with kisses sent him smiling into
dreamland again. In those few tender moments all her fears slipped away
from her heart. "I will not believe what a bad man says against my
husband--against my dear one who is not here to defend himself. Lies,
lies! I will make the denial for him."

And she kept within the comfort of this spirit, even though Hyde's usual
letter was three days behind its usual time. Certainly they were hard
days. She kept busy; but she could not swallow a mouthful of food, and
the sickness and despair that crouched at the threshold of her life made
her lightest duties so heavy that it required a constant effort and a
constant watchfulness to fulfil them. And yet she kept saying to
herself, "All is right. I shall hear in a day or two. There is some
change in the service. There is no change in Richard--none."

On the fourth day her trust had its reward. She found then that the
delay had been caused by the necessary charge and care of ceremonies
which Lady Capel's death forced upon her husband. She had almost a
sentiment of gratitude to her, although she was yet ignorant of her
bequest of eight thousand pounds. For Hyde had resolved to wait until
the reading of the will made it certain, and then to resign his
commission, and carry the double good news to Katherine himself.
Henceforward, they were to be together. He would buy more land, and
improve his estate, and live happily, away from the turmoil of the town,
and the disagreeable duties of active service in a detestable quarrel.
So this purpose, though unexpressed, gave a joyous ring to his letter;
it was lover-like in its fondness and hopefulness, and Katherine thought
of Lady Suffolk and her emissary with a contemptuous indifference.

"My dear one she intended that I should make miserable with reproaches,
and from his own home drive him to her home for some consolations;" and
Katherine smiled as she reflected how hopeless such a plan of separation
would be.

Never, perhaps, are we so happy as when we have just escaped some feared
calamity. That letter lifted the last fear from Katherine's heart, and
it gave her also the expectation of an early visit. "I am very impatient
to see you, my Kate," he wrote; "and as early as possible after the
funeral, you may expect me." The words rang like music in her heart. She
read them aloud to little Joris, and then the whole household warmed to
the intelligence. For there was always much pleasant preparation for
Hyde's visits,--clean rooms to make still cleaner, silver to polish,
dainties to cook; every weed to take from the garden, every unnecessary
straw from the yards. For the master's eye, everything must be
beautiful. To the master's comfort, every hand was delighted to
minister.

So these last days of May were wonderfully happy ones to Katherine. The
house was in its summer draperies--all its windows open to the garden,
which had now not only the freshness of spring, but the richer promise
of summer. Katherine was always dressed with extraordinary care and
taste. Little Joris was always lingering about the gates which commanded
the longest stretch of observation. A joyful "looking forward" was upon
every face.

Alas, these are the unguarded hours which sorrow surprises! But no
thought of trouble, and no fear of it, had Katherine, as she stood
before her mirror one afternoon. She was watching Lettice arrange the
double folds of her gray taffeta gown, so as to display a trifle the
high scarlet heels of her morocco slippers, with their scarlet rosettes
and small diamond buckles.

"Too cold a colour is gray for me, Lettice: give me those scarlet
ribbons for a breast knot;" and as Lettice stood with her head a little
on one side, watching her mistress arrange the bright bows at her
stomacher, there came a knock at the chamber door.

"Here be a strange gentleman, madam, to see you; from London, he do
say."

A startled look came into Katherine's face; she dropped the ribbon from
her hand, and turned to the servant, who stood twisting a corner of her
apron at the front-door.

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