A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story

And we part, and know not when we meet,
With another kiss like this, Sweet.

"And Lord Medway whispered to me that Shakespeare had said it all far better in one line, 'Touch her soft mouth and march.' In Major Andre's masque we had a charming little verse; I brought you a copy of it, see, here it is. The first two lines have a sweet crescendo melody; at the third line there was a fanfare of trumpets in the distance and the gentlemen rattled their swords. The fourth line we sang alone, and at the close Lord Medway bowed to me, and the whole room took up the refrain." Then the girls leaned over the paper, and Agnes read the words aloud slowly, evidently committing them to her memory as she read:

"A song of a single note!
But it soars and swells above
The trumpet's call, and the clash of arms,
For the name of the song is Love."

"Now sing me the melody, Maria," said Agnes; and Maria sang, and Agnes listened, and then they sang it together until it was perfect. "Just once more," said Maria, and as they reached the close of the verse, a strong, musical voice joined in the refrain, and then Harry came into the room singing it.

"Harry! Harry!" cried Agnes, joyfully.

"And the name of the song is Love!" he answered, taking Agnes in his arms and kissing the word on her lips. Then he turned with a glowing face to Maria, and she bent her head a little proudly, and remained silent. But soon Agnes went away to order coffee for her visitor, and then Harry sat down by Maria, and asked to see the song, and their hands met above the passionate words, and the dumb letters became vocal. They sang them over and over, their clear, fresh voices growing softer and softer, till, almost in a whisper of delight, they uttered the last word "Love!" Then he looked at her as only a lover can look, and she looked at him like one who suddenly awakens. Her past was a sleep, a dream; that moment her life began. And she had all the tremors that mark the beginnings of life; a great quiet fell upon her, and she wanted to go into solitude and examine this wonderful experience. For Harry had stirred one of those unknown soul depths that only Love ventures down to.

When Agnes returned she said she must go home, her grandmother was not well; and then she blundered into such a number of foolish excuses as made Agnes look curiously, perhaps anxiously, at her. And for several days she continued these excuses; she sent Neil with messages and letters, but she did not go to her friend. There was something wrong between them, and Maria finally threw the blame upon Agnes.

"Any one may see that she is deceiving either Harry or uncle Neil – and I hate a deceiver. It is not fair – I am sure if Harry knew about uncle – if he was not engaged to Agnes – Oh, no! I must not think of him. Poor uncle Neil! If Agnes treats him badly, I shall never forgive her, never!" Thus, and so on, ran her reflections day after day, and yet she had not the courage to go and talk the matter out with Agnes. But she noticed an unusual exaltation in her uncle's manner; he dressed with more than his usual sombre richness; he seemed to tread upon air, and though more silent than ever, a smile of great sweetness was constantly on his lips. And one afternoon as Maria sat at her tambour frame, Madame entered the parlor hastily, looking almost frightened.

"Do you hear him? Your uncle, I mean. Do you hear him, Maria?" she cried. "He is singing. He must be fey. I haven't heard him sing since he was a lad going to Paul Gerome's singing class. It's uncanny! It frightens me! And what is he singing, Maria?"

And Maria lifting a calm face answered —"The name of the song is Love."

CHAPTER V.

LOVE'S SWEET DREAM

It is not truth, but falsehood which requires explanation, and Maria was sensible of this fact as she sat at her tambour frame thinking of Agnes and of Harry and of her uncle Neil. There was something not straightforward in the life of Agnes, and she resolved every day to make inquiry into it, and every day she made, instead, some deferring excuse. But one morning, while eating breakfast, they were all sensitive to unusual movements in the city, and the air was tense with human emotion. The Elder and Neil became restless and anticipative, and Maria could not escape the feverish mental contagion. When the men had left the house she hurried through her few duties, and then went to her friend. Agnes was standing at the garden gate, watching and listening. "There is news of some kind, Maria," she said; "I am anxious to know what it is."

"Grandmother says we need not run after news, it will find us out, and I dare say it is only more Connecticut ravaging."

Then Agnes turned into the house with Maria, for she perceived something unusual in her voice and manner – dissatisfaction, and perhaps a tone of injury. There was no pretence of study about her, she had not even brought her books, and Agnes became silent, and lifted her sewing. At length Maria spoke:

"What is the matter with you, Agnes?" she asked, and then added: "you are not like yourself this morning."

"Whatever the matter is, Maria, I caught it from you."

"You are cross."

"I was only curious and anxious when you came. You brought dissatisfaction and annoyance with you. I think you had better tell me at once what has displeased you."

"Oh, you must know what displeases me, Agnes. Do you think I can bear to see you playing with two lovers at once? I am very fond of my uncle Neil, and he adores you. And when Harry is away, uncle Neil is everything; but as soon as Harry comes, then Harry is everything. It is not fair to uncle, and I do not approve of such ways. If I were to act in that kind of fashion between Lord Medway and Quentin Macpherson, who would be so shocked as Agnes Bradley? I am so disappointed in you, Agnes. I have not been able to come and see you for days; this morning I felt that I must speak to you about things."

"Maria, I once asked you to defer judgment on whatever you saw or heard or suspected, and to take my word for it being all right. It seems that I asked too much."

"But how can it be all right, if you allow two men to make love to you? – and you seem to like it from both of them."

"I do like it – from both of them. The two loves are different."

"Agnes! Agnes! I am shocked at you!" and Maria hid her face on the sofa cushion and began to cry.

Then Agnes knelt at her side, and lifted her face and kissed it, and whispered four words in her ear; and there was a look of wonder, and Maria asked softly, "Why did you not tell me before?"

"I thought every time you saw him you would surely guess the truth."

"I did not."

"You must have seen also that Harry is deeply in love with you. Now, how could he be in love with me also?"

"Harry in love with me! O Agnes!"

"You know it. Love cannot be hid. Only lovers look at a woman as I have seen Harry look at you."

"I do think Harry likes me, and I felt as if – I don't know what I felt, Agnes. I am very unhappy."

"Let me tell you what you felt. You said to yourself: if Harry was not bound to Agnes he would be my lover; and Agnes does not care for him, she does not treat him well, and yet she treats him too well to be doing right to uncle Neil. You would include your uncle, because you would feel it selfish to be wounded and disappointed only on your own account."

"You ought not to speak in that way, Agnes. Suppose I had such feelings, it is not nice of you to put them into words so plain and rude."

"I do not blame you, Maria. Your attitude is natural, and specially womanly. It is I who have been wrong. I must now excuse myself to you; once you said you could believe in me without explanations."

"Forgive me, Agnes. I do not want explanations now."

"For I have told you that Harry is my brother, not my lover. That is the main fact, and accounts for all that specially troubles you. Now you must know the whole truth. Harry was sent to England out of the way of the war, for my father lives and moves in his being and welfare. But Harry wanted to be in the thick of the war; he wanted the post of most danger for his country's sake. He said he was ashamed to be in England; that every American who could be in active service ought to be there, because it might be, God intended to use just him. I gave in to all he proposed; I had no heart to resist him. I only stipulated that come what would, our father should not know he was in the country."

"Why did you not tell me at first that he was your brother?"

"Harry is handsome, and I was afraid you might be attracted by him; and the secrecy and romance of the situation and the danger he was constantly facing – these are things that capture a woman's imagination. And marriage is such an important affair, I could not think it right to run the risk of engaging you to Harry unknown to your father or friends. I told Harry that you believed him to be my lover, and I was sure that this belief would save you from thinking of him in any light but that of a friend or brother."

"It ought to have done, dear Agnes; it did do – but Harry."

"I know, at Harry's second visit, if not at his first, he was your lover; and I knew that this explanation must come. Now, I can only beg you to keep the knowledge of Harry Bradley's presence in America absolutely to yourself. I assure you, if father knew he was here and in constant danger, he would be distracted."

"But does he not suspect? He must wonder that Harry does not write to him."

"Harry does write. He sends letters to a friend in London, who re-mails them to father. About three times a year father gets a London letter, and that satisfies him. And he so little suspects Harry's presence in America that the boy has passed his father on the street without the slightest recognition on father's part; for he has more disguises than you could believe possible. I have seen him as a poor country doctor, buying medicines for his settlement; as an old schoolmaster, after a few books and slates at Rivington's; and a week ago, I met him one day shouting to the horses which were pulling a load of wood up Golden Hill. And he has no more transitions than a score of other young men who serve their country in this secret and dangerous manner. I can assure you General Washington's agents go in and out of New York constantly, and it is beyond the power of England to prevent them."

"Suppose in some evil hour he should be suspected! Oh, Agnes!"

"There are houses in every street in the city where a window or a door is always left open. Harry told me he knew of sixteen, and that he could pass from one to the other in safety."

"Suppose he should be noticed on the river, at your landing or any other."

"He can swim like a fish and dive like a seal and run like a deer. The river banks that look like a tangle to you and me, are clear as a highway to Harry. And you know it is the East river that is watched; no one thinks much about the water on this side; especially so near the fort. I do not think Harry is in any great danger; and he will be mainly on the river now for some months."

"I wish I had not said a word, Agnes, I am so sorry! So sorry!"

"We are always sorry when we doubt. I felt that you were mistrusting me, and I promised Harry, on his last visit, to tell you the truth before he came again. I have been waiting for you all week. I should have told you to-day, even if you had not said a word."