A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story

"If you must know why; I had some money to give Harry. Could I do that before Captain Macpherson?"

"I hate the man! I am glad he has gone! I hope he will never come again!"

"I do not think he will, Maria."

They went into the house thoroughly vexed with each other, and Maria said in a tone of pique or offense, "I wonder what delays my uncle! I wish he would come!"

In reality Neil was no later than usual, but Maria was quivering with disappointment and annoyance, and when he did arrive it was not possible for any one to escape the influence of an atmosphere charged with the miserable elements of frustrated happiness. Maria was not a girl to bear disagreeable things alone or in silence. She would talk only of Macpherson and his unwelcome visit; "but he always did come when he was not wanted," she said angrily. "Last Sunday when grandmother was sick, and I was writing a long letter to father, and nobody cared to see him at all, enter Captain Macpherson with his satisfied smile, and his clattering sword, and his provoking air of conferring a favor on us by his company. I hate the creature! And I think it is a dreadful thing to make set days for people's visits; we have all got to dislike Sunday afternoons, just for his sake!" and so on, with constant variations.

Fortunately Mr. Bradley came home soon after eight o'clock, and Maria would not make any further delay. She had many reasons for her hurry, but undoubtedly the chief one, was a feeling that Agnes ought not to have the pleasure of a conversation between her father and her lover, and probably a walk home with her, and then a walk back with Neil alone. She would go at once, and she would not ask Agnes to go with her. If she was disappointed, it was only a just retribution for her selfishness about Harry. And though she noticed Agnes was depressed and cast down, she was not appeased; "However, I will come in the morning and make all right," she thought; "to-night Agnes may suffer a little. I will come in the morning and make all right."

Yes, she would come in the morning, but little she dreamed on what errand she would come. Still, Maria is not to be blamed over much; there is some truth in every reproach that is made.

CHAPTER VI.

THE INTERCEPTED MESSAGE

While this unhappy interlude was passing, a far greater sorrow was preparing. Captain Macpherson went at once to his colonel with the pebble-sent note. He told himself that his duty to his King and his colors demanded it, and that no harm could come to the two women except such as was reflected from the trouble that saucy young man might be entitled to. He had no objections to giving him trouble; he felt that he ought to be made to understand a little better what was due to an officer of the King. "That Scot!" He flung his plaid passionately over his shoulder and stamped his foot with the offended temper of centuries of Macphersons. As for Maria, he would not think of her. He could not know what the consequences of the interrupted tryst would be, but let her take them! A girl who could prefer quite a common-looking young man to himself needed a lesson. He said over and over that he had only done a duty he would have performed under any circumstances; and he kept reiterating the word "duty," – still he knew right well that duty in this case had been powerfully seconded by jealousy and by his personal offense.

What action his colonel would take he knew not. He desired to be excused from any part in it, because of the Semple's hospitality to him. His request was granted; and then he went to his rooms hot with uncertain excitement. The colonel had no sentimental reasons for ignoring what might prove a valuable arrest. Nothing had provoked General Clinton more than the ubiquitous nature of Washington's spies. They were everywhere; they were untiring, unceasing and undaunted. The late reverses, which had mortified every English soldier, had been undoubtedly brought about by the false reports they spread, – no one knew by whose assistance, – and this night might be a turning-point in affairs.

He ordered ten picked men to wait for the boat at Semple's landing. The place was easily reached; they had but to walk to the bottom of the fence, climb over it, and secrete themselves in the little boathouse, or among the shrubbery, if it had yet foliage enough to screen them. He looked over his roll of suspects and found Madame Semple's name among them. Likely enough, her family sympathized with her. It would at least be prudent to secure the husband and son. If they were good royalists, they could easily prove it. Then he sat down to smoke and to drink brandy; he, too, had done his duty, and was not troubled at all about results. The Semples, to him, were only two or three out of sixty thousand reputed royalists in the city. If they were honest, they had little to fear; if they were traitors, they deserved all they would certainly get from Clinton in his present surly mood.

Quite unconscious of what was transpiring, John Bradley was eating a frugal supper of oatmeal and bread and cheese, and telling his daughter about a handsome saddle that was going up the river to "the man in all the world most worthy of it." Elder Semple was asleep, and Madame, lying in the darkness, was softly praying away her physical pain and her mental anxieties. Suddenly she heard an unusual stir and the prompt, harsh voices of men either quarreling or giving orders.

"It is on our ain place!" and a sick terror assailing her, she cried: "Wake up! Wake up, Alexander! There's men at the door, and angry men, and they're calling you!"

Neil, who was sitting dressed in his room, instantly answered the summons, and was instantly under arrest; and as no effort was made to prevent noise or confusion, the tumult and panic soon reached Maria. She was combing her hair to fretful thoughts, and a keen sense of disappointment; but when Madame entered the room wringing her hands and lamenting loudly, she let the comb fall and stood up trembling with apprehension.

"Maria! Maria! They are taking your grandfather and uncle to prison! Oh, God, my dear auld man! My dear auld man!"

"Grandmother! What are you saying? You must be mistaken – you must be!"

"Come, and see for yoursel';" and Madame flung open the window and with a shriek of futile distress cried, "Alexander, look at me! Speak to me."

At these words the Elder, who was standing with a soldier, lifted his face to the distracted woman, in her white gown at the open window, and cried to her:

"Janet, my dearie, you'll get your death o' cold. It is a' a mistake. Go to your bed, dear woman. I'll be hame in the morning."

Neil repeated this advice, and then there was a sharp order and a small body of men marched forward, and in their midst Harry walked bareheaded and manacled. He tried to look up, for he had heard the colloquy between the Elder and his wife, and understood Maria might be also at the window; but as he turned his head a gigantic Highlander struck him with the flat of his sword, and as the blow fell rattling on the youth's shoulder Maria threw up her hands with a shriek and fell into a chair sobbing.

"Dinna cry that way, Maria, my dearie; they'll be hame in the morning."

"Yes, yes, grandmother! It was the blow on that last prisoner. Did you see it? Did you hear it? Oh, what a shame!"

"Poor lad! I know naething about him; but he is in a terrible sair strait."

"What is he doing here in our house? Surely you know, grandmother?"

"I know naething about him. He is doubtless one o' Washington's messengers – there's plenty o' them round. Why he came near us is mair than I can say." Then a sudden fear made her look intently at Maria, and she asked, "Do you think your Uncle Neil has turned to the American cause?"

"Oh, grandmother, how can you?"

"He has been so much wi' that Agnes Bradley. My heart misgave me at the first about her. Neil is in love, and men in love do anything."

"Uncle Neil is as true a royalist as grandfather."

"See, then, what they have, baith o' them, got for standing by King George. It serves them right! It serves them right! O dear, dear me! What shall we do?"

Two weary hours were spent in such useless conversation; then Madame, being perfectly exhausted, was compelled to go to bed. "We can do naething till morning," she said; "and Neil will hae his plans laid by that time. They will be to bail, doubtless; and God knows where the friends and the money are to come from. But there's plenty o' time for grief to-morrow; go and sleep an hour or two now."

"And you, grandmother? What will you do?"

"He who never fails will strengthen me. When the morn comes I shall be able for all it can bring. This was such a sudden blow I lost my grip."

Alone in her room, Maria felt the full force of the sudden blow. Although Harry's note had missed her, she understood that he had been waiting for a few words with her. Twice before she had been in the garden when he passed up the river, and he had landed and spent a delicious half-hour with her. She was sure now that he had been as much disappointed as herself, and had hoped she would come and say good-bye as soon as she reached home. But who had betrayed him? And why was her grandfather and uncle included in his arrest?

For some time she could think of nothing but her lover walking so proudly in the midst of his enemies; reviled by them, struck by them, yet holding his head as authoritatively as if he was their captain, rather than their prisoner. Then she remembered Agnes, and at first it was with anger. "If she had not been so selfish, Harry would not have needed to take such a risk!" she cried. "It is dreadful! dreadful! And just as soon as it is light I must go and tell her. Her father must now know all; he ought to have been told long ago. I shall insist on her telling now, for Harry's life is first of all, and his father has power some way or other."

Thus through the long hours she wept and complained and blamed Agnes and even herself, and perhaps most of all was angry with the intrusive Macpherson, whose unwelcome presence had been the cause of the trouble. And, oh! what arid torturing vigils are those where God is not! Madame lying on her bed with her hands folded over her breast and thoughts heavenward, was at peace compared with this tumultuous little heart in the midst of doubt, darkness, and the terror of dreadful death for one dear to her. She knew not what to abandon, nor what to defend; her brain seemed stupefied by calamity so inevitable. And yet, it was not inevitable; it had depended for many minutes on herself. A word, a look, and Agnes would have understood her desire; and half a dozen times before she had made the movement which was just too late; her heart had urged her to call her friend. But she had doubted, wavered, and delayed, and so given to Destiny the very weapons that were used against her.

As soon as the morning dawned she dressed herself. Before her grandmother came down stairs it was imperative on her to see Agnes and tell her what had happened. A dismal, anxious stillness had succeeded the storm of her terror and grief; a feeling of outrage, of resentment against events, and an agony of love and pity, as she remembered Harry smitten and helpless in the power of a merciless foe. She had now one driving thought and purpose – the release of her lover. She must save the life he had risked for her sake, though she gave her own for it.

As she went through the gray dawning she was sensitive to some antagonism, even in Nature. The unseasonable warmth of the previous evening had been followed by a frost. The faded grass snapped under her fleet steps, the last foliage had withered during the night, and was black and yellow as death, and everything seemed to shiver in the pale light. And though the waning moon yet hung low in the west, and all the mystery and majesty of earth was round her, Maria was only conscious of the chill terror in her heart, and of the chill, damp mist from the river which enfolded her like a cloak, and was the very atmosphere of sorrow.

When she reached the Bradley home all was shut and still; the very house seemed to be asleep, but why did its closed door affect her so painfully? She went round to the kitchen and found the slave woman Mosella bending over a few blazing chips, making herself a cup of tea. The woman looked at her wonderingly, and when Maria said, "Mosella, I must see Miss Agnes at once," she rose without a word and opened the garden door of the house. The shutters were all closed, the stairway dim, and the creaking of the steps under her feet made her quiver. It was an hour too early for light and life, and a noiseless noise around her seemed to protest against this premature invasion of the day.

She entered the room of her friend very softly. It was breathless, shadowy, and on the white bed Agnes was lying, asleep. For a moment Maria stood looking at the orderly place and the unconscious woman. The pure pallor of her cheeks had the flush of healthy sleep; her brown hair, braided, lay loose upon her pillow, her white hands upon the white coverlet. She was the image of deep, dreamless, peaceful oblivion. It seemed a kind of wrong to awaken her; but though the eyes of Agnes were closed, Maria's gaze called to the soul on guard behind them, and without one premonitory movement she opened them wide and saw Maria at her bedside. A quick fear leaped into her heart. She was momentarily speechless. She laid her hand on Maria's arm, and looked at her with apprehending inquiry.

"Harry!" said Maria, and then she sat down and covered her face and began to cry softly. There was no necessity to say more. Agnes understood. She rose and began to dress herself, and in a few minutes asked, though almost in a whisper:

"Is he taken?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"At our landing."

"When?"

"Last night."

"Why did you not send me word last night? Neil would have come."

"Neil was arrested, and also my dear old grandfather. It is shameful! shameful!"

"What was Harry doing at your landing?"