WYNADOTTÉ (Unabridged). Джеймс Фенимор Купер
Читать онлайн книгу.
Nick; I am glad to see you still so active.”
“Sago”—answered the guttural voice of the Indian, who quietly nodded his head.
“What will you have to refresh you, after such a journey, Nick—our trees give us good cider, now.”
“Santa Cruz better,”—rejoined the sententious Tuscarora.
“Santa Cruz is certainly stronger” answered the captain laughing, “and, in that sense, you may find it better. You shall have a glass, as soon as we go to the house. What news do you bring, that you come in so fast?”
“Glass won’t do. Nick bring news worth jug. Squaw give two jug for Nick’s news. Is it barg’in?”
“I!” cried Mrs. Willoughby—“what concern can I have with your news. My daughters are both with me, and Heaven be praised! both are well. What can I care for your news, Nick?”
“Got no pap-poose but gal? T’ink you got boy—officer—great chief—up here, down yonder—over dere.”
“Robert!—Major Willoughby! What can you have to tell me of my son?”
“Tell all about him, for one jug. Jug out yonder; Nick’s story out here. One good as t’other.”
“You shall have all you ask, Nick.”—These were not temperance days, when conscience took so firm a stand between the bottle and the lips.—“You shall have all you ask, Nick, provided you can really give me good accounts of my noble boy. Speak, then; what have you to say?”
“Say you see him in ten, five minute. Sent Nick before to keep moder from too much cry.”
An exclamation from Maud followed; then the ardent girl was seen rushing down the lawn, her hat thrown aside; and her bright fair hair again flowing in ringlets on her shoulders. She flew rather than ran, in the direction of the mill, where the figure of Robert Willoughby was seen rushing forward to meet her. Suddenly the girl stopped, threw herself on a log, and hid her face. In a few minutes she was locked in her brother’s arms. Neither Mrs. Willoughby nor Beulah imitated this impetuous movement on the part of Maud; but the captain, chaplain, and even Jamie Allen, hastened down the road to meet and welcome the young major. Ten minutes later, Bob Willoughby was folded to his mother’s heart; then came Beulah’s turn; after which, the news having flown through the household, the young man had to receive the greetings of Mari’, both the Smashes, the younger Pliny, and all the dogs. A tumultuous quarter of an hour brought all round, again, to its proper place, and restored something like order to the Knoll. Still an excitement prevailed the rest of the day, for the sudden arrival of a guest always produced a sensation in that retired settlement; much more likely, then, was the unexpected appearance of the only son and heir to create one. As everybody bustled and was in motion, the whole family was in the parlour, and major Willoughby was receiving the grateful refreshment of a delicious cup of tea, before the sun set. The chaplain would have retired out of delicacy, but to this the captain would not listen; he would have everything proceed as if the son were a customary guest, though it might have been seen by the manner in which his mother’s affectionate eye was fastened on his handsome face, as well as that in which his sister Beulah, in particular, hung about him, under the pretence of supplying his wants, that the young man was anything but an every-day inmate.
“How the lad has grown!” said the captain, tears of pride starting into his eyes, in spite of a very manful resolution to appear composed and soldier-like.
“I was about to remark that myself, captain,” observed the chaplain. “I do think Mr. Robert has got to his full six feet—every inch as tall as you are yourself, my good sir.”
“That is he, Woods—and taller in one sense. He is a major, already, at twenty-seven; it is a step I was not able to reach at near twice the age.”
“That is owing, my dear sir,” answered the son quickly, and with a slight tremor in his voice, “to your not having as kind a father as has fallen to my share—or at least one not as well provided with the means of purchasing.”
“Say none at all, Bob, and you can wound no feeling, while you will tell the truth. My father died a lieutenant-colonel when I was a school-boy; I owed my ensigncy to my uncle Sir Hugh, the father of the present Sir Harry Willoughby; after that I owed each step to hard and long service. Your mother’s legacies have helped you along, at a faster rate, though I do trust there has been some merit to aid in the preferment.”
“Speaking of Sir Harry Willoughby, sir, reminds me of one part of my errand to the Hut,” said the major, glancing his eye towards his father, as if to prepare him for some unexpected intelligence.
“What of my cousin?” demanded the captain, calmly. “We have not met in thirty years, and are the next thing to strangers to each other. Has he made that silly match of which I heard something when last in York? Has he disinherited his daughter as he threatened? Use no reserve here; our friend Woods is one of the family.”
“Sir Harry Willoughby is not married, sir, but dead.”
“Dead!” repeated the captain, setting down his cup, like one who received a sudden shock. “I hope not without having been reconciled to his daughter, and providing for her large family?”
“He died in her arms, and escaped the consequences of his silly intention to marry his own housekeeper. With one material exception, he has left Mrs. Bowater his whole fortune.”
The captain sat thoughtful, for some time; every one else being silent and attentive. But the mother’s feelings prompted her to inquire as to the nature of the exception.
“Why, mother, contrary to all my expectations, and I may say wishes, he has left me twenty-five thousand pounds in the fives. I only hold the money as my father’s trustee.”
“You do no such thing, Master Bob, I can tell you!” said the captain, with emphasis.
The son looked at the father, a moment, as if to see whether he was understood, and then he proceeded—
“I presume you remember, sir,” said the major, “that you are the heir to the title?”
“I have not forgot that, major Willoughby; but what is an empty baronetcy to a happy husband and father like me, here in the wilds of America? Were I still in the army, and a colonel, the thing might be of use; as I am, I would rather have a tolerable road from this place to the Mohawk than the duchy of Norfolk, without the estate.”
“Estate there is none, certainly,” returned the major, in a tone of a little disappointment, “except the twenty-five thousand pounds; unless you include that which you possess where you are; not insignificant, by the way, sir.”
“It will do well enough for old Hugh Willoughby, late a captain in His Majesty’s 23d Regiment of Foot, but not so well for Sir Hugh. No, no, Bob. Let the baronetcy sleep awhile; it has been used quite enough for the last hundred years or more. Out of this circle, there are probably not ten persons in America, who know that I have any claims to it.”
The major coloured, and he played with the spoon of his empty cup, stealing a glance or two around, before he answered.
“I beg your pardon, Sir Hugh—my dear father, I mean—but—to own the truth, never anticipating such a decision on your part, I have spoken of the thing to a good many friends—I dare say, if the truth were known, I’ve called you the baronet, or Sir Hugh, to others, at least a dozen times.”
“Well, should it be so, the thing will be forgotten. A parson can be unfrocked, Woods, and a baronet can be unbaroneted, I suppose.”
“But, Sir William”—so everybody called the well-known Sir William Johnson, in the colony of New York—“But, Sir William found it useful, Willoughby, and so, I dare say, will his son and successor, Sir John,” observed the attentive wife and anxious mother; “and if you are not now in the army, Bob is. It will be a good thing for our son one day, and ought not to be lost.”
“Ah,