THE SPY - A Tale of the Neutral Ground (Historical Novel). Джеймс Фенимор Купер
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think he could not; the eldest son of a man of wealth, so handsome, and a colonel.”
“Strong reasons, indeed, why he should prevail,” said Sarah, endeavoring to laugh; “more particularly the latter.”
“Let me tell you,” replied the captain, gravely, “a lieutenant colonelcy in the Guards is a very pretty thing.”
“And Colonel Wellmere a very pretty man,” added Frances.
“Nay, Frances,” returned her sister, “Colonel Wellmere was never a favorite of yours; he is too loyal to his king to be agreeable to your taste.”
Frances quickly answered, “And is not Henry loyal to his king?”
“Come, come,” said Miss Peyton, “no difference of opinion about the colonel—he is a favorite of mine.”
“Fanny likes majors better,” cried the brother, pulling her upon his knee.
“Nonsense!” said the blushing girl, as she endeavored to extricate herself from the grasp of her laughing brother.
“It surprises me,” continued the captain, “that Peyton, when he procured the release of my father, did not endeavor to detain my sister in the rebel camp.”
“That might have endangered his own liberty,” said the smiling girl, resuming her seat. “You know it is liberty for which Major Dunwoodie is fighting.”
“Liberty!” exclaimed Sarah; “very pretty liberty which exchanges one master for fifty.”
“The privilege of changing masters at all is a liberty.”
“And one you ladies would sometimes be glad to exercise,” cried the captain.
“We like, I believe, to have the liberty of choosing who they shall be in the first place,” said the laughing girl. “Don’t we, Aunt Jeanette?”
“Me!” cried Miss Peyton, starting; “what do I know of such things, child? You must ask someone else, if you wish to learn such matters.”
“Ah! you would have us think you were never young! But what am I to believe of all the tales I have heard about the handsome Miss Jeanette Peyton?”
“Nonsense, my dear, nonsense,” said the aunt, endeavoring to suppress a smile; “it is very silly to believe all you hear.”
“Nonsense, do you call it?” cried the captain, gayly. “To this hour
General Montrose toasts Miss Peyton; I heard him within the week, at Sir
Henry’s table.”
“Why, Henry, you are as saucy as your sister; and to break in upon your folly, I must take you to see my new home-made manufactures, which I will be bold enough to put in contrast with the finery of Birch.”
The young people rose to follow their aunt, in perfect good humor with each other and the world. On ascending the stairs to the place of deposit for Miss Peyton’s articles of domestic economy, she availed herself, however, of an opportunity to inquire of her nephew, whether General Montrose suffered as much from the gout as he had done when she knew him.
It is a painful discovery we make, as we advance in life, that even those we most love are not exempt from its frailties. When the heart is fresh, and the view of the future unsullied by the blemishes which have been gathered from the experience of the past, our feelings are most holy: we love to identify with the persons of our natural friends all those qualities to which we ourselves aspire, and all those virtues we have been taught to revere. The confidence with which we esteem seems a part of our nature; and there is a purity thrown around the affections which tie us to our kindred that after life can seldom hope to see uninjured. The family of Mr. Wharton continued to enjoy, for the remainder of the day, a happiness to which they had long been strangers; and one that sprang, in its younger members, from the delights of the most confident affection, and the exchange of the most disinterested endearments.
Harper appeared only at the dinner table, and he retired with the cloth, under the pretense of some engagement in his own room. Notwithstanding the confidence created by his manner, the family felt his absence a relief; for the visit of Captain Wharton was necessarily to be confined to a very few days, both from the limitation of his leave of absence, and the danger of a discovery.
All dread of consequences, however, was lost in the pleasure of the meeting. Once or twice during the day, Mr. Wharton had suggested a doubt as to the character of his unknown guest, and the possibility of the detection of his son proceeding in some manner from his information; but the idea was earnestly opposed by all his children; even Sarah uniting with her brother and sister in pleading warmly in favor of the sincerity expressed in the outward appearance of the traveler.
“Such appearances, my children,” replied the desponding parent, “are but too often deceitful; when men like Major Andre lend themselves to the purposes of fraud, it is idle to reason from qualities, much less externals.”
“Fraud!” cried his son quickly. “Surely, sir, you forget that Major Andre was serving his king, and that the usages of war justified the measure.”
“And did not the usages of war justify his death, Henry?” inquired Frances, speaking in a low voice, unwilling to abandon what she thought the cause of her country, and yet unable to suppress her feelings for the man.
“Never!” exclaimed the young man, springing from his seat, and pacing the floor rapidly. “Frances, you shock me; suppose it should be my fate, even now, to fall into the power of the rebels; you would vindicate my execution—perhaps exult in the cruelty of Washington.”
“Henry!” said Frances, solemnly, quivering with emotion, and with a face pale as death, “you little know my heart.”
“Pardon me, my sister—my little Fanny,” cried the repentant youth, pressing her to his bosom, and kissing off the tears which had burst, spite of her resolution, from her eyes.
“It is very foolish to regard your hasty words, I know,” said Frances, extricating herself from his arms, and raising her yet humid eyes to his face with a smile; “but reproach from those we love is most severe, Henry; particularly—where we—we think—we know”—her paleness gradually gave place to the color of the rose, as she concluded in a low voice, with her eyes directed to the carpet, “we are undeserving of it.”
Miss Peyton moved from her own seat to the one next her niece, and, kindly taking her hand, observed, “You should not suffer the impetuosity of your brother to affect you so much; boys, you know, are proverbially ungovernable.”
“And, from my conduct, you might add cruel,” said the captain, seating himself on the other side of his sister. “But on the subject of the death of Andre we are all of us uncommonly sensitive. You did not know him: he was all that was brave—that was accomplished—that was estimable.” Frances smiled faintly, and shook her head, but made no reply. Her brother, observing the marks of incredulity in her countenance, continued, “You doubt it, and justify his death?”
“I do not doubt his worth,” replied the maid, mildly, “nor his being deserving of a more happy fate; but I cannot doubt the propriety of Washington’s conduct. I know but little of the customs of war, and wish to know less; but with what hopes of success could the Americans contend, if they yielded all the principles which long usage had established, to the exclusive purposes of the British?”
“Why contend at all?” cried Sarah, impatiently. “Besides, being rebels, all their acts are illegal.”
“Women are but mirrors, which reflect the images before them,” cried the captain, good-naturedly. “In Frances I see the picture of Major Dunwoodie, and in Sarah—”
“Colonel Wellmere,” interrupted the younger sister, laughing, and blushing crimson. “I must confess I am indebted to the major for my reasoning—am I not, Aunt Jeanette?”
“I believe it is something like his logic, indeed, child.”
“I