CHAPTER XII

_Trouble for Sue_

So far as Fred Lyle was concerned, it soon became apparent that Jack need not consider him a rival, for he was scarce a week under the Silverthorn's roof before the young sergeant had eyes and ears for no one but Sue,--a discovery which Jack was the last one to make, and which he took triumphantly to Kate with the remark, "I say, Kate, do you know I believe Lyle's making up to Sue."

"Do you?" Kate returned, with laughter in her eyes. "And how long since you made this wonderful discovery?"

"Oh, I've suspected it for some time, but I didn't think there was really anything in it till to-day. Look here, did you know it?"

"Did I know it? Why, of course. Anybody but a blind bat who has only eyes for a little whiffet of a girl like Marianne would see it. Grandfather is in a rage over it."

"You don't say so!"

"Yes, and he's for getting him out of the house, neck and heels, as speedily as possible."

"Pshaw! what's the matter with him? Of course nobody's good enough for Sue, but the fellow's a gentleman, and she might do much worse."

"Precisely, but he's not a loyalist."

"He's loyal to his own convictions and to his father's teachings." Jack was disposed to look very leniently upon this cousin of Marianne's, since he had proved beyond doubt that he did not stand in Jack's way.

"You know grandfather and his prejudices. He will get father all stirred up next. Dear me! we are all in something of a fix."

"What does Sue say?"

"Nothing."

"Does she--is she interested?"

"You know she has always declared herself more American than British, and it is very likely that she has a warm spot for the young sergeant; yet it is too early to say positively, and I don't suppose, as matters stand, that it would break her heart to part with him. Still--"

"Yes, still--"

"It is mean of grandfather to be so hard on him, as if loving Sue were a terrible crime. If he should do anything that would lead to Fred's misfortune, it would be the surest way to increase Sue's regard for the boy."

"He hasn't been talking to her about it, has he?"

"Indeed, he has, then. He tackled her in the kitchen this very morning. Sue had very little to say,--you know her way of keeping silence when she feels the most,--but I tell you the look on her face as she marched out of the room made me know that she'd cross the border if she dared."

"With Fred Lyle?"

"Yes, or without him. Grandfather has taken the wrong way to break off this affair, for I never saw Sue give Mr. Lyle such a look as she did the next time they chanced to meet."

"Well, well, well!" Jack ejaculated. "It's a sort of a mess all around. I'm good-natured, and I don't like to fuss, but I say no one has a right to dictate to girls and boys as big as we are when there is no moral question, only a difference of fool politics. Such things make a fellow stubborn; it's what drove Royal from his father's side, and it would drive me to the Yankees if grandfather were to try to force me to his way of thinking. We are all fond of old grand-dad, but he can't pull strings and make us all jump to his bidding like puppets. What does father say about all this?"

"Oh, you know father. He just laughs and jokes about it and won't see that there is any serious side."

"That's better than the other way. Well, Kate, we all have our troubles, and what has turned out one for Sue, has relieved me of one of mine. I shall not have any duel to fight except with Victor."

"Nonsense, you'll have no duels to fight. By the way, do you expect to return to your regiment?"

"Yes, as soon as my parole is ended. There will be no fighting anyhow for some time, for us volunteers, for we have been dismissed to our homes, and the regulars have gone into winter quarters. By spring the whole affair may be settled, and I most devoutly hope it will be."

But it was not settled by spring, and in the meantime there was a parting between Sue and her lover,--a parting which no one witnessed, and of which Sue would not speak. Major Silverthorn very curtly announced to the young man that it was decided to return him to his own side with some others exchanged. "We do not usually parole regulars," said the old gentleman, "and in your case it was an exceptional favor that gave you any sort of freedom. Your exchange has been arranged, and you will leave to-morrow."

In polite terms Fred expressed his thanks for the unusual consideration shown him, but made no further comment.

Not long after this Royal took up his quarters at his grandmother's, and Marianne passes her time between the Silverthorns and the home of her grandmother, Mr. Silverthorn, in his jocose way, insisting that she was still their prisoner, and, chaffing her about it, pretended that she could leave them only on parole, making a great fuss over it when she did. Victorine and Madame Desvouges fulfilled their promise of visiting the Silverthorns, and Kate's gentle concern for both of them quite won their hearts, so that one day the old lady, in confidence, told Kate her hopes concerning her grandchildren. "If it would but arrange itself so," she said plaintively, "I should have no compunctions about the property. Victor marries Marianne; I give him the farm; they are then both provided for. Victorine marries Royal, and brings him the dot I have saved for her. You see then this excellent plan; I provide at once for both my adopted children and my grandchildren. My daughter thinks it a plan of most excellent wisdom, and indeed I shall be desolated if it comes not about. True, you say; but would one want a deformity for a wife? I reply, but behold the angel face, the soul of such beauty, the life so pure, so unselfish that one forgets there is not perfection of body. You, for example, who have but lately met her, did she repel you? Were you shocked, abhorrent of her, my poor Victorine?"

"No, no," Kate hastened to say. "I was not. She is, as you say, beautiful, attractive, lovable."

"Ah, but that gratifies me. We are so accustomed to seeing her we forget, and I said to myself but the other day: I will ask the young demoiselles Silverthorn if they were repelled by her, if she to them seemed impossible." She peered up into Kate's face with her bright dark eyes, and Kate felt herself grow warm under the gaze. "You are such a creature of excellent health, so robust and full of verve," Madame went on, "that you, if any one, would feel the difference; and you do not dislike to be near this child of affliction?"

"On the contrary, I find her a sweet, noble soul, one whom it is a privilege to know."

Madame nodded with a satisfied air. Kate hesitated, and then asked wistfully, "Your grandson, he, of course--he knows your desire in this?"

"Mon Dieu! no," cried the old lady. "We would be of the most unwise to tell him now. He is at the perverse age. He is young; he will get over it. We must be patient, that is all. I have made my will, and in that I have expressed myself concerning the matter."

"And Marianne?"

"Ah, that is different. It is for a girl to have her marriage arranged for her. She has been told by both her mother and myself, that she may expect to marry Victor."

"And she accepts the arrangement?"

"Ah, well, she is young and full of the idea of living nowhere but in her father's country; but Victor is a good boy; she is fond of him. What more could she ask? When she is tired of her butterfly ways, and desires to be settled as every woman should be, she will be amiable enough. Oh, no, I have no fear for Marianne. And Victor is content; he understands. He would not cage a wild bird and break its heart, he says; but when it is tamed, that is different. She will not then wish to hop beyond call, he tells me. He is very patient and prudent, is Victor."

Kate kept her own counsel, but she took all this confidence to heart. Marianne, a docile French girl, accepting the arrangements made for her by mother and grandmother? No, indeed, they would find themselves mistaken in the girl. Had she not once said: "Liberty of thought, of speech, of action, that is to me the most glorious condition of which we have to boast in our country. I am like my father in that. And yet," sighed Kate, "that same father wanted to coerce Royal, and he had resented it, too. Neither Royal nor Marianne would submit to having their lives arranged for them, and yet it would be a wise arrangement in most directions. I don't think Marianne yet knows what love is," thought the girl. "She is still such a child; but when she does care, it will be with all her heart. Poor Victorine, poor Sue, poor Jack! I won't pity myself," said Kate, with a toss of the head and a compression of the lips.

And that was how matters stood all winter. If Royal made advances, Kate repelled them; if Jack one day felt that he had gained a little in Marianne's good graces, the next she gave him a flout and a fling, so that he was in the depths of despair. What Sue thought she kept to herself, but that she had something to keep was evident by the hardening of her face whenever her grandfather began a tirade against the Yankees. Major Silverthorn did not spare words upon such occasions, even when Marianne was present. Once or twice she began a protest, but the sudden bringing together of Grandfather Silverthorn's heavy eyebrows, and his high-handed methods of disposing of Marianne's remarks, sealed her lips for all future controversy. Besides, Kate had begged her not to open a discussion. "Grandfather is very bitter," she said. "He suffered a good deal at the hands of those he called rebels, and was driven from his home in the dead of winter by the Sons of Liberty. There was wrong done on both sides, Marianne, but it doesn't do any good to argue the question; and besides, it makes it much harder for Sue. We want to spare her, you know." So, for Sue's sake, as well as to prevent the irascible old man from berating Marianne herself, the girl thought discretion the better part of valor, and kept silence.

Meanwhile it was pleasant enough at her grandmother's, and to avoid Grandfather Silverthorn she stayed away more and more, spending her time with Victorine at the loom, or helping her grandmother with her various duties, or sometimes starting off with Victor for a long walk or ride through the woods; again she might go skating with him, or dash off for a sleigh-ride. Whatever else her grandmother forbade, it was never a frolic in which Victor was concerned; and Marianne, knowing this, took advantage of it, having but to make Victor her special pleader to obtain consent for any outing. It pleased the girl well enough, too, to have him with her, for Victor was a willing slave, and allowed her to queen it over him magnificently, though sometimes he did tease her and mock her.

Royal, in spite of the fact that he considered his grandmother's house his real home, nevertheless spent most of his time at the Silverthorn's, to his grandmother's displeasure and Kate's uneasiness.

When Marianne wanted to see these girl friends, she had no trouble in finding an escort in her brother, and so seldom called upon Victor to take her. Royal was not much of a talker, except at times. He was either gay and volatile or gloomy and morose. Marianne knew enough to select a time when the lively mood was in force to prefer her requests, and was seldom refused.

He was ready enough one winter afternoon to accept her suggestion to take a sleigh-ride. "We can stop at the Silverthorn's and get the girls," Marianne proposed, "then we'll take a little ride in the cold, and be ready with big appetites for supper."

"Very well," responded Royal, with alacrity. "We will go. Bundle up warm. We'll perhaps stop somewhere and get supper, so we'll take the big sleigh. I've no doubt that Jack will be glad to go with us."

Marianne gave a little lift of her chin. "Oh! Jack! must he always go?"

"Why not? He is a good fellow, I am sure, and jolly company; and, besides, he is my friend."

"Oh, well, of course," Marianne returned lamely. She ran up to the room she shared with Victorine and donned a fur jacket and cap, pulling the flaps of the latter well down over her ears, and was ready to start off by the time Royal had the sleigh at the door; for in spite of his grandmother's protests, he generally managed to secure her consent to the use of anything he wanted. They found Kate and Sue quite in the humor for a frolic, and Jack was nothing loath. So off they started, through the woods and over the hard snowy road; Kate snuggled down by Royal's side on the front seat, and Jack with Sue and Marianne behind these two. Marianne had insisted that Sue should occupy the middle place, and in this order they decided it.

"You are so quiet, Sue," said Marianne, when they were well started. "What is wrong?"

"Grandfather has been in one of his fierce moods to-day," Jack explained. "Sometimes he gets too personal. I don't mind it, but Sue does and has reason to."

"I think he is a most unpleasant, tyrannical old gentleman," Marianne said, with fervor.

"And that is the reason you keep out of his way," Jack said.

"Of course. I don't intend to place myself in disagreeable company if I can avoid it. One cannot always choose one's company, but there are times when it is possible. Never mind, Sue, you and I will skip across the river some day and leave the wicked old Britishers."

"Of whom I am one, I suppose," returned Jack, a little too ready to take offence. He looked so unlike a wicked old anything, with his boyish good-humored face, that even Sue laughed.

"You are spoiling Jack's disposition," she said.

"You may be wicked, but you are not old," Marianne told him, demurely. "I should prefer that you were the latter if you could be but one."

"What if I were both, wherein could I be better?" Jack asked.

"You could cross the river and join our army," said Marianne, quickly.

"And add to my other sins that of being a traitor. You would like me to do that?"

"Well, no, I don't suppose I would, come to think of it. No, I see there is no way to improve your sad condition. You are hopelessly beyond benefiting. It is too bad that you committed yourself, or otherwise you could join our side and not be a traitor. I should like to hear you shout, 'Free trade and sailors' rights,' and see you trying to avenge the massacre of our men by your Indians." Jack compressed his lips, but said nothing. It was Marianne's habit to make these little flings, and to give him to understand that she endured him simply for the sake of his sisters and of her brother. Having accomplished her purpose in annoying him, Marianne laughed and whispered to Sue, "'Free trade and sailors' rights'; that's Cousin Fred's cry, you know." Sue made no reply except to give Marianne's hand a quick pressure.

They were approaching a comfortable farmhouse, the owners of which were ready to entertain friends at quick notice, to pop a meat pasty in the oven, to warm up a fowl already roasted, and to have a warm meal ready for whoever might need it. There seemed a little embarrassment visible as the sleighing-party entered, but as the supplies in this part of the country were getting low, the visitors attributed the confusion to this fact.

"Don't bother about a hot supper for us, Mrs. Hunter," said Royal. "A dish of porridge to warm us will be quite as much as we expect, and more than we deserve."

"We will be able to give you something more, I hope," the good woman replied. "Will you go to the other room, girls, and lay off your things?"

"I will stay and help you," Kate said. "Here, Sue, carry in my cloak and hood." Sue hung the heavy cloak over her arm and followed Marianne into the next room.

"Just put them on the bed," Mrs. Hunter directed them.

The two girls obeyed and deposited their wraps upon the plump white bed; then they stood before the small mirror to arrange their disordered ringlets, by the dim light of a candle. The room opened upon a porch on one side, and into the kitchen on the other. There was a small closet by the chimneypiece, and the door of it stood ajar. Sue turned away from the glass. "I have an uncomfortable feeling as if some one were looking at me," she remarked. "Did you ever have that creepy feeling, Marianne?"

"I don't know. Not just that. Perhaps some one is looking in the window. It is so dark outside that we couldn't see if any one was there."

Sue gave a swift glance at the window, and drew back. Then she looked around and gave a suppressed scream. "Oh, Marianne, there is some one there in the closet. I saw the door move."

"It's only the wind. Don't be scary, Sue. You are not given to being so nervous."

"I know--but--"

"Come, I'll open the door and show you." She advanced toward the small door of the closet, but it was suddenly flung open, and a man stood before them, raising a silencing finger. "Cousin Fred!" Marianne exclaimed, in a whisper.

"Fred!" murmured Sue. "What are you doing here?"

"I was on my way to see you," he told her. "I could not stand it any longer. I may be ordered away at any moment, and the thought that I might never see you again was too much for me. The Hunters, I learned, were secretly friends to our side, and they sheltered me. I meant to try to get word to you somehow, and fortune has favored me. How can I see you for a little while without suspicion from those outside? Your brother, and yours, Marianne, would have a right; and it would be their duty to take me."

"They are calling us now," said Sue, in perturbation. And just then Kate's voice was heard at the door.

"What are you girls doing so long in there?" she inquired.

"We'll be there presently," Sue answered faintly. "Oh, what excuse can we make?" She turned to Marianne.

Immediately Marianne flung herself on the bed. "I am suddenly ill, Sue. Tell them, and you must stay here with me. I'll manage it. Go ask Mrs. Hunter if she can make me a cup of ginger tea. Go back into your hiding-place, Cousin Fred."

He stepped into the closet, and Marianne set up such a moaning and groaning as brought Kate to her side. "Poor child!" she exclaimed sympathetically, "you shouldn't have taken that long ride; it was far enough to our house without this added distance. You have taken cold, I am afraid."

"Don't let me keep you," said Marianne, in a weak voice. "Go back to Mrs. Hunter. Sue will stay with me."

Kate retired, and presently Mrs. Hunter came bustling in, all concern. Marianne sat up and whispered something to her. "I am not really ill," was what she said, "but I must make an excuse for Sue and me to remain after the others have gone. Will you mind keeping us here to-night. It is for Fred and Sue, you understand, Mrs. Hunter."

The good woman nodded assent. "Keep you? Of course, as long as you want to stay. I was young once myself, my child."

"And not so long ago," returned Marianne. "Say to them in there that I must be quiet, and that you have given me an herb drink, and if I can get to sleep I shall feel better."

"That I will do, and the herb drink will do you no harm, either. I will keep them all out and send them home in good order."

"We will settle the other matters when they have gone," Marianne decided.

Mrs. Hunter went out, carefully shutting the door behind her, and they heard her make her report according to Marianne's directions.

"I will pretend I am asleep, Sue," said Marianne, "and you can then go and eat your supper. In doing that there will be less suspicion. Then you must insist that you will stay with me and that we will return in the morning. Now go. I can't help it if it is a deceit; there is no other way." For answer Sue bent over and kissed her; and Marianne, left to herself, cuddled down in the big feather-bed, drawing a warm comfortable over her. She did not dare to speak to her cousin lest their whispered conference be overheard.

It was not long before Sue and Kate returned. "She is awake," said Kate, as Marianne opened her eyes from her feigned nap. "Are you feeling better, dear?"

"Yes," said Marianne, in a feeble tone.

"But she must not go out to-night into the cold," said Mrs. Hunter, who had followed the others into the room.

"Then I shall stay with her," Kate declared.

"No, Sue promised that she would," Marianne told her.

"Oh, well," Kate made reply, a little hurt. But Marianne drew her down and whispered:--

"Royal will be so disappointed if you do not return."

Kate shook her head, but smiled and made no further demur. So presently the depleted party drove off, and the two girls were left to themselves.