the following morning, the party had just finished breakfast, and were clustered about in front of the house, when captain jamison came hurriedly up the avenue.
old marbury, with his foot in the stirrup, had paused for a moment's conversation with mr. plater and parkington, and he regarded the approaching skipper with some surprise.
"what does this mean, jamison?" he asked, "i thought you would be well on the way to annapolis, by this time."
"so did i, sir," was the answer. "such were your orders—but you can't never tell what will happen. the truth is, sir, long-sword has escaped!"
"escaped! how?—when?" marbury demanded.
the skipper was plainly much embarrassed—he twirled his cap between his fingers, shuffled his feet, and his glance wandered skyward.
"i don't know, sir—it was sometime between dark and daylight. he was in the cabin, tight enough, with the irons fast on him, when night fell—he was gone, this morning."
"with the irons fast to him?"
[pg 197]
"no, sir, with the irons off him, sir, lying on his bunk—and as securely locked as when they were on him. how did he get out of them, sir, how did he get out of them?"
marbury shook his head. "if you cannot tell, i am sure i cannot."
"possibly he found the key you lost," observed parkington.
"i did not lose it in his cabin, sir," said jamison; "it was found at the foot of the companionway. i picked it up there, myself."
parkington nodded. it was clever of brandon to lock the irons and leave the key where it likely would be found.
"then he must be small-boned and small-jointed. i have heard of men who could slip the irons in that way," remarked plater.
"i think not—they seemed to fit him very close—in fact, he complained of them pinching him."
"like enough!" laughed plater. "another proof that they were loose."
"where was the guard—asleep?" asked marbury.
"no, not asleep—dead! dead! with his own knife buried in his breast."
"when did you discover that long-sword was missing?"
"a little after day-break. i sent every man ashore on the search. i did not come here, until it was proved he had escaped."
[pg 198]
"how did he get ashore?"
"swam for it."
"hum! pretty fair for a broken collar-bone!" marbury remarked.
"he is a dangerous man, sir."
"naturally—otherwise he would not be a pirate chief."
"he must be taken!" protested the skipper. "we must catch him!"
"yes—we, or some one else, must catch him—and, as he seems to have got away from the vicinity, it will probably be some one else," parkington observed.
"so you likely will not retire on your reward, jamison," marbury observed; "another will get the thousand guineas.... why did you not notify us, at once?"
"because, i hoped to catch him, sir."
"and not be obliged to tell me he had escaped—i see."
"it is only human nature," said parkington. "let me intercede for jamison."
"it is not necessary; i reckon i would have done the same had our positions been reversed. moreover, i am not much grieved over it. long-sword is a very decent sort of man—too decent to stretch a halter."
"you will do nothing, sir, to apprehend him?" gasped jamison.
"nothing!" said marbury.
[pg 199]
"and the seaman he killed, in cold blood?"
"was the man married?—yes? then i shall give his widow a year's pay. for my part, i have had enough of pirates, and i do not propose to disturb this house party, especially the women folk, by hunting one who is trying his best to get away. you are at liberty, with your crew, to continue the search, provided it does not conflict with your orders. but hedgely hall is done with the buccaneering business—and, please god! it be done with her. gentlemen, i must to the fields," and, with a curt nod, he was up in saddle and away.
"what are you going to do, jamison?" said parkington.
"do, sir! what can i do? follow down the coast, and raise the hue and cry—and, likely, find he has gone northward! devil's ship! but it's a bad business."
"the pirate business is generally bad—in the end," remarked parkington.
"if you do not catch long-sword, the chances are that some one else will," sympathized plater.
"yes, and get the reward," said jamison.—"i cannot claim the thousand guineas, unless i deliver him to the authorities."
"then, it is the reward and not the pirate you are after?"
"it is the pirate because of the reward.—i would not turn a hand to take him, otherwise."
[pg 200]
"well, you better be up and doing, or you will not have any chance of taking him," said parkington. "if i can aid you, in any way, pray, command me. i rather fancy chasing a pirate on land—it is a novel experience."
"i'm off, sir!—i'm going down the coast; may be, i can pick him up. he will likely make for one of the virginia ports. thank you, sir, for your offer of assistance."
"he will never take him," said plater, looking after jamison. "the fellow has not gone to virginia, i will wager. he will lie very low, until his injury is healed—a stranger, with a broken collar-bone, is too easily located."
parkington nodded assent. "marbury's course seemed to surprise jamison," he said.
"because jamison was thinking only of the reward. i should have done just as marbury did; he has the pirate ship, which, doubtless, he considers is prize enough. jamison lost his prisoner through sheer carelessness, and marbury does not intend to turn the plantation upside down to help retake him. oh, the old man is usually right."
"he seems to have been, at least in getting money."
"yes—after carroll he is the richest man in maryland.—you have met young carroll."
parkington nodded. "he seemed a particularly nice fellow."
[pg 201]
"he is—though we scarcely know him. he has been in france since he was eight years of age, getting his education under the jesuits, and, in london, studying law in the temple: he returned home only last year. having polished himself, he will now spend the rest of his life looking after his property."
"a pleasant occupation—when one has sufficient to look after."
"and at which only about half of us are even moderately successful. if i can retain my own, and my wife's, i shall be more than thankful. as for marbury"—he ended with a gesture.
"which means?" said parkington.
plater laughed. "that is what i do not know. he has two children—you have seen them, what is your estimate?"
"i have not seen enough to form an estimate, but i should say young mr. marbury shows excellent promise."
"only promise! exactly, sir edward; but he should show more than promise. he is a charming young man, but can he hold together the marbury fortune. i admit that i and all the others are undecided. as for miss marbury——"
"it will depend upon the man she marries," said parkington.
"and the fortune will be much less than george's. the bulk always goes to the heir, if he be of direct[pg 202] blood, the same as in england, though there is no entail."
"who are miss marbury's suitors," asked parkington, carelessly. "no one of the men, here, seems to be, and, yet, of course, she has them in plenty."
"she could have them in plenty, but she will not. every young fellow in annapolis would have been only too happy—but, nay. they can be as friendly as they please; the instant they would be more, she is up and away."
"the right man has not come," said parkington.
"possibly, not!—but where can you find a better man than paca, or constable, or jennings, or any one of the young bloods you meet at the coffee-house?"
"i do not know—no one knows—possibly, even she does not know. but she will know, when the right one comes—that is, the right one for the time. he may be the wrong one in six months—more's the pity.—yet even she cannot foresee that."
"you are a bit cynical!" laughed plater. "may be they are the ways of england, but they are not our ways."
"not your ways, yet," parkington amended.
"and, i trust, never will be. when a woman chooses a husband, with us, whether for love or policy—though, thank god! there is not much of the latter—she makes the best of it. and it is[pg 203] marvelous what you can do, if you settle yourself to it."
"i grant you that," said parkington; "but the trouble with us seems to be, that, as the country grows broader in civilization, it loses in morals.—you are headed the same way; it is only a question of a little time until you are up with us."
"do you mean it will come in my day?—that i shall see it?"
"yes, i do—you colonists are learning fast. witness, the stamp act, and so on. you are growing powerful, and with power comes laxity. but, we diverge—we were discussing our hostess; scarcely, the best-bred thing to do, but excusable under the circumstances. has she never been in love—since she came to annapolis, i mean?"
"i think not," said plater; "at least, there never has been any indication of it. the one man she seems to like at all times, is richard maynadier—and he is almost old enough to be her father. he never has attempted to grow sentimental. he could not, if he wanted to. maynadier and sentiment are strangers to each other."
("a word to the wise!" thought parkington. "i must have a care, i see, for mr. richard maynadier. no sentiment? why, the man is full of it, or i observed him very poorly, last night.") what he said was: "sometimes it is the slow hound that catches the fox, you know."
"meaning maynadier?" laughed plater.
[pg 204]
"no one else is eligible, you say."
"i did not say he was eligible."
"but he is the only one who is given an opportunity—consequently, he must have a chance, if he care to take it."
"pooh! he would be sent about his business as quickly as the next one, if he got sentimental. he is the fidus achates—he does not want to be more."
"i see—well, it is a rare man who can be fidus achates to a handsome woman, without wishing to be more."
"still the cynic?" laughed plater.
"very much!—it is against human nature."
a little later, parkington chanced upon miss marbury near the sun-dial, in the garden.
"i hear that long-sword has escaped," she said, "and that father refused to permit a search for him, is it true?"
"yes—he said he was not going to have your house-party disturbed by chasing a pirate, who was trying his best to get away—that he has had enough of pirates."
"how like father!"
"your father is a very sensible man."
she gave him an appreciative look, which was not lost on him.
"the way to her good opinion is to praise her father," he thought, but he did no more of it, then. instead, he changed the subject.
[pg 205]
"you forsook me last evening," he said; "at the very first opportunity you deserted."
"to the enemy? i thought i was being very loyal—captain herford is in his majesty's service, you know."
"it was not a question of his majesty's service—every man is a king, at such times."
"pardon! sire, pardon!" she laughed. "i did not recognize your kingship."
"that is just the reason i am complaining—you should have recognized it."
"what is the penalty for treason?" she asked. "do not make it too severe, sire."
"the penalty, for this sort of treason," he said,—"and i am making it very easy—is to give me as much of your society, while i am here, as i have the courage to seek."
"have the courage to seek!" she quoted. "that may seem modest enough, but, for my part, i am of the opinion that you are not wanting in courage—in fact——"
"yes," he said. "in fact——?"
"in fact, you are disposed, if occasion offer, to be a trifle intrepid."
"i protest!" he exclaimed. "you have nothing to justify any such judgment."
"nothing to justify, possibly—much to suspect."
"in what way, mademoiselle?"
[pg 206]
"in the cast of the eye, monsieur—and the tilt of the head—and in other indefinable ways, appreciated by sight alone."
"i suppose, i should be flattered that you have observed me so closely!" he laughed. "i did not know i was so dangerous."
"i should call it fascinating," she answered.
he bent and kissed her hand, in the most courtly way.
"i would it were your lips," he said.
"which only proves my proposition—and, possibly your own. you may be dangerous, as well as fascinating," she replied. "perchance, here is one who can tell better than i—she knows more of the world and the ways of men. miss stirling, is sir edward dangerous as well as fascinating, or, simply, fascinating?" and, with a gay laugh, she left them.
for a moment, miss stirling looked after her with a puzzled air; then, she turned to sir edward.
"what have you been doing?" she asked.
"nothing," he replied.
she smiled. "nothing? and yet she leaves me such a question?"
"which you can answer?" he asked.
"the answer is evident enough. are you not ashamed, sir, to play your fine manners against the innocent?"
"by the innocent, i assume, you mean miss marbury?"
[pg 207]
"certainly."
"then, let me answer you, that miss marbury is as amply able to take care of herself, as—you are," replied parkington, with a smile.
"which is very little," she answered; "for i admit i am afraid of you. you have beautiful manners, sir edward."
"but not to be compared to yours," he replied, bowing.
"and you say everything as though you meant it."
"which makes for sincerity."
"but you do not mean it—or very little of it."
"which allows you to choose what you want, and to discard the rest."
"and you dress in especially good taste," she went on.
"which speaks well for my tailor."
"and you are, in yourself, exceedingly handsome."
"which speaks well for god."
"or the devil," she amended.
"as you wish!" he said, laughingly, and kissed her hand.
"it is always, 'as you wish,' whereas, in truth, it is 'as i wish,' when the play is done."
"the play?" he asked.
"yes, the play—everything which makes for your pleasure or profit. and you do it so gracefully, with such a flourish of indifference, that the[pg 208] other party actually thinks a favor is conferred in the granting it."
"do you mean to imply that i have done the 'play' in maryland?" he asked.
"certainly!—you do 'the play' wherever you are—you could not do otherwise. it is as much a part of your nature as——" she paused for a comparison.
"as it is of yours," he ended.
"if i can do it half so well, i shall be more than pleased," she answered, promptly.
"you accept it, then?"
"my dear sir edward!" she laughed. "we all have something of the mountebank in our natures. he plays it best, who plays it the most, and shows it the least."
"fine philosophy!" he commented. "such cynicism may be permissible in a man, but it is not, many times not, in a woman."
"the men seem to like it," she answered.
he shook his head. "they like you—they have not seen the cynicism."
"and if they do see it?"
he raised his eye-brows, expressively. "i do not know—perhaps, and perhaps not."
"with the chances?"
"not, decidedly not!"
"i take you for an adept," she said—"as one well qualified to advise on the subject."
[pg 209]
"then, abandon it—throw it overboard. a woman should be an optimist—cynicism repels."
"yet you are a cynic."
"all men are cynical; they must be to get on with one another—and with the women."
"another burden for us to bear!" she laughed. "is miss marbury a cynic or an optimist?"
"i should judge her to be very much the optimist."
"and hence the easier to understand, and the easier to hoodwink."
he looked at her, with a bit of a smile. "and for just that reason, less liable to be hoodwinked. sincerity begets sincerity, if the man be really a man."
"and cynicism begets cynicism?"
he bowed. "i am speaking generally, of course."
she prodded the turf with her toe, and thought:
"i suppose you are right," she said; "you have had the experience, you ought to know. but, how many of the women you meet in london are optimists, think you?"
"very few," he smiled.
"and why?—why?—because you men have taught us to be cynics. you lie to us in word and deed, you deceive us, often to our shame, until we must fight back with the weapons god has given us. even now, you are contemplating a campaign[pg 210] against miss marbury, attracted by that very optimism which should make her an easy conquest."
he held up his hands in protestation. "my dear lady! your imagination is wonderful—you are a very child in fancy—the dark must be full of queer things to you."
she laughed, a little, tantalizing laugh, and shot him a knowing look from under her long lashes.
"we shall see," she said: "i may be wrong, and, if i am, you have the proving of it."
"and, meanwhile, what of your campaign for mr. richard maynadier?" he asked.
for a moment, she did not reply, regarding him, thoughtfully, the while.
"what has mr. richard maynadier to do with the proposition?" she said, coldly.
"i do not know—it is for you to answer."
"there is no answer," she replied, looking him straight in the eyes.
he bowed and kissed her hand.
"as you wish, my lady," he said, making no effort to repress his smile; "as you wish."
a little later, he sought his chamber for his walking-stick. as he came down the corridor, he bethought himself of something he wanted to tell mr. marbury. he went over to the door of his room and rapped—then, rapped again, more briskly. the door, which had not been latched, opened and swung slowly back. marbury was not in, but the[pg 211] bags, containing the ransom money, were standing on a table.
he stopped and, casually, glanced around; no one was about. he listened; all was quiet on the second floor. he tiptoed to the stairway and looked down; no one was visible in the hall below. he went back, and stood, uncertain, a moment. then, he walked straight in to marbury's room, swiftly untied the bags, took several handfuls of gold from each, retied them, went out, closed the door behind him, and descended to the party on the lawn.
marbury would likely put the money away without inspecting it—and, if he did count it, the noble englishman could not be suspected.
