Thankful Blossom | Page 9

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face of nature had changed. The moon was gone, the sky hidden in a
blinding, whirling swarm of stinging flakes. The wind, bitter and strong,
had already fashioned white feathery drifts upon the threshold, over the
painted benches on the porch, and against the door-posts.
Mistress Thankful and the baron had walked to the rear door--the baron
with a slight tropical shudder--to view this meteorological change. As
Mistress Thankful looked over the snowy landscape, it seemed to her
that all record of her past experience had been effaced: her very
footprints of an hour before were lost; the gray wall on which she
leaned was white and spotless now; even the familiar farm-shed looked
dim and strange and ghostly. Had she been there? had she seen the
captain? was it all a fancy? She scarcely knew.
A sudden gust of wind closed the door behind them with a crash, and
sent Mistress Thankful, with a slight feminine scream, forward into the
outer darkness. But the baron caught her by the waist, and saved her
from Heaven knows what imaginable disaster; and the scene ended in a
half-hysterical laugh. But the wind then set upon them both with a
malevolent fury; and the baron was, I presume, obliged to draw her
closer to his side.
They were alone, save for the presence of those mischievous
confederates, Nature and Opportunity. In the half-obscurity of the
storm she could not help turning her mischievous eyes on his. But she
was perhaps surprised to find them luminous, soft, and, as it seemed to
her at that moment, grave beyond the occasion. An embarrassment
utterly new and singular seized upon her; and when, as she half feared
yet half expected, he bent down and pressed his lips to hers, she was for
a moment powerless. But in the next instant she boxed his ears sharply,
and vanished in the darkness. When Mr. Blossom opened the door to
the baron he was surprised to find that gentleman alone, and still more
surprised to find, when they re-entered the house, to see Mistress
Thankful enter at the same moment, demurely, from the front door.
When Mr. Blossom knocked at his daughter's door the next morning it
opened upon her completely dressed, but withal somewhat pale, and, if
the truth must be told, a little surly.

"And you were stirring so early, Thankful," he said: "'twould have been
but decent to have bidden God-speed to the guests, especially the baron,
who seemed much concerned at your absence."
Miss Thankful blushed slightly, but answered with savage celerity,
"And since when is it necessary that I should dance attendance upon
every foreign jack-in-the-box that may lie at the house?"
"He has shown great courtesy to you, mistress, and is a gentleman."
"Courtesy, indeed!" said Mistress Thankful.
"He has not presumed?" said Mr. Blossom suddenly, bringing his cold
gray eyes to bear upon his daughter's.
"No, no," said Thankful hurriedly, flaming a bright scarlet; "but--
nothing. But what have you there? a letter?"
"Ay,--from the captain, I warrant," said Mr. Blossom, handing her a
three-cornered bit of paper: "'twas left here by a camp-follower.
Thankful," he continued, with a meaning glance, "you will heed my
counsel in season. The captain is not meet for such as you."
Thankful suddenly grew pale and contemptuous again as she snatched
the letter from his hand. When his retiring footsteps were lost on the
stairs she regained her color, and opened the letter. It was slovenly
written, grievously misspelled, and read as follows:--
"SWEETHEART: A tyranous Act, begotten in Envy and Jealousie,
keeps me here a prisoner. Last night I was Basely arrested by Servile
Hands for that Freedom of Thought and Expression for which I have
already Sacrifized so much--aye all that Man hath but Love and Honour.
But the End is Near. When for the Maintenance of Power, the Liberties
of the Peoples are subdued by Martial Supremacy and the Dictates of
Ambition the State is Lost. I lie in Vile Bondage here in Morristown
under charge of Disrespeck--me that a twelvemonth past left a home
and Respectable Connexions to serve my Country. Believe me still
your own Love, albeit in the Power of Tyrants and condemned it may

be to the scaffold.
"The Messenger is Trustworthy and will speed safely to me such as you
may deliver unto him. The Provender sanktified by your Hands and
made precious by yr. Love was wrested from me by Servil Hands and
the Eggs, Sweetheart, were somewhat Addled. The Bacon is, methinks
by this time on the Table of the Comr-in-Chief. Such is Tyranny and
Ambition. Sweetheart, farewell, for the present.
ALLAN."
Mistress Thankful read this composition once, twice, and then tore it up.
Then, reflecting that it was the first letter of her lover's that she