The Hearts Highway | Page 6

she. "Why do you not
proceed to church and leave me to follow when I am ready?"
She had never spoken to me in such manner before, and she dared not
look at me as she spoke.
"I go when you go, Madam," said I again.
Then, suddenly, with an impulse half of mischief and half of anger, she

lashed out with her riding whip at my restive horse, and he sprang, and
I had much ado to keep him from bolting. He danced to all the trees and
bushes, and she had to pull Merry Roger sharply to one side, but finally
I got the mastery of him, and rode close to her again.
"Madam," said I, "I forbid you to do that again," and as I spoke I saw
her little fingers twitch on her whip, but she dared not raise it. She
laughed as a child will who knows she is at fault and is scared by her
consciousness of guilt and would conceal it by a bravado of merriment;
then she said in the sweetest, wheedling tone that I had ever heard from
her, and I had known her from her childhood:
"But, Master Wingfield, 'tis broad daylight and there are no Indians
hereabouts, and if there were, here are all these English sailors and
Captain Tabor. Why need you stay? Indeed, I shall be quite safe--and
hear, that must be the last stroke of the bell?"
But I was not to be moved by wheedling. I repeated again that I should
remain where she was. Then she, grown suddenly stern again, withdrew
a little from me, and made no further efforts to get rid of me, but sat
still watching the unlading with a gravity which gave me a vague
uneasiness. I began to have a feeling that here was more than appeared
on the surface, and my suspicion grew as I watched the sailors lift those
boxes which were supposed to contain Mistress Mary's finery. In the
first place there were enough of them to contain the wardrobe of a lady
in waiting, in the second place they were of curious shape for such
purposes, in the third place 'twas all those lusty English sailors could do
to lift them.
"They be the heaviest furbelows that ever maiden wore," I thought as I
watched them strain at the cases, both hauling and pulling, with many
men to the ends to get them through the hatch, then ease them to the
deck, with regard to the nipping of fingers. I noted, too, an order given
somewhat privately by Captain Tabor to put out the pipes, and noted
that not one man but had stowed his away.
There was a bridle-path leading through the woods to Laurel Creek,
and by that way to my consternation Mistress Mary ordered the sailors

to carry the cases. 'Twas two miles inland, and I marvelled much to
hear her, for even should nearly all the crew go, the load would be a
grievous one, it seemed to me. But to my mind Captain Calvin Tabor
behaved as if the order was one which he expected, neither did the
sailors grumble, but straightway loaded themselves with the case raised
upon a species of hurdles which must have been provided for the
purpose, and proceeded down the bridle-path, singing to keep up their
hearts another song even more at odds with the day than the first. The
captain marched at the head of the sailors, and Mistress Mary and I
followed slowly through the narrow aisle of green. I rode ahead, and
often pulled my horse to one side, pressing his body hard against the
trees that I might hold back a branch which would have caught her
headgear. All the way we never spoke. When we reached Laurel Creek,
Mistress Mary drew the key from her pocket, which showed to me that
the visit had been planned should the ship have arrived. She unlocked
the door, and the sailors, no longer singing, for they were well-nigh
spent by the journey under the heavy burdens, deposited the cases in
the great room. Laurel Creek had belonged to Mistress Mary's maternal
grandfather, Colonel Edmond Lane, and had not been inhabited this
many a year, not since Mary was a baby in arms. The old furniture still
stood in the accustomed places, looking desolate with that peculiar
desolateness of lifeless things which have been associated with man.
The house at Laurel Creek was a fine mansion, finer than Drake Hill,
and the hall made me think of England. Great oak chests stood against
the walls, hung with rusting swords and armour and empty
powder-horns. A carven seat was beside the cold hearth, and in a corner
was a tall spinning-wheel, and the carven stair led in