Silent Struggles. Ann S. Stephens

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СКАЧАТЬ governor gave an imperceptible start, controlled himself, and reaching forth his hand—the large, firm hand, which had known much toil in its day—buried that of the young man in its grasp.

      "I hope that Lady Phipps was not alarmed by my absence," said Norman, a little chilled by this composure.

      "I cannot quite say that with truth, young man," replied the governor; "but you will explain all at breakfast. From the state of your garments I should judge that you had at least been in the water."

      "Yes; but you see I came out safe—and that brave old minister, also, Samuel Parris. I wish you could have seen him, Sir William: he was a perfect Neptune."

      "Nay," answered the governor, with a smile that transfigured his face from its usual grave expression into something that made the heart leap towards him, "that is a heathenish name for one of God's ministers; but if your danger, whatever it prove, was shared by Samuel Parris, it must have been in a good cause. I am glad, boy, that your night has been spent with this devout man."

      With these words Sir William passed on, and entered his closet, apparently casting all thought of the youth from his mind. But no sooner was he alone and the door closed, than he fell upon his knees by the great oaken chair, which had belonged to his old father on the Kennebec. There, with bent head, he poured forth the thanksgiving that filled his soul, so earnestly that his frame shook, and his clasped hands unwove themselves, covering his face, while the tears that sprang to his eyes stole softly down the palms.

      It was only when alone with his God that the strong man became like a little child—alone, with the bolts drawn, and his face bowed over the oaken seat where his father had prayed with the mother and her score of children by his side.

      Governor Phipps joined his family at breakfast, sedate, calm, and with that dignity of manner which may well accompany a sense of high power. Lady Phipps could not so well conceal the traces of an anxious and sleepless night. Her eyes were heavy, her cheeks pale, and the usual exquisite arrangement of her morning toilet was a good deal disturbed. The robe of dark chintz was looped back, a little unevenly, from the full dimity underskirt, and the crimson ribbon that bound the snowy little cap to her head was knotted in a bow, slightly verging towards the left temple, instead of lying flat upon the glossy black hair over the forehead as it should have done.

      Besides these little indications of unrest, the lady would draw a deep breath, now and then, like one who had just recovered from a fright, and she glanced towards the young secretary from time to time, with a look of devout thankfulness.

      Dear lady, her life had been so full of happiness, so rich in prosperity, that the danger of one she loved as if he had been her own son clung around her yet. She grew paler as he told over his strange adventure on the shore, and seemed greatly interested in the old man who had been his companion.

      He did not mention the name of this person, and passed over the conversation on the beach entirely, dwelling only on that which marked their encounter on the heights, when the storm was raging. Some intuition told him that the young girl, whose eyes dwelt so wistfully on his, would be pained to know that her father had been for two days within sight of the roof that covered her without attempting to enter beneath it.

      Governor Phipps seemed unusually interested in the events he described, and though the youth talked on gayly, a superstitious feeling crept over the party as he gave a vivid picture of the spectral appearance of the ship. But when he came to speak of Barbara Stafford, his speech faltered, a husky feeling clove to his tongue, and it was only by questions that they gained a knowledge of the strange woman.

      "I will ride over to the farm-house to-morrow," said Lady Phipps, with prompt hospitality; "if she is a gentlewoman, as you say, Norman, we can be of service. She must have letters of introduction that will warrant us in asking her here."

      Governor Phipps looked suddenly up as his wife spoke and his countenance changed. It was so unusual to see him in the least disturbed that his lady remarked it with some anxiety.

      "Are you ill, Sir William?"

      "I do not know. A strange feeling seized upon me for the moment; a faintness—a sort of shock—it is nothing."

      Lady Phipps looked around for some cause.

      "It may be this plateau of flowers, they are unusually fragrant this morning," she said, looking around for a servant to carry away the roses, which Norman had gathered, from the table.

      "Let me—let me!" cried Elizabeth Parris, seizing upon the flowers, and carrying them off to her room. She would not have had a leaf touched by one of the servants for the universe.

      Norman followed her with his eyes, smiled with quiet satisfaction, when he saw her stoop fondly and inhale the breath of the roses as she went up-stairs, then, leaning towards Lady Phipps, he said, in a low voice,

      "The old man was her father!"

      "What! Samuel Parris? and pass by this house?" exclaimed the lady in astonishment. "This is a strange thing, Sir William."

      "It is strange—very strange," answered the governor, rising. "I will seek our old friend and reason with him."

      "And I," said his wife, "will seek out the stranger. Goody Brown is a kind woman, but the poor lady may not obtain all she needs in the farm-house. Did you hear her name, Lovel?"

      "No," answered the youth, with unaccountable hesitation; "but you will find it embroidered on this handkerchief, which I picked up on the beach in coming along. The cambric is wet and drenched with sand, but you can perhaps make it out."

      Lady Phipps took the handkerchief and examined the embroidery. "A coronet," she muttered: "this looks well. But the name—B—Barbara—Barbara Stafford. Stafford—that is a good old English name. Sir William, I will surely go and see her."

CHAPTER VI.

       Table of Contents

A GUIDE TO THE FARM-HOUSE.

       Table of Contents

      The next day after her spectral shrouds were first seen in the harbor, the good ship came up to her wharf. Among the first passengers that landed was a dark, foreign-looking man, apparently somewhat under thirty years of age. He stood upon the wharf with a small leathern bag in his hand, as if uncertain where to go; but his eyes, black as midnight and splendid as diamonds, turned excitedly from object to object, as if he took a vivid interest in every thing that surrounded him. At last they fell on one of the sailors who had helped Barbara Stafford down the side of the ship that stormy afternoon. With an eager step he approached the man.

      "Have you heard? did the boatmen bring her safe through the storm?" he questioned. "The lady—the lady I am speaking of. Did she suffer?—is she safe and well?"

      The man laughed. "She is safe enough in Goody Brown's farm-house," he said, "and well, too, if the souse she got in the water didn't give her a cold. But it was an awful tough piece of work, I tell you. If it hadn't been for that old man, who didn't seem to have so much in him, for he was thin as a shad, they would all have gone to Davie's locker, sure as a gun. You never in your born days saw such a tussel as they had with the breakers the boatmen say."

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