For Love of Country. Cyrus Townsend Brady

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СКАЧАТЬ stalwart, blue-eyed, pleasant-featured, with the frank engaging air which seems to belong to those who go down to the sea in ships, Lieutenant John Seymour Seymour was an excellent specimen of that hardy, daring, gallant class of men who in this war and in the next were to shed such imperishable lustre upon American arms by their exploits in the naval service. Born of an old and distinguished Philadelphia family, so proud of its name that in his instance they had doubled it, the usual bluntness and roughness of the sea were tempered by this gentle birth and breeding, and by frequent attrition with men and women of the politest society of the largest and most important city of the colonies. Offering his services as soon as the news of Lexington precipitated the conflict with the mother country, he had already made his name known among that gallant band of seamen among whom Jones, Biddle, Dale, and Conyngham were pre-eminent.

      The delicious silence which he had been unwilling to break, since it permitted him to gaze undisturbed upon his fair shipmate, was terminated at last by that lady herself.

      She looked up from the water with which she had been playing, and then appearing to notice for the first time his steady ardent gaze, she laughed lightly and said—

      "Well, sir, it grows late. When you have finished contemplating the scenery, perhaps you will turn the boat, and take me home; then you can feast your eyes upon something more attractive."

      "And what is that, pray?" he asked.

      "Your supper, sir. You must be very anxious for it by this time, and really you know you look quite hungry. We have been out so long; but I will have pity on you, and detain you no longer here. Turn the boat around, Lieutenant Seymour, and put me on shore at once. I will stand between no man and his dinner."

      "Hungry? Yes, I am, but not for dinner—for you, Mistress Katharine," he replied.

      "Oh, what a horrid appetite! I don't feel safe in the boat with you.

       Are you very hungry?"

      "Really, Miss Wilton, I am not jesting at all," he said with immense dignity.

      "Oh! oh! He is in earnest. Shall I scream? No use; we are a mile from the house, at least."

      "Oh, Miss Wilton—Katharine," he replied desperately, "I am devoured by my—"

      "Lieutenant Seymour!" She drew herself up with great hauteur, letting the cloak drop about her waist.

      "Madam!"

      "Only my friends call me Katharine."

      "And am I not, may I not be, one of your friends?"

      "Well, yes—I suppose so; but you are so young."

      "I am just twenty-seven, madam, and you, I suppose, are—"

      "Never be ungallant enough to suppose a young lady's age. You may do those things in Philadelphia, if you like, but 't is not the custom here. Besides, I mean too young a friend; you have not known me long enough, that is."

      "Long enough! I have known you ever since Tuesday of last week."

      "And this is Friday—just ten days, ten long days!" she replied triumphantly.

      "Long days!" he cried. "Very short ones, for me."

      "Long or short, sir, do you think you can know me in that period? Is it possible I am so easily fathomed?" she went on, smiling.

      Now it is ill making love in a rowboat at best, and when one is in earnest and the other jests it is well-nigh impossible; so to these remarks Lieutenant Seymour made no further answer, save viciously to ply the oars and drive the boat rapidly toward the landing.

      Miss Katharine gazed vacantly about the familiar river upon whose banks she had been born and bred, and, finally noticing the sun had gone down, closing the short day, she once more drew her cloak closely about her and resumed the neglected conversation.

      "Won't you please stop looking at me in that manner, and won't you please row harder, or is your strength all centred in your gaze?"

      "I am rowing as fast as I can, Miss Wilton, especially with this—"

      "Oh, I forgot your wounded shoulder! Does it hurt? Does it pain you?

       I am so sorry. Let me row."

      "Thank you, no. I think I can manage it myself. The only pain I have is when you are unkind to me."

      At that moment, to his great annoyance, his oar stuck fast in the oar-lock, and he straightway did that very unsailorly thing known as catching a crab.

      Katharine Wilton laughed. There was music in her voice, but this time it did not awaken a responsive chord in the young man. Extricating his oar violently, he silently resumed his work.

      "Do you like crabs, Mr. Seymour?" she said with apparent irrelevance.

      "I don't like catching them, Miss Wilton," he admitted ruefully.

      "Oh, I mean eating them! We were talking about your appetite, were we not? Well, Dinah devils them deliciously. I 'll have some done for you," she continued with suspicious innocence.

      Seymour groaned in spirit at her perversity, and for the first time in his life felt an intense sympathy with devilled crabs; but he continued his labor in silence and with great dignity.

      "What am I to infer from your silence on this important subject, sir? The subject of edibles, which everybody says is of the first importance—to men—does not appear to interest you at all!"

      He made no further reply.

      The young girl gazed at his pale face at first in much amusement; but the laughter gradually died away, and finally her glance fell to the water by her side. A few strong strokes, strong enough, in spite of a wounded shoulder, to indicate wrathful purpose and sudden determination to the astute maiden, and the little boat swung in beside the wharf. Throwing the oars inboard with easy skill, Seymour sat motionless while the boat glided swiftly down toward the landing-steps, and the silence was broken only by the soft, delicious lip, lip, lip of the water, which seemed to cling to and caress the bow of the skiff until it finally came to rest. The man waited until the girl looked up at him. She saw in his resolute mien the outward and visible sign of his inward determination, and she realized that the game so bravely and piquantly played since she met him was lost. They had nearly arrived at the foregone conclusion.

      "Well, Mr. Seymour," she said finally, "we are here at last; for what are you waiting?"

      "Waiting for you."

      "For me?"

      "Ay, only for you."

      "I—I—do not understand you."

      "You understand nothing apparently, but I will explain." He stepped out on the landing-stage, and after taking a turn or two with the painter to secure the boat, he turned toward his captive with a ceremonious bow.

      "Permit me to help you ashore."

      "Oh, thank you, Lieutenant Seymour; if I only could, in this little boat, I would courtesy in return for that effort," she answered with tremulous and transparent bravery. But when the little palm met his own brown СКАЧАТЬ