A Song of a Single Note Part 22

"Medway is coming here at seven o'clock. He wishes distinctly to see you. Run what risk you choose. I am not afraid of you. Nothing will make you forget you are Maria Semple."

"Thank you, Uncle Neil. Lord Medway and I have always been good friends.

He will not ask me to do anything wrong; and if he did, I would not do it."

The prospect of his visit somewhat soothed Maria. Though Medway had never said a word of love to her, she knew she was adorable in his eyes as well as she knew the fact of her own existence. Women need no formal declarations; they have considered a lover's case and decided it many a time before he comes to actual confession. In her great trouble she hoped to find this love sufficient in some way for the alleviation of Harry's desperate position. But though she really was in the greatest sorrow, she was not oblivious to her beauty. She knew if she had a favor to ask, it was the best reason she had to offer. So, as the hour approached, she bathed her face and put on the _neglige_ of scarlet silk, which was one of her most becoming house costumes. She thought her intentional, pleasing carelessness of dress would only be noticed in its effect; but Lord Medway was much in love, and love is an occult teacher. He noticed at once the studied effort to make grief attractive--the glowing silk of her gown, the bronze slippers, the bewitching abandon of her dark, curling hair against the amber cus.h.i.+on of the chair on which she sat. And though he had an astonis.h.i.+ng plan for Harry's life to propose, Maria's careful negligence gave him hope and courage. For if he had been quite indifferent to her, she would have been more indifferent to the dress she was to meet him in.

Nothing else in her surroundings spoke of love or happiness. The best parlor had been opened for his reception; but the few sticks of wood sobbed and sung wearily on the cold hearth, and the room was chill and half-lighted and full of shadows. He noticed, nothing, however, but the lovely girl who came to meet him as he entered it, and who, even in the gloom, showed signs of the violent grief which she soon ceased to restrain. For his tenderness loosed afresh all her complaining; and he encouraged her to open her heart, and to weep with that pa.s.sionate abandon youth finds comfort in. But when she was weary and had sobbed herself into silence he said:

"Miss Semple--may I call you Maria?"

"Yes, if you will be my friend, if you will help me."

"I am your friend, and if there is help in man I will get it for you."

"I want Harry's life; he risked it for me. If they kill him, all my days I shall see that sight and feel that horror. I shall go mad, or die."

"Would you be content if I saved his life? He may be sent to prison."

"There is hope in that. I could bear it better."

"He will certainly be forbidden to come near New York, for----"

"Only let him live."

"He is without doubt a rebel."

"So am I, from this day forth."

"And a spy."

"I wish I could be one. There is nothing I would not tell."

He looked at her with the unreasoning adoration of a lover; then taking her cold hands between his own, he said in a slow, fervent voice:

"If you will promise to marry me, I will save the young man's life."

"You are taking advantage of my trouble."

"I know I am. A man who loves as I do must make all events go to further his love."

"But I love Harry Bradley."

"You think so. If you had met him under ordinary circ.u.mstances you would not have looked twice at him. It was the romance, the secrecy, the danger, the stolen minutes--all that kind of thing. There is no root in such love."

"I shall never cease to love Harry."

"I will teach you to forget him."

"No, no! How can you ask me in an hour like this? It is cruel."

"Love is cruel. Sooner or later love wounds; for love is selfish. I want you for my wife, Maria. I put aside so," and he swept his hand outward, "everything that comes in the way."

"You want to buy me! You say plainly, 'I will give you your lover's life for yourself.' I cannot listen to you!"

"Be sensible, Maria. This infatuation for a rebel spy is infatuation.

There is nothing real to it. If the war were over, and you saw young Bradley helping his father in his shop and going about in ordinary clothes about ordinary business, you would wonder what possessed you ever to have fancied yourself in love with him."

"Oh, but you are mistaken!"

"You would say to yourself, 'I wish I had listened to Ernest Medway. He would have taken me all over the happy, beautiful world, to every lovely land, to every splendid court. He would have surrounded me with a love that no trouble could put aside; he would have given me all that wealth can buy; he would have loved me more and more until the very last moment of my life, and followed me beyond life with longings that would soon have brought us together again.' Yes, Maria, that is how I love you."

"Harry loves me."

"Not he! If he had loved you he would not, for his own pleasure, have run any risk of giving you this trouble. What did I say? Love is selfish, love wounds----"

"You wound me. You are selfish."

"I am. I love you. You seemed to belong to me that first hour I saw you.

I will not give you up."

"If you really loved me, if you were really n.o.ble, you would save Harry without any conditions."

"Perhaps. I am not really n.o.ble. I can't trust such fine sentiments.

They will lead, I know not where, only away from you. I tell you plainly, I will save the young fellow's life, if it be possible, on condition that you promise to marry me."

"I am not eighteen years old yet."

"I will wait any reasonable time."

"Till the end of the war?"

"Yes, provided it is over when you are twenty-one."

She pondered this answer, looking up covertly a moment at the handsome, determined face watching her. Three years held innumerable possibilities. It was a period very far away. Lord Medway might have ceased to love her before it was over; he might have fallen in love with some other girl. He might die; she might die; the wide Atlantic ocean might be between them. The chances were many in her favor. She remained silent, considering them, and Medway watched with a curious devotion the expressions flitting across her face.

"Think well, Maria," he said at last, letting her hands drop gently from his own. "Remember that I shall hold you to every letter of your promise. Do not try to make yourself believe that if Bradley escapes and you come weeping and entreating to me I shall give way. _I shall not._ I want to be very plain with you. I insist that you understand, Harry Bradley is to be given up finally and forever. He is to have no more to do with your life. I am planning for _our_ future; I do not think of him at all. When he leaves New York to-morrow he must be to you as if he had never been."

"Suppose I do not promise to marry you, what then?"

"Nothing. I shall go away till you want me, and send for me."

"Oh!"

"Yes."

"And not even try to save Harry's life? Not even try?"

"Why should I? Better men than Harry Bradley have died in the same cause."