CHAPTER XXVII.

  —“I have not seen
  So likely an ambassador of love.”
   Merchant of Venice.

Cecilia and Katherine separated from Alice Dunscombe in the lower gallery of the cloisters; and the cousins ascended to the apartment which was assigned them as a dressing-room. The intensity of feeling that was gradually accumulating in the breasts of the ladies, as circumstances brought those in whom their deepest interests were centred into situations of extreme delicacy, if not of actual danger, perhaps, in some measure, prevented them from experiencing all that concern which the detection and arrest of Merry might be supposed to excite. The boy, like themselves, was an only child of one of those three sisters, who caused the close connection of so many of our characters; and his tender years had led his cousins to regard him with an affection that exceeded the ordinary interest of such an affinity; but they knew that in the hands of Colonel Howard his person was safe, though his liberty might be endangered. When the first emotions, therefore, which were created by his sudden appearance after so long an absence had subsided, their thoughts were rather occupied by the consideration of what consequences, to others, might proceed from his arrest, than by any reflections on the midshipman's actual condition. Secluded from the observations of any strange eyes, the two maidens indulged their feelings, without restraint, according to their several temperaments. Katherine moved to and fro in the apartment, with feverish anxiety, while Miss Howard, by concealing her countenance under the ringlets of her luxuriant dark hair, and shading her eyes with a fair hand, seemed to be willing to commune with her thoughts more quietly.

“Barnstable cannot be far distant,” said the former, after a few minutes had passed; “for he never would have sent that child on such an errand, by himself!”

Cecilia raised her mild blue eyes to the countenance of her cousin, as she answered:

“All thoughts of an exchange must now be abandoned; and perhaps the persons of the prisoners will be held as pledges, to answer for the life of Dillon.”

“Can the wretch be dead? or is it merely a threat, or some device of that urchin? He is a forward child, and would not hesitate to speak and act boldly, on emergency.”

“He is dead!” returned Cecilia, veiling her face again in horror; “the eyes of the boy, his whole countenance, confirmed his words! I fear, Katherine, that Mr. Barnstable has suffered his resentment to overcome his discretion, when he learned the treachery of Dillon; surely, surely, through the hard usages of war may justify so dreadful a revenge on an enemy, it was unkind to forget the condition of his own friends!”

“Mr. Barnstable has done neither, Miss Howard,” said Katherine, checking her uneasy footsteps, her light form swelling with pride; “Mr. Barnstable is equally incapable of murdering an enemy or of deserting a friend!”

“But retaliation is neither deemed nor called murder, by men in arms.”

“Think it what you will, call it what you will, Cecilia Howard, I will pledge my life, that Richard Barnstable has to answer for the blood of none but the open enemies of his country.”

“The miserable man may have fallen a sacrifice to the anger of that terrific seaman, who led him hence as a captive!”

“That terrific seaman, Miss Howard, has a heart as tender as your own. He is——”

“Nay, Katherine,” interrupted Cecilia, “you chide me unkindly; let us not add to our unavoidable misery, by such harsh contention.”

“I do not contend with you, Cecilia; I merely defend the absent and the innocent from your unkind suspicions, my cousin.”

“Say, rather, your sister,” returned Miss Howard, their hands involuntarily closing upon each other, “for we are surely sisters! But let us strive to think of something less horrible. Poor, poor Dillon! now that he has met a fate so terrible, I can even fancy him less artful and more upright than we had thought him! You agree with me, Katherine, I see by your countenance, and we will dwell no longer on the subject.—Katherine! my cousin Kate, what see you?”

Miss Plowden, as she relinquished her pressure of the hand of Cecilia, had renewed her walk with a more regulated step; but she was yet making her first turn across the room, when her eyes became keenly set on the opposite window, and her whole frame was held in an attitude of absorbed attention. The rays of the setting sun fell bright upon her dark glances, which seemed fastened on some distant object, and gave an additional glow to the mantling color that was slowly stealing, across her cheeks, to her temples. Such a sudden alteration in the manner and appearance of her companion had not failed to catch the attention of Cecilia, who, in consequence, interrupted herself by the agitated question we have related. Katherine slowly beckoned her companion to her side, and, pointing in the direction of the wood that lay in view, she said:

“See yon tower, in the ruin! Do you observe those small spots of pink and yellow that are fluttering above its walls?”

“I do. They are the lingering remnants of the foliage of some tree; but they want the vivid tints which grace the autumn of our own dear America!”

“One is the work of God, and the other has been produced by the art of man. Cecilia, those are no leaves, but they are my own childish signals, and without doubt Barnstable himself is on that ruined tower. Merry cannot, will not, betray him!”

“My life should be a pledge for the honor of our little cousin,” said Cecilia. “But you have the telescope of my uncle at hand, ready for such an event! one look through it will ascertain the truth—”

Katherine sprang to the spot where the instrument stood, and with eager hands she prepared it for the necessary observation.

“It is he!” she cried, the instant her eye was put to the glass. “I even see his head above the stones. How unthinking to expose himself so unnecessarily!”

“But what says he, Katherine?” exclaimed Cecilia; “you alone can interpret his meaning.”

The little book which contained the explanations of Miss Plowden's signals was now hastily produced, and its leaves rapidly run over in quest of the necessary number.

“Tis only a question to gain my attention. I must let him know he is observed.”

When Katherine, as much to indulge her secret propensities as with any hope of its usefulness, had devised this plan for communicating with Barnstable, she had, luckily, not forgotten to arrange the necessary means to reply to his interrogatories. A very simple arrangement of some of the ornamental cords of the window-curtains enabled her to effect this purpose; and her nimble fingers soon fastened the pieces of silk to the lines, which were now thrown into the air, when these signals in miniature were instantly displayed in the breeze.

“He sees them!” cried Cecilia, “and is preparing to change his flags.”

“Keep then your eye on him, my cousin, and tell me the colors that he shows, with their order, and I will endeavor to read his meaning.”

“He is as expert as yourself! There are two more of them fluttering above the stones again: the upper is white, and the lower black.”

“White over black,” repeated Katherine, rapidly, to herself, as she turned the leaves of her book.—“'My messenger: has he been seen?'—To that we must answer the unhappy truth. Here it is—yellow, white, and red—'He is a prisoner.' How fortunate that I should have prepared such a question and answer. What says he, Cecilia, to this news?”

“He is busy making his changes, dear. Nay, Katherine, you shake so violently as to move the glass! Now he is done; 'tis yellow over black, this time.”

“'Griffith, or who?' He does not understand us; but I had thought of the poor boy, in making out the numbers—ah! here it is; yellow, green, and red—'My cousin Merry'—he cannot fail to understand us now.”

“He has already taken in his flags. The news seems to alarm him, for he is less expert than before. He shows them now—they are green, red, and yellow.”

“The question is, 'Am I safe?' 'Tis that which made him tardy, Miss Howard,” continued Katherine. “Barnstable is ever slow to consult his safety. But how shall I answer him? should we mislead him now, how could we ever forgive ourselves!”

“Of Andrew Merry there is no fear,” returned Cecilia; “and I think if Captain Borroughcliffe had any intimation of the proximity of his enemies, he would not continue at the table.”

“He will stay there while wine will sparkle, and man can swallow,” said Katherine; “but we know, by sad experience, that he is a soldier on an emergency; and yet, I'll trust to his ignorance this time—here, I have an answer: 'You are yet safe, but be wary.'”

“He reads your meaning with a quick eye, Katherine; and he is ready with his answer too: he shows green over white, this time. Well! do you not hear me? 'tis green over white. Why, you are dumb—what says he, dear?”

Still Katherine answered not, and her cousin raised her eyes from the glass, and beheld her companion gazing earnestly at the open page, while the glow which excitement had before brought to her cheek was increased to a still deeper bloom.

“I hope your blushes and his signals are not ominous, Kate,” added Cecilia; “can green imply his jealousy, as white does your purity? what says he, coz?”

“He talks, like yourself, much nonsense,” said Katherine, turning to her flags, with a pettish air, that was singularly contradicted by her gratified countenance; “but the situation of things requires that I should talk to Barnstable more freely.”

“I can retire,” said Cecilia, rising from her chair with a grave manner.

“Nay, Cecilia, I do not deserve these looks—'tis you who exhibit levity now! But you can perceive for yourself that evening is closing in, and that some other medium for conversation, besides the eyes, may be adopted.—Here is a signal, which will answer: 'When the abbey clock strikes nine, come with care to the wicket, which opens, at the east side of the paddock, on the road: until then, keep secret.' I had prepared this very signal, in case an interview should be necessary.”

“Well, he sees it,” returned Cecilia, who had resumed her place by the telescope, “and seems disposed to obey you, for I no longer discern his flags or his person.”

Miss Howard now arose from before the glass, her observations being ended; but Katherine did not return the instrument to its corner, without fastening one long and anxious look through it, on what now appeared to be the deserted tower. The interest and anxiety produced by this short and imperfect communication between Miss Plowden and her lover did not fail to excite reflections in both the ladies, that furnished materials to hold them in earnest discourse, until the entrance of Alice Dunscombe announced that their presence was expected below. Even the unsuspecting Alice, on entering, observed a change in the countenances and demeanor of the two cousins, which betrayed that their secret conference had not been entirely without contention. The features of Cecilia were disturbed and anxious, and their expression was not unlike melancholy; while the dark flashing eye, flushed temples, and proud, determined step of Katherine exhibited in an equal, if not a greater degree, a very different emotion. As no reference to the subject of their conversation was, however, made by either of the young ladies after the entrance of Alice, she led the way, in silence, to the drawing-room.

The ladies were received, by Colonel Howard and Borroughcliffe, with marked attention. In the former there were moments when a deep gloom would, in spite of his very obvious exertions to the contrary, steal over his open, generous countenance; but the recruiting officer maintained an air of immovable coolness and composure. Twenty times did he detect the piercing looks of Katherine fastened on him, with an intentness that a less deliberative man might have had the vanity to misinterpret; but even this flattering testimonial of his power to attract failed to disturb his self-possession. It was in vain that Katherine endeavored to read his countenance, where everything was fixed in military rigidity, though his deportment appeared more than usually easy and natural. Tired at length with her fruitless scrutiny, the excited girl turned her gaze upon the clock: to her amazement, she discovered that it was on the stroke of nine, and, disregarding a deprecating glance from her cousin, she arose and quitted the apartment. Borroughcliffe opened the door for her exit, and, while the lady civilly bowed her head in acknowledgment of his attention, their eyes once more met; but she glided quickly by him, and found herself alone in the gallery. Katherine hesitated, more than a minute, to proceed, for she thought she had detected in that glance a lurking expression, that manifested conscious security mingled with secret design. It was not her nature, however, to hesitate, when circumstances required that she should be both prompt and alert; and, throwing over her slight person a large cloak, that was in readiness for the occasion, she stole warily from the building.

Although Katherine suspected most painfully that Borroughcliffe had received intelligence that might prove dangerous to her lover, she looked around her in vain, on gaining the open air, to discover any alteration in the arrangements for the defence of the abbey, which might confirm her suspicions, or the knowledge of which might enable her to instruct Barnstable how to avoid the secret danger. Every disposition remained as it had been since the capture of Griffith and his companion. She heard the heavy, quick steps of the sentinel, who was posted beneath their windows, endeavoring to warm himself on his confined post; and as she paused to listen, she also detected the rattling of arms from the soldier who, as usual, guarded the approach of that part of the building where his comrades were quartered. The night had set in cloudy and dark, although the gale had greatly subsided towards the close of the day; still the wind swept heavily, and, at moments, with a rushing noise, among the irregular walls of the edifice; and it required the utmost nicety of ear to distinguish even these well-known sounds, among such accompaniments. When Katherine, however, was satisfied that her organs had not deceived her, she turned an anxious eye in the direction of what Borroughcliffe called his “barracks.” Everything in that direction appeared so dark and still as to create a sensation of uneasiness, by its very quiet. It might be the silence of sleep that now pervaded the ordinarily gay and mirthful apartment! or it might be the stillness of a fearful preparation! There was no time, however, for further hesitation, and Katherine drew her cloak more closely about her form, and proceeded with light and guarded steps to the appointed spot. As she approached the wicket the clock struck the hour, and she again paused, while the mournful sounds were borne by her on the wind, as if expecting that each stroke on the bell would prove a signal to unmask some secret design of Borroughcliffe. As the last vibration melted away, she opened the little gate, and issued on the highway. The figure of a man sprang forward from behind an angle of the wall, as she appeared; and while her heart was still throbbing with the suddenness of the alarm, she found herself in the arms of Barnstable. After the first few words of recognition and pleasure which the young sailor uttered, he acquainted his mistress with the loss of his schooner, and the situation of the survivors.

“And now, Katherine,” he concluded, “you have come, I trust, never to quit me; or, at most, to return no more to that old abbey, unless it be to aid in liberating Griffith, and then to join me again forever.”

“Why, truly, there is so much to tempt a young woman to renounce her home and friends, in the description you have just given of your condition, that I hardly know how to refuse your request, Barnstable. You are very tolerably provided with a dwelling in the ruin; and I suppose certain predatory schemes are to be adopted to make it habitable! St. Ruth is certainly well supplied with the necessary articles, but whether we should not be shortly removed to the Castle at York, or the jail at Newcastle, is a question that I put to your discretion.”

“Why yield your thoughts to such silly subjects, lovely trifler!” said Barnstable, “when the time and the occasion both urge us to be in earnest?”

“It is a woman's province to be thrifty, and to look after the comforts of domestic life,” returned his mistress; “and I would discharge my functions with credit. But I feel you are vexed, for to see your dark countenance is out of the question, on such a night. When do you propose to commence housekeeping, if I should yield to your proposals?”

“I have not concluded relating my plans, and your provoking wit annoys me! The vessel I have taken will unquestionably come into the land, as the gale dies; and I intend making my escape in her, after beating this Englishman, and securing the liberty of Miss Howard and yourself. I could see the frigate in the offing, even before we left the cliffs.”

“This certainly sounds better!” rejoined Katherine, in a manner that indicated she was musing on their prospects; “and yet there may exist some difficulties in the way that you little suspect.”

“Difficulties there are none—there can be none.”

“Speak not irreverently of the mazes of love, Mr. Barnstable. When was it ever known to exist unfettered or unembarrassed? Even I have an explanation to ask of you, that I would much rather let alone.

“Of me! ask what you will, or how you will; I am a careless, unthinking fellow, Miss Plowden; but to you I have little to answer for—unless a foolish sort of adoration be an offence against your merits.”

Barnstable felt the little hand that was supported on his arm, pressing the limb, as Katherine replied, in a tone so changed from its former forced levity, that he started as the first sounds reached his ears. “Merry has brought in a horrid report!” she said; “I would I could believe it untrue! but the looks of the boy, and the absence of Dillon, both confirm it.”

“Poor Merry! he too has fallen into the trap! but they shall yet find one who is too cunning for them. Is it to the fate of that wretched Dillon that you allude?”

“He was a wretch,” continued Katherine, in the same voice, “and he deserved much punishment at your hands, Barnstable; but life is the gift of God, and is not to be taken whenever human vengeance would appear to require a victim.”

“His life was taken by Him who bestowed it,” said the sailor. “Is it Katherine Plowden who would suspect me of the deed of a dastard!”

“I do not suspect you—I did not suspect you,” cried Katherine; “I will never suspect any evil of you again. You are not, you cannot be angry with me, Barnstable? Had you heard the cruel suspicions of my cousin Cecilia, and had your imagination been busy in portraying your wrongs and the temptations to forget mercy, like mine, even while my tongue denied your agency in the suspected deed, you would—you would at least have learned how much easier it is to defend those we love against the open attacks of others, than against our own jealous feelings.”

“Those words, love and jealousy, will obtain your acquittal,” cried Barnstable, in his natural voice; and, after uttering a few more consoling assurances to Katherine, whose excited feelings found vent in tears, he briefly related the manner of Dillon's death.

“I had hoped I stood higher in the estimation of Miss Howard than to be subjected to even her suspicions,” he said, when he had ended his explanation. “Griffith has been but a sorry representative of our trade, if he has left such an opinion of its pursuits.”

“I do not know that Mr. Griffith would altogether have escaped my conjectures, had he been the disappointed commander, and you the prisoner,” returned Katherine; “you know not how much we have both studied the usages of war, and with what dreadful pictures of hostages, retaliations, and military executions our minds are stored! but a mountain is raised off my spirits, and I could almost say that I am now ready to descend the valley of life in your company.”

“It is a discreet determination, my good Katherine, and God bless you for it; the companion may not be so good as you deserve, but you will find him ambitious of your praise. Now let us devise means to effect our object.”

“Therein lies another of my difficulties. Griffith, I much fear, will not urge Cecilia to another flight, against her—her—what shall I call it, Barnstable—her caprice, or her judgment? Cecilia will never consent to desert her uncle, and I cannot muster the courage to abandon my poor cousin, in the face of the world, in order to take shelter with even Mr. Richard Barnstable!”

“Speak you from the heart now, Katherine?”

“Very nearly—if not exactly.”

“Then have I been cruelly deceived! It is easier to find a path in the trackless ocean, without chart or compass, than to know the windings of a woman's heart!”

“Nay, nay, foolish man; you forget that I am but small, and how very near my head is to my heart; too nigh, I fear, for the discretion of their mistress! but is there no method of forcing Griffith and Cecilia to their own good, without undue violence?”

“It cannot be done; he is my senior in rank, and the instant I release him he will claim the command. A question might be raised, at a leisure moment, on the merits of such a claim—but even my own men are, as you know, nothing but a draft from the frigate, and they would not hesitate to obey the orders of the first lieutenant, who is not a man to trifle on matters of duty.”

“Tis vexatious, truly,” said Katherine, “that all my well-concerted schemes in behalf of this wayward pair should be frustrated by their own willful conduct! But after all, have you justly estimated your strength, Barnstable? are you certain that you would be successful, and that without hazard, too, if you should make the attempt?”

“Morally, and what is better, physically certain. My men are closely hid, where no one suspects an enemy to lie; they are anxious for the enterprise, and the suddenness of the attack will not only make the victory sure, but it will be rendered bloodless. You will aid us in our entrance, Katherine; I shall first secure this recruiting officer, and his command will then surrender without striking a blow. Perhaps, after all, Griffith will hear reason; if he do not, I will not yield my authority to a released captive, without a struggle.”

“God send that there shall be no fighting!” murmured his companion, a little appalled at the images his language had raised before her imagination; “and, Barnstable, I enjoin you, most solemnly, by all your affection for me, and by everything you deem most sacred, to protect the person of Colonel Howard at every hazard. There must be no excuse, no pretence, for even an insult to my passionate, good, obstinate, but kind old guardian. I believe I have given him already more trouble than I am entitled to give any one, and Heaven forbid that I should cause him any serious misfortune!”

“He shall be safe, and not only he, but all that are with him, as you will perceive, Katherine, when you hear my plan. Three hours shall not pass over my head before you will see me master of that old abbey. Griffith, ay, Griffith, must be content to be my inferior, until we get afloat again.”

“Attempt nothing unless you feel certain of being able to maintain your advantage, not only against your enemies, but also against your friends,” said the anxious Katherine. “Rely on it, both Cecilia and Griffith are refining so much on their feelings, that neither will be your ally.”

“This comes of passing the four best years of his life within walls of brick, poring over Latin grammars and syntaxes, and such other nonsense, when he should have been rolling them away in a good box of live-oak, and studying, at most, how to sum up his day's work, and tell where his ship lies after a blow. Your college learning may answer well enough for a man who has to live by his wits, but it can be of little use to one who is never afraid to read human nature, by looking his fellow-creatures full in the face, and whose hand is as ready as his tongue. I have generally found the eye that was good at Latin was dull at a compass, or in a night squall: and yet, Griff is a seaman; though I have heard him even read the Testament in Greek! Thank God, I had the wisdom to run away from school the second day they undertook to teach me a strange tongue, and I believe I am the more honest man, and the better seaman, for my ignorance!”

“There is no telling what you might have been, Barnstable, under other circumstances,” retorted his mistress, with a playfulness of manner that she could not always repress, though it was indulged at the expense of him she most loved; “I doubt not but, under proper training, you would have made a reasonably good priest.”

“If you talk of priests, Katherine, I shall remind you that we carry one in the ship. But listen to my plan: we may talk further of priestcraft when an opportunity may offer.”

Barnstable then proceeded to lay before his mistress a project he had formed for surprising the abbey that night, which was so feasible that Katherine, notwithstanding her recent suspicions of Borroughcliffe's designs, came gradually to believe it would succeed. The young seaman answered her objections with the readiness of an ardent mind, bent on executing its purposes, and with a fertility of resources that proved he was no contemptible enemy, in matters that required spirited action. Of Merry's remaining firm and faithful he had no doubt; and although he acknowledged the escape of the peddler boy, he urged that the lad had seen no other of his party besides himself, whom he mistook for a common marauder.

As the disclosure of these plans was frequently interrupted by little digressions, connected with the peculiar motions of the lovers, more than an hour flew by, before they separated. But Katherine at length reminded him how swiftly the time was passing, and how much remained to be done, when he reluctantly consented to see her once more through the wicket, where they parted.

Miss Plowden adopted the same precaution in returning to the house she had used on leaving it; and she was congratulating herself on its success, when her eye caught a glimpse of the figure of a man, who was apparently following at some little distance, in her footsteps, and dogging her motions. As the obscure form, however, paused also when she stopped to give it an alarmed, though inquiring look, and then slowly retired towards the boundary of the paddock, Katherine, believing it to be Barnstable watching over her safety, entered the abbey, with every idea of alarm entirely lost in the pleasing reflection of her lover's solicitude.