The Bow of Orange Ribbon: A Romance of New York

by Amelia E. Barr

One exquisite morning in May, Katherine stood at an open window looking over the garden and the river, and the green hills and meadows across the stream. Her heart was full of hope. Richard's recovery was so far advanced that he had taken several rides in the middle of the day. Always he had passed the Van Heemskirks' house, and always Katherine had been waiting to rain down upon his lifted face the influence of her most bewitching beauty and her tenderest smiles. She was thinking of the last of these events,—of Richard's rapid exhibition of a long, folded paper, and the singular and emphatic wave which he gave it towards the river. His whole air and attitude had expressed delight and hope; could he really mean that she was to meet him again at their old trysting-place?

As thus she happily mused, some one called her mother from the front hall. On fine mornings it was customary to leave the door standing open; and the visitor advanced to the foot of the stairs, and called once more, "Lysbet Van Heemskirk! Is there naebody in to bid me welcome?" Then Katherine knew it was Madam Semple; and she ran to her mother's room, and begged her to go down and receive the caller. For in these days Katherine dreaded Madam Semple a little. Very naturally, the mother blamed her for Neil's suffering and loss of time and prestige; and she found it hard to forgive also her positive rejection of his suit. For her sake, she herself had been made to suffer mortification and disappointment. She had lost her friends in a way which deprived her of all the fruits of her kindness. The Gordons thought Neil had transgressed all the laws of hospitality. The Semples had a similar charge to make. And it provoked Madam Semple that Mrs. Gordon continued her friendship with Katherine. Every one else blamed Katherine altogether in the matter; Mrs. Gordon had defied the use and wont of society on such occasions, and thrown the whole blame on Neil. Somehow, in her secret heart, she even blamed Lysbet a little. "Ever since I told her there was an earldom in the family, she's been daft to push her daughter into it," was her frequent remark to the elder; and he also reflected that the proposed alliance of Neil and Katharine had been received with coolness by Joris and Lysbet. "It was the soldier or the dominie, either o' them before our Neil;" and, though there was no apparent diminution of friendship, Semple and his wife frequently had a little private grumble at their own fireside.

And toward Neil, Joris had also a secret feeling of resentment. He had taken no pains to woo Katherine until some one else wanted her. It was universally conceded that he had been the first to draw his sword, and thus indulge his own temper at the expense of their child's good name and happiness. Taking these faults as rudimentary ones, Lysbet could enlarge on them indefinitely; and Joris had undoubtedly been influenced by his wife's opinions. So, below the smiles and kind words of a long friendship, there was bitterness. If there had not been, Janet Semple would hardly have paid that morning visit; for before Lysbet was half way down the stairs, Katherine heard her call out,—

"Here's a bonnie come of. But it is what a' folks expected. 'The Dauntless' sailed the morn, and Captain Earle wi' a contingent for the West Indies station. And who wi' him, guess you, but Captain Hyde, and no less? They say he has a furlough in his pocket for a twelvemonth: more like it's a clean, total dismissal. The gude ken it ought to be."

So much Katherine heard, then her mother shut to the door of the sitting-room. A great fear made her turn faint and sick. Were her father's words true? Was this the meaning of the mysterious wave of the folded paper toward the ocean? The suspicion once entertained, she remembered several little things which strengthened it. Her heart failed her; she uttered a low cry of pain, and tottered to a chair, like one wounded.

It was then ten o'clock. She thought the noon hour would never come. Eagerly she watched for Bram and her father; for any certainty would be better than such cruel fear and suspense. And, if Richard had really gone, the fact would be known to them. Bram came first. For once she felt impatient of his political enthusiasm. How could she care about liberty poles and impressed fishermen, with such a real terror at her heart? But Bram said nothing; only, as he went out, she caught him looking at her with such pitiful eyes. "What did he mean?" She turned coward then, and could not voice the question. Joris was tenderly explicit. He said to her at once, "'The Dauntless' sailed this morning. Oh, my little one, sorry I am for thee!"

"Is he gone?" Very low and slow were the words; and Joris only answered, "Yes."

Without any further question or remark, she went away. They were amazed at her calmness. And for some minutes after she had locked the door of her room, she stood still in the middle of the floor, more like one that has forgotten something, and is trying to remember, than a woman who has received a blow upon her heart. No tears came to her eyes. She did not think of weeping, or reproaching, or lamenting. The only questions she asked herself were, "How am I to get life over? Will such suffering kill me very soon?"

Joris and Lysbet talked it over together. "Cohen told me," said Joris, "that Captain Hyde called to bid him good-by. He said, 'He is a very honourable young man, a very grateful young man, and I rejoice that I was helpful in saving his life.' Then I asked him in what ship he was to sail, and he said 'The Dauntless.' She left her moorings this morning between nine and ten. She carries troops to Kingston, Captain Earle in command; and I heard that Captain Hyde has a year's furlough."