But when Sunday came, there was another story. The great coach was brought from the stable and polished till it shone again,—indeed, it had been polished so often and so vigorously that its gilding and paint began to show the marks of it. The four horses were led out, rubbed down from nose to heel, and harnessed in their brightest trappings. The driver, footman, and two outriders donned their liveries, in which they were the envy of all the other servants, and the coach was driven around to the front of the house, from which presently emerged Madame Stewart, in a stately gown of flowered calamanco, her fan and gold pomander in her hand. Then came Dorothy, her sweet face looking most coquettish under her Ranelagh mob of gauze, the ribbons crossed beneath her chin and fluttering half a yard behind. As she tripped down the stops and lifted her tiffany petticoat ever so little, I could catch a glimpse of the prettiest pair of ankles in the world in silk-clocked hose, for the reader can guess without my telling that I was close behind, holding her kerchief or her fan or her silver étui until she should be safely seated in the coach. And that once done, the whip cracked, the wheels started, and I swung myself on horseback and trotted along beside the window, on Dorothy's side, you may be sure.
So, in great state, we proceeded to the new Quantico church near Dumfries, a prodigious fine structure of brick, built the year before at a cost of a hundred thousand weight of tobacco, of which my aunt had contributed a tenth. The other members of the congregation awaited our arrival, grouped before the door, and, entering after us, remained decently standing till we had mounted to the loft and taken our seats, a show of deference which greatly pleased my aunt. The church was built in a little recess from the road, in the midst of a grove of ancient trees, cruciform, as so many others were throughout the colony, and stands today just as it stood then,—as I have good cause to know, for 't was in that church, before that altar—But there, you shall learn it all in time.
Doctor Scott was a goodly preacher, but the one portion of the service for me was the singing, when I might stand beside Dorothy and listen to her voice. She sang with whole heart and undivided mind, recking nothing of me standing spellbound there. Indeed, I think the pastor shrewdly saw that her singing was a means of grace no less than his expounding, and he never failed to journey to Riverview on a Friday to talk over with her what should be her part in the service on the coming Sunday. Nor did I ever know her to refuse this labor,—not because she was vain of her power, but because she saw the good it did.
The service once over, there were greetings to exchange, the news of the neighborhood to talk over, crops to discuss, and what not. My heart would burn within me as I saw the men buzzing about Dorothy like flies about a dish of honey, though my jealousy was lightened when I saw that while she had a gay word for each of them, she smiled on all alike. The minx could read my mind like an open book, whether I was moping in one corner of the churchyard or on the bench beside her, and she loved to tease me by pretending great admiration for this man or that, and consulting me about him as she would have done a brother. Which, I need hardly say, annoyed me vastly.
The gossip over, we drove home again to lunch, after which, on the wide veranda or the bench by the river's edge, I would read Dorothy some bits of Mr. Addison or Mr. Pope, which latter she could not abide, though his pungent verses fell in exceeding well with my melancholy humor. Evening past and bedtime come, I lighted Dorothy's candle for her at the table in the lower hall, where the silver sticks were set out in their nightly array like French soldiers, gleaming all in white, and when I gave it to her and bade her good-night at the stair-foot, I got her hand to hold for an instant. Then to my room, where over innumerable pipes of sweet-scented, I struggled with some halting verses of my own until my candle guttered in its stick.
Hours and hours did I pass thinking how I might tell her of my love, but at the last I concluded it were better to say nothing, until I had something more to offer her. What right had I, I questioned bitterly, to offer marriage to any maid, when I had no home to which to take a wife, and I had never felt the irksomeness of my circumstances as I did at that moment. Something of my thought she must have understood, for she was very kind to me, and never by any word or act showed that she thought of the poverty of my condition.
So August and September passed, and great events were stirring. The House of Burgesses had met, and had been much impressed by the showing we had made against the French, so that they passed a vote of thanks to Colonel Washington for his distinguished services, and to the officers and men who had been with him. Dinwiddie was most eager that another advance should be made at once against Duquesne, but Colonel Washington pointed out how hopeless any such attempt must be against the overwhelming odds the enemy would bring against us.
The news of French aggression on the Ohio and of our defeat at Fort Necessity had opened the eyes of the court to the danger which threatened the colonies, and great preparations were set on foot for an expedition to be sent to Virginia in the early spring. Parliament voted £50,000 toward its expenses, and it was proposed to equip it on such a scale that the French could not hope to stand before it. So it was decided that nothing more should be attempted by the colony until the forces from England had arrived. And then, one day, came the astounding news that Colonel Washington had resigned from the service and returned to Mount Vernon. A negro whom Dorothy had sent on some errand to Betty Washington had brought the news back with him. I could scarcely credit it, and was soon galloping toward Mount Vernon to confirm it for myself. I dare say the ten miles of river road were never more quickly covered. As I turned into the broad graveled way which led past the garden up to the house, I saw a tall and well-known figure standing before the door, and he came toward me with a smile as I threw myself from the saddle.
"Ah, Tom," he cried, "I thought I should see you soon," and he took my hand warmly.
"Is it true," I asked, too anxious to delay an instant the solution of the mystery, "that you have left the service?"