“But I do like him.”
“No matter. He’s an enemy to the king. I have good reason to believe he had a hand in throwing the tea overboard. If he did, he is no better than a thief. He willfully, wantonly, and with malice aforethought stole the property of others from the holds of the ships, and destroyed it. It was burglary—breaking and entering. It was a malicious destruction of property of the East India Company. It was a heinous affair—not mere larceny to be punished by standing in the pillory, or sitting in the stocks, or tied up to the whipping-post and flogged, but an offense which, if it could be proved, would send every one of the marauders to jail for ten or twenty years. Now I don’t want the name of Shrimpton mixed up with that of Brandon. So you can cut Tom adrift.”
“But, father”—
“I don’t want any buts. You will do as I tell you if you know what is good for yourself.”
“Have you not, father, said in the past that he was an estimable young man?”
“But he is not estimable now. He meets others in secret to plot mischief. I have had spies on his track. He is a lawbreaker, a mischief-maker, and sooner or later will be in jail, and possibly may be brought to the gallows. Now, once for all, I tell you I will not have him coming here.”
Mr. Shrimpton said it with a flushed face, setting his teeth firmly together as he rose from his chair.
“Very well, father,” said Mary, wiping the tears from her eyes.
She knew how irascible he was at times,—how he allowed his anger to master reason, and hoped it might pass away. Through the night the words were repeating themselves. What course should she pursue? Give up Tom? What if he did help destroy the tea; was it not a righteous protest against the tyranny of the king and Parliament? He did not do it as an individual, but as a member of the community; it was the only course for them to pursue. Tom was not therefore a thief at heart. Was he not kind-hearted? Was he not giving his time and strength to relieve suffering? Had he not just as much right to stand resolutely for the liberties of the people as her father for the prerogatives of the king? Must she stop seeing him to please her father? It would not be pleasant to have Tom call upon her, and have her father shut the door in his face; that would be an indignity. Should she withdraw her engagement? Should she plunge a knife into her own heart to please her father? Never. Come what would, she would be true to Tom. She would not anger her father by inviting Tom to continue his visits, but there were the elms of Long Acre, Beacon Hill, the market, and other places, where from time to time they might meet for a few moments. True love could wait for better days.
There came a morning when the people saw a handbill posted upon the walls which said that the men who were misleading the people were bankrupt in purse and character. Tom Brandon’s blood was at fever heat as he read the closing words:—