Now there was a gentle, soft laugh of delight and pride, and he reached out a hand towards her. She responded with a little laugh which was not unlike his, but there was something more: that old sweet sprightliness of her youth, shot through with a haunting modulation,—almost pensiveness, but her face was self-possessed. She drew near, pressed the old man's hand, and spoke softly. Presently she saw that he was asleep.
She sat for some time, not stirring. At last she was about to rise and take him to his room, but hearing noises in the street she stepped to the window. There were men below, and this made her apprehensive. She hurried over, kissed the old man, passed from the room, and met her old servant Hulm in the passage, who stretched out her hand in distress.
"What is it, Hulm?" she asked, a chill at her heart. "Oh, how can I tell you!" was the answer. "Our fleet was beaten, and—and my master is a prisoner." The wife saw that this was not all. "Tell me everything, Hulm," she said trembling, yet ready for the worst.
"Oh, my dear, dear mistress, I cannot!"
"Hulm, you see that I am calm," she answered. "You are only paining me."
"They are to try him for his life!" She caught her mistress by the waist, but Jessica recovered instantly. She was very quiet, very pale, yet the plumbless grief of her eyes brought tears to Hulm's face. She stood for a moment in deep thought.
"Is your brother Aaron in Boston, Hulm?" she asked presently.
"He is below, dear mistress."
"Ask him to step to the dining-room. And that done, please go to my father. And, Hulm, dear creature, you can aid me better if you do not weep."
She then passed down a side staircase and entered the dining-room. A moment afterwards Aaron Hulm came in.