“I have no difficulty in understanding your policy, Bulstrode; though I confess to some in understanding your frankness. Such as it is, however, I trust you feel certain it will not be abused. Now, as to my situation, what peculiar countervailing advantages do I enjoy?”
“Those of a defender. Oh, that is a battering-ram of itself! This confounded assault on the settlement, which they tell me is rather serious, and may keep alive apprehensions for some days yet, is a most unlucky thing for me, while it is of great advantage to you. A wounded man cannot excite one-half the interest he otherwise might, when there is a chance that others may be slain, every minute. Then, the character of a defender is a great deal; and being a generous rival, as I have always told you, Corny, my advice is to make the most of it. I conceal nothing, and intend to do all I can with my wound.”
It was scarcely possible not to laugh at this strangely frank, yet, I fully believe, strangely sincere communication; for Bulstrode was a humorist, with all his conventionalism and London notions, and was more addicted to saying precisely what he thought, than is common with men of his class. After sitting and chatting with him half an hour longer, on the subject of the late military operations, of which he spoke with both feeling and good sense, I took my leave for the night.
“God bless you, Corny,” he said, squeezing my hand, as I left him; “improve the opportunity in your own way, for I assure you I shall do it in mine. It is present valour against past valour. If it were not my own case that is concerned, there is not a man living to whom I should more freely wish success.”
And I believe Bulstrode did not exceed the truth in his declarations. That I should succeed with Anneke, he did not think, as was apparent to me by his general manner, and the consciousness he must have possessed of his own advantages in the way of rank and fortune, as well as in having Herman Mordaunt's good wishes. Oddly enough, in quitting my rival, and under circumstances so very peculiar, I was accidentally thrown into the presence of my mistress, and that, too, alone! Anneke was the sole occupant of the little room in which the girls habitually staid, when I returned to it; Guert having managed to induce Mary Wallace to walk with him in the court, the only place the ladies now possessed for exercise; while Herman Mordaunt, Mr. Worden, and Dirck, were together in the public-room, making some arrangement with the confused body of the settlers, who had crowded into the Nest, for the night-watch. I shall not stop to express the delight I felt at finding Anneke there; nor was it in any degree diminished, as I met the soft expression of her sweet eyes, and saw the blushes that suffused her cheek. The conversation I had just held, doubtless, had its effect; for I determined, at once, that so favourable an occasion for pressing my suit should not be lost. I was goaded on, if the truth must be told, by apprehension of Bulstrode's wound.
What I said precisely, in the commencement of that interview, is more than I could record, did I think it would redound to my advantage, as I fear it would not; but I made myself understood, which is more, I fancy, than happens to all lovers in such scenes. At first I was confused and a little incoherent, I suspect; but feeling so far got the better of these defects, as to enable me to utter what I wished to express. Towards the end, if I spoke in the least as warmly and distinctly as I felt, there must have been some slight touch of eloquence about my manner and language. This being the first occasion, too, on which I had ever had an opportunity of urging my suit very directly, there was so much to be said, so many things to be explained, and so many seemingly slighted occasions to account for, that Anneke had little else to do, for the first ten minutes, but to listen. I have always ascribed the self-possession which my companion was enabled to command during the remainder of this interview, to the time that was thus accorded her to rally her thoughts.
Dear, precious Anneke! How admirably did she behave that memorable night! It was certainly an extraordinary situation in which to speak of love; yet, I much question if the feelings be not more likely to be true and natural at such times, than when circumstances admit of more of the expedients of every-day life. I could see that my sweet listener was touched, from the moment I commenced, and that her countenance betrayed a tender interest in what I said. Presuming on this, or encouraged by her blushes and her downcast eyes, I ventured to take a hand, and perceived I was not repulsed. Then it was that I found words, that actually brought tears to my companion's eyes, and Anneke was enabled to answer me.
“This is so unusual—so extraordinary a time to speak of such things, Corny,” she said, “that I hardly know what ought to be my reply. Of one thing, however, I feel certain; persons surrounded as we are by dangers that may, at any instant, involve our destruction, have an unusual demand on them for sincerity. Affectation, I hope, I am never much addicted to, and prudery I know you would condemn. I have a feeling uppermost, at this instant, that I wish to express, yet scarce know how—”
“Do not suppress it, beloved Anneke; be as generous as I am certain you are sincere.”
“Corny, it is this. I know we are in danger—very great danger of being overcome; captured, perhaps slain, by the ruthless beings who are prowling around our dwelling, and that no one in this house can count on a single day of existence even with the ordinary vain security of man. Now, should anything befall you, after this, and I survive you, I should survive for the remainder of my days to mourn your loss, and to feel the keenest regrets that I had hesitated to own how much interest I have long felt in you, and how happy I have been with the consciousness of the preference that you so frankly and honestly avowed in my favour, months ago.”