The Land of Bondage: A Romance

by John Bloundelle-Burton

I know not why, that evening, all our thoughts and talk had been upon that silly theme, Love. It had begun at supper--which, in Virginia, we generally took at seven in the evening--and had been continued afterwards in the garden and on the porch, and came, I think, from the fact that Lord St. Amande and Mr. Kinchella had that day been to see a ship which had come from England laden with furniture. His lordship lived with Mr. Kinchella in his minister's house in the village, and, although he generally spent his days with many of the other gentry dwelling around, amongst whom he was very welcome, he could sometimes induce his friend to give up one day to him when they would go off together for rides and walks, as they had done on this occasion when they had ridden to Norfolk. Their evenings they spent almost invariably at Pomfret Manor, as they were doing on this night. But, as I say, at supper this evening there had been much talk of what Mr. Kinchella had purchased from the trader for beautifying his house, such as a beautiful Smyrna carpet, some tapestry hangings, chimney glasses and sconces, a stone-grate and some walnut-tree chairs and East Indian screens, all of which were to be shown to us when they arrived by the waggon and were placed in his home. For their marriage-day was drawing near now, and was, indeed, settled for the beginning of September.

"So that," said his lordship, "when that time arrives, Mistress Joice," as he had come to call me, "must be left all alone in her great house."

"'Tis her own fault," exclaimed Mary; "many are the excellent offers she has had, yet she will take none. Her cousin Gregory has over and over again told her she should wed with him, their interests being similar and their estates adjoining, and two of the Pringles have asked her for wife. But, although in Virginia a maiden who is not married by twenty is deemed to have passed her day, she will not look at them. Oh! 'tis a shame. A Shame."

I had blushed at all this and reproved Mary for telling my lord my secrets; but now, on the porch, he referred to the subject again and asked why none of these gentlemen found favour in my eyes. "Only," I replied, "because in my heart there is no love for them. Surely no girl should wed with one she cannot love?"

"'Tis true," he answered, gravely, as he always spake; "'tis true. And the day will come when you will love someone. It must needs come."

Alas! I wonder that he did not know that already it had come. I should have thought, indeed, did often think, that I had betrayed myself and shown him that the love he spoke of had grown up in my heart for him. He must have seen that which I could not hide, try as I would; my eager looking for his coming in those soft summer evenings, my great joy in his company, my sympathy with him in all that he had known and suffered, and my tell-tale blushes whenever his eyes fell on me. Yet if he knew he gave no sign of knowing, and, although he ever sought my side and passed the hours with me, as those others passed theirs together, he said no word.

But now, as we sat there on the porch silent though, sometimes, our eyes would meet in the glow of the lamp from within, there fell upon the silence of the night the clatter of a horse's hoofs up the road, of a horse coming on at a great pace as though ridden by one who spurred it to its best efforts and sought its greater speed.

"Who can ride here at such a pace to-night?" I said, as still the clatter drew nearer and we heard the horse turn off from the road into our plantations, and so into the stables at the back, while a moment later a voice was heard demanding to see Mistress Bampfyld.

"That voice!" exclaimed Lord St. Amande, springing from his chair and reaching for his sword, which stood in a corner of the balcony. "That voice! Though I have not heard it for years I should know it in a thousand. 'Tis the villain, O'Rourke. Heaven hath delivered him into my hands at last. Now will I have a full revenge on him."

"Oh sir," I said, as he drew his blade, "Oh! sir, oh! my lord, take no revenge on him here, I beseech you. Stain not this house with his blood. No life has ever yet been taken in it since it was brought over. And, oh! remember, he came here before and was well received and hospitably treated--he cannot know that you should also have found your way here--he may well expect to receive the same treatment, the same hospitality again."