"So it is, 'Bitha," Dorothy assented. "But we'll go to the kitchen, and ask Tyntie to let us make some molasses pull."
She was, for the moment, a child again, with all perplexing thoughts of redcoats and Hugh Knollys banished from her mind.
CHAPTER XXII
All the outdoor world seemed encased in burnished silver, as the new moon of early December came up from the black bed of the ocean's far-out rim, and mounting high and higher in the pale flush yet lingering from the gorgeous sunset, brought out sparklings from the snow drifted over the fields and fences of the old town.
The roads were transformed into pavements of glittering mosaics and pellucid crystals; and all about the Devereux house the meadow lands stretched away like a shining sea whose waves had suddenly congealed, catching and holding jewels in their white depths.
Dorothy was looking out at the beauty of it all, her face close to the pane her warm breath dimmed now and then, compelling her to raise a small hand to make it clear again for her vision.
It was her brother's wedding night. And the girl was very fair and sweet to look upon, in her soft pink gown, with its dainty laces and ribbons, as she stood there awaiting the others; for they were all to drive into town, to the house of Mistress Horton, where the marriage was to be celebrated.
Nicholson Broughton was away from his home, enforced to tarry near Cambridge, where several of his townsmen were holding weighty conclaves which it was important for him to attend. But he had urged John Devereux to make no delay in the ceremony, feeling that his daughter, once wedded, and an established member of the family at the Devereux farm, would be happier, as well as safer, now that riots in the town were becoming more frequent and fierce.
Hugh Knollys also was absent, having undertaken an important mission in the neighborhood of Boston.