My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Sidney.
When the painter, who followed Francis Heywood from the boat, saw the affecting situation of the parties, and discerned clearly, at a glance, that they were not only well acquainted with each other, but apparently suffering from very deep and embarrassing emotions, he withdrew. There was a something in this meeting of Francis and Katharine, under present circumstances, so mournful, that Jane Lambert, from a sympathy with their sacred feelings, walked to a short distance from the spot, and left them together. They stood alone; they were both pale; both trembling; the greeting of the embrace, and the utterance of each other’s names, had already passed in the presence of Jane. Silence was first broken by Francis. “I bless the leading of my better angel for bringing me here this evening. Oh, Katharine, how I have longed for an interview with you: that blessing is come; it is a boon of Providence; we meet again: once more I have heard your lips pronounce my name; once more I gaze upon the living form which has dwelt with me as a bright shadow; the comfort of my wanderings and toils; the cherished idol of my lonesome hours; the household image that gladdened my solitary lodging. Nay, do not seek to silence me; do not avert your eyes from me; let not displeasure cloud your glorious brow. I have loved you long, faithfully, and well. I hail this meeting as an omen of Heaven’s favour: the hour will come that I may dare ask thee of thy father without shame or fear.”
“Francis, that hour will never come; it was an unhappy hour in which we first became acquainted.”
“Oh, say not so: from that sweet hour I date a happiness that cannot die: why look so grave upon me? You cannot quench my love:—it grew as does the flower which with a constancy looks ever to the sun. Thou art a sun to me; and till I am cut down by the swift scythe of war, or wither in decay, thus will it ever be.”
“Oh, Francis, who hath bewitched you? Why did you return to England? Why did you leave the green savannas of the New World, and your pure and peaceful labours, for scenes of strife and of rebellion? Away—afar—separated from me by the stormy ocean—and too painfully conscious myself that the course of our true love never could run smooth—I had a comfort in your absence. We are divided in time, was my thought—but not for ever. There is a high and distant region, where we may meet again to part no more;—but now, Francis—it is not too late—put off these arms—return to America. Here, now, let us take our last and long farewell. Return to your father, and give me back the happiness of knowing that he who loves me may be, without a crime, beloved again. Yes—I have loved you well. I have known that our union was impossible:—to honour a parent’s will is the duty of a child. But hear me, Francis:—if all such obstacles were by some magic power removed,—if fortune crowned you with all those gifts of wealth and station, which so generally secure the consent of fathers and the approval of the world,—never would I accept the hand of that man, who had raised his sword against his king.”
While Katharine was delivering this earnest, fond remonstrance, with all the tenderness of a woman, but with a tone of decision towards the close at once solemn and mournful, Francis stood pale and attentive, with eyes that regarded her countenance admiringly. He remained silent for more than a minute after she had ceased from speaking, as if waiting to hear more; then coming closer to her, he took her hand, gazed on her with intense affection, and slowly answered,—
“With due deliberation of my deed, I took commission of the Parliament, and swore the oath prescribed; and I will keep it, Katharine, as a soldier should. You live at home, as women use to do, and therefore cannot know the truth of this great nation’s quarrel with its king. Spirits there are in this bad world, to whom their own security and peace bring no content, while any are debarred a common right. Such lead the people now; such, standing up in arms, demand for all, true liberty—and I am with them. The anointed head of England’s king is to me, as to you, sacred, and I would defend it from the swords of my own squadrons should any dare to threaten it. You have none near you, my beloved Katharine, to show you things in their true colours, and your gentle and pious fear of evil misleads your better judgment.”
“Francis, I thank God I live apart from the great world, and hear but little of their teaching; but this I know, nations are families, and he that slays his brother in any quarrel commits a sin, and he that puts forth his hand against a nation’s father is tempted to a crime so like to parricide, that the laws do visit treason with the same punishment. I’ll pray for thee, cousin,—pray that some power divine may turn thy deceived heart,—may touch it with the spirit of peace, and love, and holy fear. Lay not the flattering unction to your soul, that the cause of true religion, or of true liberty, can be promoted by the sword of rebellion. It will turn into your own generous bosom hereafter, and pierce you through with sorrows.”
“Well, Katharine, a nation is a family; but if some of the children do poison a father’s mind against others, and these last rise up to punish their treachery, at whose door lieth the sin?”