she hoped that Mr. Rowan had put on dry clothes at once, and taken something hot. He must really take care of himself. But—and here Mrs. Hester evidently considered herself returning to the subject in hand—was there ever anything more provoking than this journey? Why could not that tiresome case have been tried at Seaton instead of Machias? Why did not the judge see about it? Why did not her husband’s lawyer let him know in season, so that he could have driven through in his own carriage by day, and not be obliged to post over the road by night in those horrible coaches?
“In short,” laughed the husband, “why is not all the machinery of civilization regulated with an eye single to the convenience of Mrs. Hester Cleaveland’s husband?”
When no one else was present, the gentleman could take these absurd cares with an equally absurd complacency, and really seem to believe that he was a pining invalid instead of a stout, rubicund man; but the grave and wondering face of his visitor made him a little ashamed of such coddling.
The business did not take long to settle. All the preliminaries had been fully arranged before, neither gentleman being prone to leave his affairs at loose ends. In a few minutes they shook hands, dissolving all connection, except a friendly one, and wishing each other very heartily success and happiness. The Halcyon, which they had owned together, was sold, and, if the sailor went to sea again, he had a mind to go in a new ship of his own, and be quite independent.
Hester also took a kind leave of her guest, hoping to meet him again before long, since, for the present, he was going no further than New
York. “You know we all go to Boston soon,” she said, “and it would not be very hard for you to come on purpose to see us.”
Then he went. Everything was quiet as he walked down through the town. It was late, and only two lights were visible. One, burning red, a cyclopean eye, close to the ground, showed that the incentive to any and every possible sin was to be sold by the bottle or glass, mixed or neat, according to the taste of the person having a soul to lose.
The other light was in three windows, at the top of a building, where the Know-Nothings held their secret meetings. Captain Cary knew what that light meant. He stood awhile on the bridge, and watched it, wondering how a nation was to preserve its honor if governed by such men and such means. A secret conclave, met with closed doors and pass-word, and not one man of proved integrity inside!
“If they are patriots, then Washington was not one,” was the conclusion the sailor came to; and, having reached it, he walked on, and left that nest of slanderers and plotters to do their evil work. “I’d like to clean out that hall!” he mused as he went.
When he reached the ship, he found that Dick Rowan had roused himself sufficiently to have one wish, and that an imperative one. “Take me away from here, Cary!” he begged. “There is nothing to keep you now. Clark says that you have seen Major Cleaveland, and that all is ready to sail. Don’t wait. Sail early in the morning.”