第11章 TEMPLE BOW(1)

In the morning I started for Temple Bow on horseback behind one of Mr.Lowndes' negroes.Good Mrs.

Lowndes had kissed me at parting, and tucked into my pocket a parcel of sweetmeats.There had been a few grave gentlemen to see me, and to their questions I had replied what I could.But tell them of Mr.Temple Iwould not, save that he himself had told me nothing.

And Mr.Lowndes had presently put an end to their talk.

``The lad knows nothing, gentlemen,'' he had said, which was true.

``David,'' said he, when he bade me farewell, ``I see that your father has brought you up to fear God.

Remember that all you see in this life is not to be imitated.''

And so I went off behind his negro.He was a merry lad, and despite the great heat of the journey and my misgivings about Temple Bow, he made me laugh.I was sad at crossing the ferry over the Ashley, through thinking of my father, but I reflected that it could not be long now ere I saw him again.In the middle of the day we stopped at a tavern.And at length, in the abundant shade of evening, we came to a pair of great ornamental gates set between brick pillars capped with white balls, and turned into a drive.And presently, winding through the trees, we were in sight of a long, brick mansion trimmed with white, and a velvet lawn before it all flecked with shadows.In front of the portico was a saddled horse, craning his long neck at two panting hounds stretched on the ground.A negro boy in blue clutched the bridle.On the horse-block a gentleman in white reclined.He wore shiny boots, and he held his hat in his hand, and he was gazing up at a lady who stood on the steps above him.

The lady I remember as well--Lord forbid that Ishould forget her.And her laugh as I heard it that evening is ringing now in my ears.And yet it was not a laugh.Musical it was, yet there seemed no pleasure in it: rather irony, and a great weariness of the amusements of this world: and a note, too, from a vanity never ruffled.It stopped abruptly as the negro pulled up his horse before her, and she stared at us haughtily.

``What's this?'' she said.

``Pardon, Mistis,'' said the negro, ``I'se got a letter from Marse Lowndes.''

``Mr.Lowndes should instruct his niggers,'' she said.

``There is a servants' drive.'' The man was turning his horse when she cried: ``Hold! Let's have it.''

He dismounted and gave her the letter, and I jumped to the ground, watching her as she broke the seal, taking her in, as a boy will, from the flowing skirt and tight-laced stays of her salmon silk to her high and powdered hair.She must have been about thirty.Her face was beautiful, but had no particle of expression in it, and was dotted here and there with little black patches of plaster.

While she was reading, a sober gentleman in black silk-breeches and severe coat came out of the house and stood beside her.

``Heigho, parson,'' said the gentleman on the horse-block, without moving, ``are you to preach against loo or lansquenet to-morrow?''

``Would it make any difference to you, Mr.Riddle?''

Before he could answer there came a great clatter behind them, and a boy of my own age appeared.With a leap he landed sprawling on the indolent gentleman's shoulders, nearly upsetting him.

``You young rascal!'' exclaimed the gentleman, pitching him on the drive almost at my feet; then he fell back again to a position where he could look up at the lady.

``Harry Riddle,'' cried the boy, ``I'll ride steeplechases and beat you some day.''

``Hush, Nick,'' cried the lady, petulantly, ``I'll have no nerves left me.'' She turned to the letter again, holding it very near to her eyes, and made a wry face of impatience.

Then she held the sheet out to Mr.Riddle.

``A pretty piece of news,'' she said languidly.``Read it, Harry.

The gentleman seized her hand instead.The lady glanced at the clergyman, whose back was turned, and shook her head.

``How tiresome you are!'' she said.

``What's happened?'' asked Mr.Riddle, letting go as the parson looked around.

``Oh, they've had a battle,'' said the lady, ``and Moultrie and his Rebels have beat off the King's fleet.''

``The devil they have!'' exclaimed Mr.Riddle, while the parson started forwards.``Anything more?''

``Yes, a little.'' She hesitated.``That husband of mine has fled Charlestown.They think he went to the fleet.'' And she shot a meaning look at Mr.Riddle, who in turn flushed red.I was watching them.

``What!'' cried the clergyman, ``John Temple has run away?''

``Why not,'' said Mr.Riddle.``One can't live between wind and water long.And Charlestown's--uncomfortable in summer.''

At that the clergyman cast one look at them--such a look as I shall never forget--and went into the house.

``Mamma,'' said the boy, ``where has father gone? Has he run away?''

``Yes.Don't bother me, Nick.''

``I don't believe it,'' cried Nick, his high voice shaking.

``I'd--I'd disown him.''

At that Mr.Riddle burst into a hearty laugh.

``Come, Nick,'' said he, ``it isn't so bad as that.Your father's for his Majesty, like the rest of us.He's merely gone over to fight for him.'' And he looked at the lady and laughed again.But I liked the boy.

As for the lady, she curled her lip.``Mr.Riddle, don't be foolish,'' she said.``If we are to play, send your horse to the stables.'' Suddenly her eye lighted on me.``One more brat,'' she sighed.``Nick, take him to the nursery, or the stable.And both of you keep out of my sight.''

Nick strode up to me.

``Don't mind her.She's always saying, `Keep out of my sight.' '' His voice trembled.He took me by the sleeve and began pulling me around the house and into a little summer bower that stood there; for he had a masterful manner.

``What's your name?'' he demanded.

``David Trimble,'' I said.

``Have you seen my father in town?''

The intense earnestness of the question surprised an answer out of me.

``Yes.''

``Where?'' he demanded.

``In his house.My father left me with your father.''

``Tell me about it.''

I related as much as I dared, leaving out Mr.Temple's double dealing; which, in truth, I did not understand.