The Child Wife

He was not alone. By his side was the man she had seen along with him in the carriage.

But she had no eyes for the middle-aged gentleman with huge grizzly moustachios. Only for him, whose hand those girls had been so eager to clasp and kiss.

And she sat scanning him, with strange, wondering eyes, as the Zenaida dove looks upon the shining constrictor. Scanning him from head to foot, heedless of the speeches of Sabina, whose West Indian experience must have made her acquainted with the fascination of the serpent.

It was but the wonder of a child for something that has crossed its track – something new and abnormal – grander than a toy – brighter, even, than a fancy called up by the tales of Aladdin.

Chapter Twenty.

“The Wondering Eyes.”

Once more Maynard stood upon the deck of a sea-going vessel, his eyes bent upon the white seethy track lengthening out behind him.

In its sea-view the Empire City is unfortunate, presenting scarce a point worthy of being remembered. There is no salient feature like the great dome of Saint Paul’s, in London, the Arc de Triomphe, of Paris, or even the Saint Charles Hotel, as you sweep round the English Turn, in sight of New Orleans. In approaching New York City, your eye rests on two or three sharp spires, more befitting the architecture of a village church, and a mean-looking cupola, that may be the roof either of a circus or gasworks! The most striking object is the curious circular Castle with its garden behind it; but this requires a distant view to hide its neglected condition; and, lying low, it becomes only prominent when too near to stand scrutiny.

In the improvement of this point, New York has a splendid opportunity to redeem the shabbiness of its seaward aspect. It is still city property, I believe; and if it had Haussmart, instead of Hoffman, for its mayor, the city of Manhattan would soon present to its bay a front worthy of this noble estuary.

To return from our digression upon themes civic, economic, and architectural, to the Cambria steamer fast forging on toward the ocean.

The revolutionary leader had no such thoughts as he stood upon her deck, taking the last look at the city of New York. His reflections were different; one of them being, whether it was indeed to be his last!

He was leaving a land he had long lived in, and loved: its people and its institutions. He was proceeding upon an enterprise of great peril; not as the legalised soldier, who has no fear before him save death on the battle-field, or a period of imprisonment; but as a revolutionist and rebel, who, if defeated, need expect no mercy – only a halter and a tombless grave.

It was at a time, however, when the word rebel was synonymous with patriot; before it became disgraced by that great rebellion – the first in all history sinful and without just cause – the first that can be called inglorious.

Then the term was a title to be proud of – the thing itself a sacred duty; and inspired by these thoughts, he looked before him without fear, and behind with less regret.

It would not be true to say, that he was altogether indifferent to the scenes receding from his view. Many bonds of true friendship had been broken; many hands warmly shaken, perhaps never to be grasped again!

And there was one severance, where a still tenderer tie had been torn asunder.

But the spasm had passed some time ago – more keenly felt by him on the deck of that steamer leaving the harbour of Newport.

A week had elapsed since then – a week spent amidst exciting scenes and in the companionship of kindred spirits – in the enrolling-room surrounded by courageous filibusters – in the Bairisch beer-saloons with exiled republican patriots – amidst the clinking of glasses, filled out of long-necked Rhine wine bottles, and quaffed to the songs of Schiller, and the dear German fatherland.

It was fortunate for Maynard that this stormy life had succeeded the tranquillity of the Newport Hotel. It enabled him to think less about Julia Girdwood. Still was she in his mind, as the steamer left Staten Island in her wake, and was clearing her way through the Narrows.

But before Sandy Hook was out of sight, the proud girl had gone away from his thoughts, and with the suddenness of thought itself!

This quick forgetfulness calls for explanation.

The last look at a land, where a sweetheart has been left behind, will not restore the sighing heart to its tranquillity. It was not this that had produced such an abrupt change in the spirit of the lover.

No more was it the talk of Roseveldt, standing by his side, and pouring into his ear those revolutionary ideas, for which the Count had so much suffered.

The change came from a cause altogether different, perhaps the only one capable of effecting such a transformation.

“Un clavo saca otro clavo,” say the Spaniards, of all people the most knowing in proverbial lore. “One nail drives out another.” A fair face can only be forgotten by looking upon one that is fairer.

Thus came relief to Captain Maynard.

Turning to go below, he saw a face so wonderfully fair, so strange withal, that almost mechanically he stayed his intention, and remained lingering on the deck.

In less than ten minutes after, he was in love with a child!

There are those who will deem this an improbability; perhaps pronounce it unnatural.

Nevertheless it was true; for we are recording an actual experience.

As Maynard faced towards the few passengers that remained upon the upper deck, most of them with eyes fixed upon the land they were leaving, he noticed one pair that were turned upon himself. At first he read in them only an expression of simple curiosity; and his own thought was the same as he returned the glance.

He saw a child with grand golden hair – challenging a second look. And this he gave, as one who regards something pretty and superior of its kind.

But passing from the hair to the eyes, he beheld in them a strange, wondering gaze, like that given by the gazelle or the fawn of the fallow-deer, to the saunterer in a zoological garden, who has tempted it to the edge of its enclosure.

Had the glance been only transitory, Maynard might have passed on, though not without remembering it.

But it was not. The child continued to gaze upon him, regardless of all else around.

And so on till a man of graceful mien – grey-haired and of paternal aspect – came alongside, caught her gently by the hand, and led her away, with the intention of taking her below.

On reaching the head of the stairway she glanced back, still with that same wildering look; and again, as the bright face with its golden glories sweeping down behind it, disappeared below the level of the deck.

“What’s the matter with you, Maynard?” asked the Count, seeing that his comrade had become suddenly thoughtful. “By the way you stand looking after that little sprout, one might suppose her to be your own!”

“My dear Count,” rejoined Maynard, in an earnest, appealing tone, “I beg you won’t jest with me – at all events, don’t laugh, when I tell you how near you have hit upon my wish.”

“What wish?”

“That she were my own.”

“As how?”

“As my wife.”

“Wife! A child not fourteen years of age! Cher capitaine! you are turning Turk! Such ideas are not becoming to a revolutionary leader. Besides, you promised to have no other sweetheart than your sword! Ha – ha – ha! How soon you’ve forgotten the naiad of Newport!”

“I admit it. I’m glad I have been able to do so. It was altogether different. It was not true love, but only – never mind what. But now I feel – don’t laugh at me, Roseveldt. I assure you I am sincere. That child has impressed me with a feeling I never had before. Her strange look has done it. I know not why or wherefore she looked so. I feel as if she had sounded the bottom of my soul! It may be fate, destiny – whatever you choose to call it – but as I live, Roseveldt, I have a presentiment – she will yet be my wife!”

“If such be her and your destiny,” responded Roseveldt, “don’t suppose I shall do anything to obstruct its fulfilment. She appears to be the daughter of a gentleman, though I must confess I don’t much like his looks. He reminds me of the class we are going to contend against. No matter for that. The girl’s only an infant; and before she can be ready to marry you, all Europe may be Republican, and you a Présidant! Now, cher capitaine! let us below, else the steward may have our fine Havanas stowed away under hatches; and then such weeds as we’d have to smoke during the voyage!” From sentiment to cigars was an abrupt change. But Maynard was no romantic dreamer; and complying with his fellow-traveller’s request, he descended to the state-room to look after the disposal of their portmanteaus.

Chapter Twenty One.

A Short-Lived Triumph

While the hero of C – was thus starting to seek fresh fame on a foreign shore, he came very near having his escutcheon stained in the land he was leaving behind him!

At the time that his name was a shout of triumph in noisy New York, it was being pronounced in the quiet circles of Newport with an accent of scorn.