Say and Seal, Volume I

Thinking Faith quelled perhaps, Phil began the struggle again fiercely, with grappling and blows. But Faith laid hold suddenly on the arm that was rising the second time, and bade the boy sternly behave himself and let the basket go. It was not immediately done. He had strength much more than hers, but something withheld him from exerting it. Nothing withheld his tongue.

"Aint you Mr. Linden's sweetheart?" he said insolently. "Joe Deacon says you be."

"No sir!" said Faith; "and you are a bad boy."

"Joe Deacon says you be!"

But Faith did not relax her hold, and spoke with a steady voice and for that time at least with a steady eye of command which was obeyed.

"Let him go!—Johnny, run off with your basket and be quiet; that's a good boy. Davids, you'll be quiet the rest of the day for your own sake."

The boys parted sullenly, Johnny to run off as she had bidden him; and Faith turned from the green bank, the nut trees, and the frolic, and laying one hand upon the cheek that faced that way, as if to hide its burning from eyes too far off to see it, she went into the house.

She put the brands together which had burnt out, and built the fire up on the strictest principles, though no fire was wanted at present; the day had mellowed into warmth. Perhaps Faith recollected that after she had got through, for she left the fire to take care of itself and sat down again on the doorstep looking towards the nut-tree field. For a good while her cheek wore its troubled flush, her hand went up to it once or twice as if to cool it off, and her brow bespoke her using other and more effectual measures. It cooled at last, into complete quietness and sweetness; and Faith's face was just like itself when the first of the party came back from the nut field.

That first one, as we have seen, was Mr. Linden. He found both the ladies in the farmhouse kitchen; Mrs. Derrick very comfortably at her knitting. Faith was doing nothing; but she looked up, when she looked up, with just her own face; not certainly in the happy glow he had seen under the nut tree, nor with the sparkle of busy pleasure it had worn in the morning; but as it was every day at home.

Mr. Linden arranged the fire and then stood considering it—or something—for a minute in silence; until Mrs. Derrick inquired "if he had found as much as he expected?"—but upon his replying somewhat dryly, "Rather more"—the conversation dropped again.

"You ought to be tired now, Mr. Linden," Faith said gently.

"I am afraid you are."

"No," she said,—"I am not at all."

"Well then—why shouldn't we have our look at Kildeer river? You said we must."

"O, if you like it!" said Faith, a bright little tinge of pleasure coming into her cheek, and her sunbonnet was in hand immediately. "But aren't you tired?" she added doubtfully as they were passing out of the door. "You've been hard at work."

"You will have to pay for saying you are not, Miss Faith,—I mean to make you run all the way down to the bank."

And holding out his hand to her, Mr. Linden half made his threat good; for though his own pace was not much more than a quick walk, by means of skilful short cuts and long steps, Faith had a gentle little run a good part of the way. Not down through the crowd of boys and baskets, but skirting the meadow—passing from the shelter of one great tree to another, till they reached the bank and saw the blue waters of Kildeer river at their feet. There she was permitted to sit down and rest. A little laughing and a little flushed, her happy look was almost brought back again. But she sat and gazed down at the pretty stream and its picturesque banks without saying anything; letting Mr. Linden take his own view of them. His own view was a peculiar one—to judge by his words.

"Miss Faith, I suppose you are not much acquainted with law forms,—yet you perhaps know that an important witness in an important case, is sometimes put in prison until his evidence is obtained."

Faith looked up at him in pure astonishment, the corners of her mouth indicating that she expected another puzzle, or rather was already engaged in one. The look made his gravity give way a little.

"I thought you might like to know your position at present," he said.

"I don't know it yet, Mr. Linden."

"It is that of the unfortunate prisoner to whom I referred."

"A prisoner!—" said Faith looking up at him very much amused. "Well,Mr. Linden?"

He looked amused too, yet with a difference.

"Well, Miss Faith—You are a prisoner, for political purposes. There is no practicable way for you to get back to the house save through the witness-box."

"Where is the witness-box?" said Faith.

"Are you in a hurry to be in it?"

"No," said Faith with a very unshadowed smile, "I am not in a hurry for anything."

"Then tell me what you have been reading to-day," he said, throwing himself down on the grass beside her.

She looked at him, hesitated, then said with a lowered tone,

"I have been reading what you told me to read—and my testament."

Mr. Linden lifted his hat a little, replaced it—rather more down over his brows than before, looking steadily down at Kildeer river the while.

"Why did you look grave when I asked you if you had brought 'LePhilosophe'?"

"I didn't know I did!" said Faith simply. "I had brought only my testament."

"Only—" Mr. Linden repeated. "Well, from 'only' a testament and only such a scene—a skilful reader may get much." Then turning and looking her full in the face, he said, "Miss Faith—what have those boys done to vex you?"

A sudden, painful, startled flush answered him. She did not look now; she said earnestly,

"Please Mr. Linden, don't speak of it!"

"I must know—" was his only answer.

"No," she said gently but troubled,—"you mustn't know, and there is no need you should. There is no need," she repeated eagerly.

"There is another true little witness I can call upon—but I would rather have your account."

"How did you know?—how did you know anything about it?" said Faith, facing round upon him in her turn.

"Gentlemen of what Miss Danforth is pleased to call 'my profession' must know things occasionally," said Mr. Linden.

"What do you think you know, Mr. Linden?" she said a little timidly.

His answer was gentle though resolute.

"I don't think I know anything. What I know, I know–what I do not,I will."

Faith's head half drooped for an instant, and the flush which had faded came back painfully. Then she looked at him again, and though the flush was there she spoke as usual.

"You won't try, Mr. Linden—because I am going to ask you not. It is nothing you need take up—it was nothing but—what perhaps I was foolish to mind. I don't mind it now—much—"

But there was a grave falling off in the tone of that much. She felt it herself, for she rallied and said with her own quiet frank smile,

"I shall not mind it at all to-morrow."

Mr. Linden looked at her while she spoke, gravely and intently enough; but then he looked away at the river again, and probably read problems in its soft rippling waters, for he spoke not. Overhead a hawk sailed noiselessly to and fro, on spread wings,—in the trees close at hand a squirrel chattered and barked with his mouth full. The afternoon light left Kildeer river step by step, and the shadows crept after.