The Bow of Orange Ribbon: A Romance of New York

White with rage, and with his hand upon his sword-hilt, Captain Hyde stamped his way through the crowded store to the dusty street.  Then it struck him that he had not asked the name of the man to whom Katharine was promised.  He swore at himself for the omission.  Whether he knew him or not, he was determined to fight him.  In the meantime, the most practical revenge was to try and see Katherine before her father had the opportunity to give her any orders regarding him.  Just then he met Neil Semple, and he stopped and asked him the time.

“It will be the half hour after four, Captain.  I am going home; shall I have your company, sir?”

“I have not much leisure to-night.  Make a thousand regrets to Madam Semple and my aunt for me.”

Neil’s calm, complacent gravity was unendurable.  He turned from him abruptly, and, muttering passionate exclamations, went to the river-bank for a boat.  Often he had seen Katherine between five and six o’clock at the foot of the Van Heemskirk garden; for it was then possible for her to slip away while madam was busy about her house, and Joanna and Batavius talking over their own affairs.  And this evening he felt that the very intensity of his desire must surely bring her to their trysting-place behind the lilac hedge.

Whether he was right or wrong, he did not consider; for he was not one of those potent men who have themselves in their own power.  Nor had it ever entered his mind that “love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice,” or that the only love worthy of the name refuses to blend with anything that is low or vindictive or clandestine.  And, even if he had not loved Katherine, he would now have been determined to marry her.  Never before in all his life had he found an object so engrossing.  Pride and revenge were added to love, as motives; but who will say that love was purer or stronger or sweeter for them?

In the meantime Joris was suffering as only such deep natures can suffer.  There are domestic fatalities which the wisest and tenderest of parents seem impotent to contend with.  Joris had certainly been alarmed by Semple’s warning; but in forbidding his daughter to visit Mrs. Gordon, and in permitting the suit of Neil Semple, he thought he had assured her safety.  Through all the past weeks, he had seen no shadow on her face.  The fear had died out, and the hope had been slowly growing; so that Captain Hyde’s proposal, and his positive assertion that Katherine loved him, had fallen upon the father’s heart with the force of a blow, and the terror of a shock.  And the sting of the sorrow was this,—­that his child had deceived him.  Certainly she had not spoken false words, but truth can be outraged by silence quite as cruelly as by speech.

After Hyde’s departure, he shut the door of his office, walked to the window, and stood there some minutes, clasping and unclasping his large hands, like a man full of grief and perplexity.  Ere long he remembered his friend Semple.  This trouble concerned him also, for Captain Hyde was in a manner his guest; and, if he were informed of the marriage arranged between Katherine and Neil Semple, he would doubtless feel himself bound in honour to retire.  Elder Semple had opened his house to Colonel Gordon, his wife and nephew.  For months they had lived in comfort under his roof, and been made heartily welcome to the best of all he possessed.  Joris put himself in Hyde’s place; and he was certain, that, under the same circumstances, he would feel it disgraceful to interfere with the love-affairs of his host’s son.

He found Semple with his hat in his hand, giving his last orders before leaving business for the day; but when Joris said, “There is trouble, and your advice I want,” he returned with him to the back of the store, where, through half-opened shutters, the sunshine and the river-breeze stole into an atmosphere laden with the aromas of tea and coffee and West Indian produce.

In a few short, strong sentences, Joris put the case before Semple.  The latter stroked his right knee thoughtfully, and listened.  But his first words were not very comforting:  “I must say, that it is maistly your own fault, Joris.  You hae given Neil but a half welcome, and you should hae made a’ things plain and positive to Katherine.  Such skimble-skamble, yea and nay kind o’ ways willna do wi’ women.  Why didna you say to her, out and out, ‘I hae promised you to Neil Semple, my lassie.  He’ll mak’ you the best o’ husbands; you’ll marry him at the New Year, and you’ll get gold and plenishing and a’ things suitable’?”

“So young she is yet, Elder.”

“She has been o’er auld for you, Joris.  Young!  My certie!  When girls are auld enough for a lover, they are a match for any gray head.  I’m a thankfu’ man that I wasna put in charge o’ any o’ them.  You and your household will hae to keep your e’en weel open, or there will be a wedding to which nane o’ us will get an invite.  But there is little good in mair words.  Hame is the place we are baith needed in.  I shall hae to speak my mind to Neil, and likewise to Colonel Gordon; and you canna put off your duty to your daughter an hour longer.  Dear me!  To think, Joris, o’ a man being able to sit wi’ the councillors o’ the nation, and yet no match for a lassie o’ seventeen!”

There are men who can talk their troubles away:  Joris was not one of them.  He was silent when in sorrow or perplexity; silent, and ever looking around for something to do in the matter.  As they walked homewards, the elder talked, and Joris pondered, not what was said, but the thoughts and purposes that were slowly forming in his own mind.  He was later than usual, and the tea and the cakes had passed their prime condition; but, when Lysbet saw the trouble in his eyes, she thought them not worth mentioning.  Joanna and Batavius were discussing their new house then building on the East River bank, and they had forgotten all else.  But Katherine fretted about her father’s delay, and it was at her Joris first looked.  The veil had now been taken from his eyes; and he noticed her pretty dress, her restless glances at the clock, her ill-concealed impatience at the slow movement of the evening meal.

When it was over, Joanna and Batavius went out to walk, and Madame Van Heemskirk rose to put away her silver and china.  “So warm as it is!” said Katherine.  “Into the garden I am going, mother.”

“Well, then, there are currants to pull.  The dish take with you.”

Joris rose then, and laying his hand on Katherine’s shoulder said, “There is something to talk about.  Sit down, Lysbet; the door shut close, and listen to me.”

It was impossible to mistake the stern purpose on her husband’s face, and Lysbet silently obeyed the order.

“Katherine, Katrijntje, mijn kind, this afternoon there comes to the store the young man, Captain Hyde.  To thy father he said many ill words.  To him thou shalt never speak again.  Thy promise give to me.”

She sat silent, with dropped eyes, and cheeks as red as the pomegranate flower at her breast.

“Mijn kind, speak to me.”

“O wee, O wee!”

“Mijn kind, speak to me.”

Weeping bitterly, she rose and went to her mother, and laid her head upon Lysbet’s shoulder.

“Look now, Joris.  One must know the ‘why’ and the ‘wherefore.’  What mean you? Whish, mijn kindje!”

“This I mean, Lysbet.  No more meetings with the Englishman will I have.  No love secrets will I bear.  Danger is with them; yes, and sin too.”

“Joris, if he has spoken to you, then where is the secret?”

“Too late he spoke.  When worked was his own selfish way, to tell me of his triumph he comes.  It is a shameful wrong.  Forgive it?  No, I will not,—­never!”

No one answered him; only Katherine’s low weeping broke the silence, and for a few moments Joris paced the room sorrowful and amazed.  Then he looked at Lysbet, and she rose and gave her place to him.  He put his arms around his darling, and kissed her fondly.

[Illustration:  “Listen to me, thy father!”]

“Mijn kindje, listen to me thy father.  It is for thy happy life here, it is for thy eternal life, I speak to thee.  This man for whom thou art now weeping is not good for thee.  He is not of thy faith, he is a Lutheran; not of thy people, he is an Englishman; not of thy station, he talks of his nobility; a gambler also, a man of fashion, of loose talk, of principles still more loose.  If with the hawk a singing-bird might mate happily, then this English soldier thou might safely marry. Mijn beste kindje, do I love thee?”

“My father!”

“Do I love thee?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Dost thou, then, love me?”

She put her arms round his neck, and laid her cheek against his, and kissed him many times.

“Wilt thou go away and leave me, and leave thy mother, in our old age?  My heart thou would break.  My gray hairs to the grave would go in sorrow.  Katrijntje, my dear, dear child, what for me, and for thy mother, wilt thou do?”

“Thy wish—­if I can.”

Then he told her of the provision made for her future.  He reminded her of Neil’s long affection, and of her satisfaction with it until Hyde had wooed her from her love and her duty.  And, remembering the elder’s reproach on his want of explicitness, he added, “To-morrow, about thy own house, I will take the first step.  Near my house it shall be; and when I walk in my garden, in thy garden I will see thee, and only a little fence shall be between us.  And at the feast of St. Nicholas thou shalt be married; for then thy sisters will be here, thy sisters Anna and Cornelia.  And money, plenty of money, I will give thee; and all that is proper thy mother and thee shall buy.  But no more, no more at all, shalt thou see or speak to that bad man who has so beguiled thee.”

At this remark Katherine sadly shook her head; and Lysbet’s face so plainly expressed caution, that Joris somewhat modified his last order, “That is, little one, no more until the feast of St. Nicholas.  Then thou wilt be married and then it is good, if it is safe, to forgive all wrongs, and to begin again with all the world in peace and good living.  Wilt thou these things promise me? me and thy mother?”

“Richard I must see once more.  That is what I ask.”

“Richard! So far is it?”

She did not answer; and Joris rose, and looked at the girl’s mother inquiringly.  Her face expressed assent; and he said reluctantly, “Well, then, I will as easy make it as I can.  Once more, and for one hour, thou may see him.  But I lay it on thee to tell him the truth, for this and for all other time.”

“Now may I go?  He is a-nigh.  His boat I hear at the landing;” and she stood up, intent, listening, with her fair head lifted, and her wet eyes fixed on the distance.

“Well, be it so.  Go.”

With the words she slipped from the room; and Joris called Baltus to bring him some hot coals, and began to fill his pipe.  As he did so, he watched Lysbet with some anxiety.  She had offered him no sympathy, she evinced no disposition to continue the conversation; and, though she kept her face from him, he understood that all her movements expressed a rebellious temper.  In and out of the room she passed, very busy about her own affairs, and apparently indifferent to his anxiety and sorrow.

At first Joris felt some natural anger at her attitude; but, as the Virginia calmed and soothed him, he remembered that he had told her nothing of his interview with Hyde, and that she might be feeling and reasoning from a different standpoint from himself.  Then the sweetness of his nature was at once in the ascendant, and he said, “Lysbet, come then, and talk with me about the child.”

She turned the keys in her press slowly, and stood by it with them in her hand.  “What has been told thee, Joris, to-day?  And who has spoken?  Tongues evil and envious, I am sure of that.”

“Thou art wrong.  The young man to me spoke himself.  He said, ’I love your daughter.  I want to marry her.’”

“Well, then, he did no wrong.  And as for Katrijntje, it is in nature that a young girl should want a lover.  It is in nature she should choose the one she likes best.  That is what I say.”

“That is what I say, Lysbet.  It is in nature, also, that we want too much food and wine, too much sleep, too much pleasure, too little work.  It is in nature that our own way we want.  It is in nature that the good we hate, and the sin we love.  My Lysbet, to us God gives his own good grace, that the things that are in nature we might put below the reason and the will.”

“So hard that is, Joris.”

“No, it is not; so far thou hast done the right way.  When Katherine was a babe, it was in nature that with the fire she wanted to make play.  But thou said, ‘There is danger, my precious one;’ and in thy arms thou carried her out of the temptation.  When older she grew, it was in nature she said, ’I like not the school, and my Heidelberg is hard, and I cannot learn it.’  But thou answered, ’For thy good is the school, and go thou every day; and for thy salvation is thy catechism, and I will see that thou learn it well.’  Now, then, it is in nature the child should want this handsome stranger; but with me thou wilt certainly say, ’He is not fit for thy happiness; he has not the true faith, he gambles, he fights duels, he is a waster, he lives badly, he will take thee far from thy own people and thy own home.’”

“Can the man help that he was born an Englishman and a Lutheran?”

“They have their own women.  Look now, from the beginning it has been like to like.  Thou may see in the Holy Scriptures that, after Esau married the Hittite woman, he sold his birthright, and became a wanderer and a vagabond.  And it is said that it was a ’grief of mind unto Isaac and Rebekah.’  I am sorry this day for Isaac and Rebekah.  The heart of the father is the same always.”

“And the heart of the mother, also, Joris.”  She drew close to him, and laid her arm across his broad shoulders; and he took his pipe from his lips and turned his face to her.  “Kind and wise art thou, my husband; and whatever is thy wish, that is my wish too.”

“A good woman thou art.  And what pleasure would it be to thee if Katherine was a countess, and went to the court, and bowed down to the king and the queen?  Thou would not see it; and, if thou spoke of it, thy neighbours they would hate thee, and mock thee behind thy back, and say, ’How proud is Lysbet Van Heemskirk of her noble son-in-law that comes never once to see her!’ And dost thou believe he is an earl?  Not I.”

“That is where the mother’s love is best, Joris.  What my neighbours said would be little care to me, if my Katherine was well and was happy.  With her sorrow would I buy my own pleasure?  No; I would not so selfish be.”

“Would I, Lysbet?  Right am I, and I know I am right.  And I think that Neil Semple will be a very great person.  Already, as a man of affairs, he is much spoken of.  He is handsome and of good morality.  The elders in the kirk look to such young men as Neil to fill their places when they are no more in them.  On the judge’s bench he will sit down yet.”

“A good young man he may be, but he is a very bad lover; that is the truth.  If a little less wise he could only be!  A young girl likes some foolish talk.  It is what women understand.  Little fond words, very strong they are!  Thou thyself said them to me.”

“That is right.  To Neil I will talk a little.  A man must seek a good wife with more heart than he seeks gold.  Yes, yes; her price above rubies is.”

At the very moment Joris made this remark, the elder was speaking for him.  When he arrived at home, he found that his wife was out making calls with Mrs. Gordon, so he had not the relief of a marital conversation.  He took his solitary tea, and fell into a nap, from which he awoke in a querulous, uneasy temper.  Neil was walking about the terrace, and he joined him.

[Illustration:  He took his solitary tea]

“You are stepping in a vera majestic way, Neil; what’s in your thoughts, I wonder?”

“I have a speech to make to-morrow, sir.  My thoughts were on the law, which has a certain majesty of its own.”

“You’d better be thinking o’ a speech you ought to make to-night, if you care at a’ aboot saving yoursel’ wi’ Katherine Van Heemskirk; and ma certie it will be an extraordinar’ case that is worth mair, even in the way o’ siller, than she is.”

The elder was not in the habit of making unmeaning speeches, and Neil was instantly alarmed.  In his own way, he loved Katherine with all his soul.  “Yes,” continued the old man, “you hae a rival, sir.  Captain Hyde asked Van Heemskirk for his daughter this afternoon, and an earldom in prospect isna a poor bait.”

“What a black scoundrel he must be!—­to use your hospitality to steal from your son the woman he loves.”

“Tak’ your time, Neil, and you won’t lose your judgment.  How was he to ken that Katherine was your sweetheart?  You made little o’ the lassie, vera little, I may say.  Lawyer-like you may be, but nane could call you lover-like.  And while he and his are my guests, and in my house, I’ll no hae you fighting him.  Tak’ a word o’ advice now,—­I’ll gie it without a fee,—­you are fond enough to plead for others, go and plead an hour for yoursel’.  Certie!  When I was your age, I was aye noted for my persuading way.  Your father, sir, never left a spare corner for a rival.  And I can tell you this:  a woman isna to be counted your ain, until you hae her inside a wedding-ring.”

“What did the councillor say?”

“To tell the truth, he said ‘no,’ a vera plain ‘no,’ too.  You ken Van Heemskirk’s ‘no’ isn’t a shilly-shallying kind o’ a negative; but for a’ that, if I hae any skill in judging men, Richard Hyde isna one o’ the kind that tak’s ‘no’ from either man or woman.”

Neil was intensely angry, and his dark eyes glowed beneath their dropped lids with a passionate hate.  But he left his father with an assumed coldness and calmness which made him mutter as he watched Neil down the road, “I needna hae fashed mysel’ to warn him against fighting.  He’s a prudent lad.  It’s no right to fight, and it would be a matter for a kirk session likewise; but Bruce and Wallace! was there ever a Semple, before Neil, that keepit his hand off his weapon when his love or his right was touched?  And there’s his mother out the night, of all the nights in the year, and me wanting a word o’ advice sae bad; not that Janet has o’er much good sense, but whiles she can make an obsarve that sets my ain wisdom in a right line o’ thought.  I wish to patience she’d bide at home.  She never kens when I may be needing her.  And, now I came to think o’ things, it will be the warst o’ all bad hours for Neil to seek Katherine the night.  She’ll be fretting, and the mother pouting, and the councillor in ane o’ his particular Dutch touch-me-not tempers.  I do hope the lad will hae the uncommon sense to let folks cool, and come to theirsel’s a wee.”

For the elder, judging his son by the impetuosity of his own youthful temper, expected him to go directly to Van Heemskirk’s house.  But there were qualities in Neil which his father forgot to take into consideration, and their influence was to suggest to the young man how inappropriate a visit to Katherine would be at that time.  Indeed, he did not much desire it.  He was very angry with Katherine.  He was sure that she understood his entire devotion to her.  He could not see any necessity to set it forth as particularly as a legal contract, in certain set phrases and with conventional ceremonies.

[Illustration:  On the steps of the houses]

But his father’s sarcastic advice annoyed him, and he wanted time to fully consider his ways.  He was no physical coward; he was a fine swordsman, and he felt that it would be a real joy to stand with a drawn rapier between himself and his rival.  But what if revenge cost him too much?  What if he slew Hyde, and had to leave his love and his home, and his fine business prospects?  To win Katherine and to marry her, in the face of the man whom he felt that he detested, would not that be the best of all “satisfactions”?

He walked about the streets, discussing these points with himself, till the shops all closed, and on the stoops of the houses in Maiden Lane and Liberty Street there were merry parties of gossiping belles and beaux.  Then he returned to Broadway.  Half a dozen gentlemen were standing before the King’s Arms Tavern, discussing some governmental statement in the “Weekly Mercury;” but though they asked him to stop, and enlighten them on some legal point, he excused himself for that night, and went toward Van Heemskirk’s.  He had suddenly resolved upon a visit.  Why should he put off until the morrow what he might begin that night?

Still debating with himself, he came to a narrow road which ran to the river, along the southern side of Van Heemskirk’s house.  It was only a trodden path used by fishermen, and made by usage through the unenclosed ground.  But coming swiftly up it, as if to detain him, was Captain Hyde.  The two men looked at each other defiantly; and Neil said with a cold, meaning emphasis,—­

“At your service, sir.”

“Mr. Semple, at your service,”—­and touching his sword,—­“to the very hilt, sir.”

“Sir, yours to the same extremity.”

“As for the cause, Mr. Semple, here it is;” and he pushed aside his embroidered coat in order to exhibit to Neil the bow of orange ribbon beneath it.

“I will die it crimson in your blood,” said Neil, passionately.

“In the meantime, I have the felicity of wearing it;” and with an offensively deep salute, he terminated the interview.

[Illustration:  Tail-piece]

[Illustration:  Chapter heading]