Barbara Ladd

"You still love me, Robert, after the hideous way I treated you?" questioned Barbara, her voice a little tremulous.

He started again to sit up; but being again suppressed, was fain to content himself with clutching both her hands to his lips.

"There is nothing in the world but you, Barbara," he said. "There is nothing I want but you, wonderful one!"

"Then – you may take me, Robert, I think!" she whispered, dropping her face, and brushing his lips with her hair.

"Me?" he cried, in a voice suddenly strong, glad, and incredulous. "Me? Sick near to death, hunted near to death, a beaten and fleeing enemy, a Tory? I may take you, my queen, my beloved?"

"Whatever you are, dear, I have found that you are my love," she answered. "I don't care much what you are, so long as you are mine. I find I am just a woman, Robert – and in my conceit I thought myself something more. I love my country, truly. But I love my lover more. I shall not ask you whether you bow to King or to Congress, – but only ask you to get well!"

He reached up both arms, and slowly pulled down her still averted face till it was close to his. Then she turned her face suddenly to him, and her lips met his. A moment later she untwined his arms, went to the door, and glanced unheeding down at old Debby, gathering wood. Then, her face and eyes still glowing, she came back, smoothed his hair, kissed him lightly on the forehead, and said, "Now you must be quiet, dear. Debby will scold me if I let you talk any more!"

But Robert was excited, drunk with new joy after long despair.

"Just one word, and I will obey, dear heart! Listen, my lady. I will draw sword no more in this quarrel. I have given my blood, my lands, – I have given, as I thought, my love, – for a cause already lost, for a cause that I felt to be wrong from the day of Lexington, But whichever side wins, I will stay in my own country, if my country, when it is all over, will let me stay. When I am well enough to go away – love, love, will you go with me, to return, when the fighting and the fury cease, to our own dear river and our own dear woods?"

"Yes, you know I will, Robert," answered Barbara, kneeling down and looking into his eyes. "You know that is what I am planning, dear one. Now go to sleep, and get well, and take me away when you will!" And holding her hand against his neck he forthwith went to sleep, like a child, tired and contented.

Barbara knelt for a long time unmoving, her hand warm in his weak clasp, and was grateful to old Debby for staying so long away. As she knelt, the side of her face to the door, she heard a soft thud, thud on the threshold, and looked around out of the corners of her eyes without turning her head. She saw two wild rabbits, filled with curiosity at finding the cabin door open. They hopped in warily, and went bounding all about the room, sniffing with their sensitive, cleft nostrils; waving their ears back and forth at every faint whisper; and from time to time sitting up to ponder their discovery. One of them bounded over Barbara's little foot, turned to examine it, and nibbled tentatively at the heel of her shoe till she had to make the muscles tense to keep him from pulling it off. Then, standing up together for a moment, they seemed to take counsel and conclude that they had business elsewhere. As they hopped lazily away from the door, Barbara got up and followed to look after them. The wonderful day was drawing to its close; and long, straight beams of rosy gold, enmeshed with the haze, were streaming through the trees to her very feet. She laughed a little happy laugh under her breath. Those bright paths leading to the sun seemed a fair omen.

THE END