“Good-by, Dorothy.  And do not forget your old playmate.  He will never forget you.”

We stood within the gangway.  With a quick movement she threw open her cloak, and pinned to her gown I saw a faded bunch of lilies of the valley.

I had but the time to press her hand.  The boatswain’s pipe whistled, and the big ship was already sliding in the water as I leaped into my pungy, which Hugo was holding to the ladder.  We pulled off to where the others waited.

But the Annapolis sailed away down the bay, and never another glimpse we caught of my lady.

CHAPTER XII

NEWS FROM A FAR COUNTRY

If perchance, my dears, there creeps into this chronicle too much of an old man’s heart, I know he will be forgiven.  What life ever worth living has been without its tender attachment?  Because, forsooth, my hair is white now, does Bess flatter herself I do not know her secret?  Or does Comyn believe that these old eyes can see no farther than the spectacles before them?  Were it not for the lovers, my son, satins and broadcloths had never been invented.  And were it not for the lovers, what joys and sorrows would we lack in our lives!

That was a long summer indeed.  And tho’ Wilmot House was closed, I often rode over of a morning when the dew was on the grass.  It cheered me to smoke a pipe with old McAndrews, Mr. Manners’s factor, who loved to talk of Miss Dorothy near as much as I. He had served her grandfather, and people said that had it not been for McAndrews, the Manners fortune had long since been scattered, since Mr. Marmaduke knew nothing of anything that he should.  I could not hear from my lady until near the first of October, and so I was fain to be content with memories—­memories and hard work.  For I had complete charge of the plantation now.

My Uncle Grafton came twice or thrice, but without his family, Aunt Caroline and Philip having declared their independence.  My uncle’s manner to me was now of studied kindness, and he was at greater pains than before to give me no excuse for offence.  I had little to say to him.  He spent his visits reading to Mr. Carvel, who sat in his chair all the day long.  Mr. Allen came likewise, to perform the same office.

My contempt for the rector was grown more than ever.  On my grandfather’s account, however, I refrained from quarrelling with him.  And, when we were alone, my plain speaking did not seem to anger him, or affect him in any way.  Others came, too.  Such was the affection Mr. Carvel’s friends bore him that they did not desert him when he was no longer the companion he had been in former years.  We had more company than the summer before.