CHAPTER V.
THE “ELECT.”
The voyage which it was proposed for John Bonyton to take to England was deferred from time to time, and the young people resumed their careless, desultory life, now in the forest and now upon the sea—Acashee even more devoted than before in her attentions upon Hope. It might be noticed, however, that the people of the colony were more watchful, and even more critical, in their observance of the latter than usual.
Often as she passed in her short velvet tunic with her white hair floating in the wind, glances were exchanged, intermingled with now and then an ominous and malignant frown.
While the Indians watched her slightest movement with interest akin to awe, the less sympathetic colonists looked upon her with distrust amounting to aversion, and many had conceived the idea that she belonged to that dangerous class “accursed of God,” and to be destroyed by men, as in those olden times, when the King of Israel consulted one akin to Hope in the person of the Witch of Endor. But, as yet, these were surmises only whispered in secret, and concealed from the knowledge of the Governor and his friends.
The Indians of the Saco tribe, while they were more powerful than all others of the eastern tribes, were less aggressive, also. Conscious of their power, they cared little to molest those whom they could easily crush, and hence they devoted themselves warmly to the white colonists, perceiving in them at once much to excite their admiration and stimulate their own endeavor.
Hope was from the first installed a favorite, and they watched her slightest look or word with interest, and then, as years developed more and more her individual characteristics, she was invested by them with a profound awe. They had penetrated some of these marked features, even before they were divined by her own family, and they would come long miles to bring her some dainty gift, exquisite tiny baskets, broidered moccasins, or shells from the sea-shore, and seating themselves upon the mat under the broad piazza, watch her every movement, and listen to the silvery tongue of the child with hair like the snow-flake.
Had Hope been ambitious or deceitful, she might have turned her mysterious power over the savage mind to some account; but, simple-hearted and truthful, she enjoyed her little triumphs without any thought of what might lie beyond. The chief of the Saco tribe, seeing her contempt for all household avocations, looked upon her with wonder and delight as the incarnation of some of their own deities, who would eventually bring great glory to the tribe.
Mistress Vines, while no one could bring the slightest charge against her, was by no means popular with the “elect ladies” of the colony. Mindful of her household, over which she presided with affectionate dignity, and truly loving and honoring her husband, she was little inclined to countenance any course which should create any interest outside of the sacred relation of the family.
Thoughtful as she was tender, judicious as she was affectionate, she was doubly happy in a husband worthy of all reverence and duty, to whom she could refer all abstruse and vexing questions of opinion, and whose decisions were to her wifely mind the wisest and best.
Mistress Bonyton, the mother of John, was in the habit of collecting the principal women of the colony at her house on the Saturday of every week, for the purposes of prayer and religious discussion.
Mistress Vines had received many invitations to join this supplicating conclave, but from the above reasons, together with a natural vivacity of character, which rendered gloom and pretension distasteful to her, she had neglected to ally herself with these ascetic women in what she regarded as an evidence of cant, and, it may be, of hypocrisy also, to her clear, cheerful intellect.
Captain Bonyton, however, secretly gave Sir Richard a hint, in a neighborly way, that the women felt themselves aggrieved at this omission, and the more, hinted at dark, mysterious opinions in regard to little Hope, which it might be well to counteract by a more familiar intercourse of Mistress Vines with her neighbors.
Sir Richard having suggested this to his fair dame, she might have been seen the next afternoon, fresh as a rose, and bright as the morning, picking her way to the mansion of Mistress Bonyton.
She carried herself bravely in her high heels, and the stiffest of stiff ruffs barricading her fair neck, and her rich brown hair drawn back from her handsome forehead, and frizzed in a way wondrous to behold. A little less of style, a little less of fineness, my lady, would have better suited the austere dames who await thy coming!
They were seated in the “fore-room” of the house, the shutters of which were partially closed, giving a dim, ghostly aspect to the interior, in which were seated about twenty women, plainly dressed, each with her hair parted at the top of the head and drawn to the back as smooth and tight as hair could well be drawn. The elderly matrons were seated at one side, and the younger grouped together near the door. Fair, pale young faces were not wanting; prematurely grave, but pure and tender.
“It is nearly upon the stroke of three, and yet she does not come. Reach me the Bible; the Lord’s work must not wait because of his tardy servants.”
This from Mistress Bonyton, who drew down her face ominously, and closed with a groan.
“What think you of that child, Hope? I would have thy opinion, dame, for I have great misgivings.”
Mistress Bonyton put her finger in the Bible, where she had found the chapter she designed to read, and she now closed the book over it, and standing the large volume on end, bent forward, resting her chin upon it, she looked out of the corner of her eye at Mistress Higgins, who had asked the question.
“I think thy thought, dame.”
The younger women started; but Mistress Higgins continued:
“I saw her even now, as I came in, worrying a snake, and truly it was a rare sight to see the docility of the beast.”
“Whist! my lady is at the door!” exclaimed one of the younger women.
Mistress Vines entered, with her pretty, courtly manner, curtesying right and left, after the fashion of the times, and then instinctively seated herself beside the young matrons, who blushed and smiled at her pleasant greeting, while the elders gravely bent their heads and pursed up their mouths in a pious way. A silence of some minutes intervened, for the Lady Joanna was no unimportant personage to be present, and was well known for a smart dame, with ready wit, and sharp repartee, and though in her absence it might be politic to treat her with indifference or contempt, she being present altered the case; and even Mistress Bonyton, habituated to command, and accustomed to lead off her satellites in a free and easy manner, found herself inconveniently awed in her presence.
At length Mistress Bonyton, in a solemn voice, and with intermitting groans, grasping the Bible and closing her eyes, said:
“We have appropriated this afternoon for the especial purpose of praying for the conversion of that pleasant (groan) but ungodly (groan) man, Sir Richard Vines.”
Mistress Vines started; her wifely face reddened with surprise, not unmingled with anger, and she replied promptly, with her bright eyes surveying the group:
“I thank ye, good dames, in that ye will pray for my noble lord; but, in what way has he earned the right to be called ungodly?”
“Our occasion is for the holding forth of prayer, not to discuss carnal questions,” responded Mistress Bonyton.
“But indeed, good dame, let me know his offenses, that I may the better join in your prayers.”
“It is not meet that we talk,” interposed Dame Higgins; “thou art holding a chosen vessel, gifted in prayer, from the altar.”
And at once the group arose, and each grasping the back of a chair, which they tilted upon two legs, Mistress Bonyton opened with a violent denunciation of the “sins of pride and haughtiness; of the hankering after the leeks and garlics of Egypt, in the shape of Episcopacy; and the high head which portended a fall; and the crimpings and mincings, and titles and shows of aristocracy, a shame to the church here planted in the wilderness.”
Mistress Vines quietly moved upon tip-toe to the door and went out, much flushed in the face, and most certainly carrying her pretty head quite as high as the prayer had indicated. She did not even wait for the “amen,” but put the door between her and them, leaving Mistress Bonyton to her invective, which they called prayer.
As she tripped along, she met Sir Richard, who smiled when he saw her flashing eye, but he put her arm within his, smiled, and patted the hand that lay upon his arm, for he divined the cause.
“Ay, sweetheart, they do not look upon thy husband with thine eyes,” and stooping his head to hers he whispered, with a boyish laugh, “heaven forefend that they should.”
Whereat she laughed, and they passed onward to their happy home.