CHAPTER XXIV.
When Glenowen came to Second Westings he was in such haste that Barbaraconcluded he had other duties in New York than the searching of recordsand verification of titles; but with unwonted discretion she asked noquestions. Affairs of state, it seemed to her, were the moremysterious and important the less she knew about them; and it pleasedher to feel that the fate of commonwealths, perchance, was carriedsecretly within the ruffled cambric of her debonair and brown-eyeduncle. From Second Westings they journeyed by coach to New Haven, andfrom that city voyaged by packet down the Sound to New York. Arrivedin New York, they went straight into lodgings which Glenowen hadalready engaged, in an old, high-stooped Dutch house on State Street.
From the moment of her landing on the wharf, Barbara was in a state ofhigh exhilaration. The thronging wharves, the high, black,far-travelled hulls, the foreign-smelling freights, all thrilled herimagination, and made her feel that now at last unexpected things mighthappen to her and story-books come true. Then the busy, bustlingstreets, where men jostled each other abstractedly, intent each on hisown affairs, how different from Second Westings, where three passers-byand a man on horseback would serve to bring faces to the windows, andwhere the grass on each side of the street was an item of no smallconsequence to the village cows! And then the houses--huddledtogether, as if there was not space a-plenty in the world for houses!It was all very stirring. She felt that it was what she wanted, at themoment,--a piquant sauce to the plain wholesomeness of her past. Butshe felt, too, that it would never be able to hold her long from thewoods and fields and wild waters.
Of her arrival Barbara sent no word to Robert, though she knew bysomewhat careful calculation that his office was but a stone's throwaway from her lodging. She looked forward to some kind of a dramaticmeeting, and would not let her impatience--which she scarcelyacknowledged--risk the marring of a picturesque adventure. WhenGlenowen, the morning after their arrival, gave her the superfluousinformation that Robert's office was close by, right among thefashionable houses of Bowling Green, and proposed that they shouldbegin their exploration of the city by strolling past his window,Barbara demurred with emphasis.
"Well," said Glenowen, thinking he understood what no man ever has aright to think he understands, "just as you like, mistress mine. I'lldrop in on him myself, and let him know where we are, so he can callwith all due and fitting ceremony!"
"Oh, Uncle Bob!" she cried, laughing at his density, "don't you knowyet how little _I_ care for ceremony? 'Tis not that--by any manner ofmeans. But I want to surprise Robert,--I want to meet him at some finefunction, in all my fine feathers, and see if he'll know me! You know,it is five years, nearly, since we saw him. Have I changed much, UncleBob?"
"Precious little have you changed, sweet minx!" answered Glenowen."You're just the same small, peppery, saucy, unmanageable, thin brownwitch that you were then, only a _little_ taller, a _little_ moregood-looking, a little--a very little--more dignified. No fear buthe'd know you, though he saw you not for a score of years. 'Twere aseasy perhaps for a man to hate you as love you, my Barbe! But forgetyou! Oh, no!"
So it was that in the walks which they took about the point ofManhattan Island, during the first three or four days after theircoming, they avoided Bowling Green, save in the dim hours of twilight;and Glenowen, prone to humour Barbara in everything, had a care to shunthe resorts which Robert Gault affected. He learned, by no means tohis surprise, that Robert was uncompromisingly committed to the Toryparty, but this he did not feel called upon to tell Barbara.
"Time enough! Time enough!" said he to himself, half whimsical, halfsorrowful. "Let the child have her little play with all the mirththat's in it! Let hearts not bleed until they must! She won't forgivehim,--and he won't yield,--or I'm not Bob Glenowen!"
In New York, where most of his life had been spent, Glenowen kneweverybody; and he was _persona grata_ to almost everybody ofconsequence. His standing was so impregnable, his antecedents sounimpeachable, his social talents so in demand, that even the mostarrogant of the old Tory aristocrats--the Delanceys, the Philipses, theBeverley Robinsons--were not disposed to let their hostility to hisviews hamper their hospitality to his person.
It followed, therefore, as a matter of course, that almost before shehad gathered her wits after the excitement of the journey and thechanged surroundings, Barbara found herself afloat upon the whirl ofNew York gaieties. Every night, in the solitude of her bedroom in theold Dutch house, in the discreet confidence of her pillow, she washomesick, very homesick, and a child again. She would sob for AuntHitty, and Doctor John, and Doctor Jim,--and for big, round-faced,furry "Mr. Grim," whom she had so tearfully left behind,--and for BlackPrince, who, she felt sure, would let no one else ride him in herabsence,--and for dear old Debby in her lonely cabin. She would thinkvery tenderly of Amos,--and then, with a very passion of tenderness, ofher own little room over the porch, now silent and deserted. Withgreat surges of pathos she would picture Mistress Mehitable going intothe little room every day, and dusting it a bit, and then sitting downby the bed and wishing Barbara would come back. In such a melting moodBarbara would resolve not to be horrid any more, but to send for Robertthe first thing in the morning, and tell him just how glad she was tosee him.
But when morning came, she would be no more the homesick child, but avery gay, petulant, spoiled, and sparkling young woman, her head fullof excitements and conquests to come.