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The words which came from my heart had failed to touch him. He had buried even the memory of my mother. I remembered Aunt Gainor's warnings as to his health, and set myself at once to hear and reply with gentleness. He went on as if he knew my thought: "I am no longer the man I was. I am deserted by my son when I am in greatest need of him.
My Aunt Gainor's great bronze Buddha was not more motionless than they who sat on the elders' seats. At last the woman faced the Meeting, and went down the aisle, waving her hands, and crying out, "I shall have peace, peace, in thus having discharged my Lord's errand." The many there met did justice to their discipline. Scarce a face showed the surprise all must have felt.
My aunt had not been well, and would see me at once. This really was all, and I might have been any one but his son for what there was in his mode of meeting me. I walked with Jack to my Aunt Gainor's, where he left me. I was pleased to see the dear lady at her breakfast, in a white gown with frills and a lace tucker, with a queen's nightcap such as Lady Washington wore when I first saw her.
Hither, in September of 1763, my aunt took me, to my father's indignation, to hear the great Mr. Whitefield preach. Neither Aunt Gainor's creed, dress, house, nor society pleased her brother. She had early made clear, in her decisive way, that I was to be her heir, and she was, I may add, a woman of large estate. I was allowed to visit her as I pleased. Indeed, I did so often.
That was the report. "We'll get young Hollis and hold him to see how the sheriff comes out." "Aye, we'll get him!" All at once they boiled into action and the little crowd of men thrust for the big doors that led into the hall. They cast the doors back and came directly upon the tall, white-headed figure of Gainor. Gainor's dignity split the force of their rush.
Meanwhile we had been through Horace and Cicero, and Ovid for our moral improvement, I suppose, with Virgil and Sallust, and at last Caesar, whom alone of them all I liked. Indeed, Jack and I built over a brook in my Aunt Gainor's garden at Chestnut Hill a fair model of Caesar's great bridge over the Rhine.
I turned to ride back, when I heard a voice I knew crying: "Holloa, Mr. Wynne! Are you stopped, and why?" I said I knew no reason, but would go south. I was out for a ride, and had no special errand. "Come with me then," he said pleasantly. "I am now the engineer in charge of the defences." This was my Aunt Gainor's old beau, Captain Montresor, now a colonel.
I worked hard with my father at our lessening and complicated business, riding far into the country to collect debts, often with Jack, who had like errands to do, and with whom I discussed the topics which were so often, and not always too amiably, in question at my Aunt Gainor's table. I was just now too busy to be much with my old favourites, the officers.
McLane, saved your life when he was mean enough, just in the middle of that beautiful ball, to set fire to something. At first we took it for the fireworks. But tell me about Miss Gainor's girl-boy our own dear Jack." "He can still blush to beat Miss Franks, and he still believes me to be a great man, and but you do not want to hear about battles." "Do I not, indeed! I should like to see Mr.
I much feared that Arthur would get away before I was ready to talk to him. Delaney had received my last letter and had answered it, but whither his reply went I cannot say. At all events, he had lingered here to find me. When we met at my Aunt Gainor's that afternoon, it took but a few minutes to make clear to her the sad tale of Arthur's visit to the jail.
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