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Updated: May 4, 2025
"It's that infernal Matson Lieutenant Matson curse him! He is the son of my friend; but I say curse him, for all that!" cried the old sea-dog, his face expressing mingled rage and agony. "Is he in command?" asked Fernando. Before either could speak, a light tread warned Fernando that a third person had entered the room. He started to his feet and, turning about, bowed to Morgianna.
A broad carriage-drive, leading through an avenue of chestnuts, led up to the great front gate. The mansion was almost strong enough for a fort and was surrounded by a stone wall five feet high, with an iron picket fence on top of this. "Who lives in the great house on the hill?" Fernando asked a man. "Old Captain Lane." "Captain Lane. I have heard of him. Has he a daughter?" "Yes, Morgianna."
He will be required to report once a week to Baltimore, but that need not be in person." The captain was silent. While speaking, Fernando kept his eyes from the face of Morgianna. He could not look at her and be a witness to the glow of joy which he knew must warm her cheek on being informed that her lover was to remain.
Her sweet face had haunted him while a slave on the British war-ship. In the camp, or on the battle field, she was ever near him. A thousand times he had said to himself: "Oh, why can I not forget her? Morgianna is nothing to me. No doubt, long ere this she has married Lieutenant Matson and is happy. May God bless her in her happiness, and may Heaven spare her husband."
After several efforts in which he found the old malady of something rising in his throat returning, he said: "But, Morgianna, was he not your lover?" "No, he was father's friend; but I could never love him, though I treated him respectfully." She was serious now. "Then, Morgianna, who was it?" he asked impulsively. She was silent. He waited but a second or two and went on.
From putting his own right hand upon it as if by chance, and taking it away again after a minute or so, and then putting it back again, he got to walking along without taking it off at all, as if he, the escort, were bound to do that as an important duty, and had come for that purpose. The most curious thing about this little incident was, that Morgianna did not seem to know it.
Morgianna, young as she was, detected the deception. Fernando talked without reserve on any and every topic. Those he knew the least about, he discussed with most fluency, until he bid fair to become the centre of attraction. When they were alone, Morgianna, with one of her sweetest smiles, said: "I don't believe you are an Englishman." "I'll be honest with you, Miss Lane," said he. "I am not."
"Then how did you know she was not married?" "I was in a store and overheard two women who knew her gossiping. One asked the other if Morgianna Lane was married yet. One said: "'I thought she would marry the English lieutenant. "The other said: "'No, not yet. I suppose they are waiting till the war is over. "'Has she no other lover? asked the other.
Of course Fernando's back was toward Morgianna, and he could not see her, save when he twisted his head "quite off," which he did frequently; but he could hear her silvery voice humming snatches of a song, or her dimpled hand playing in the phosphorescent water which sparkled like flashes of fire in their wake. The old men kept up a continual talk, for which Fernando was exceedingly grateful.
Morgianna was glad to see him and was so sorry her father was away from home. Fernando begged she would not worry herself on any account. Morgianna hesitated to lead the way into the parlor, for there it was nearly dark. At the same time she hesitated to stand talking in the hall, which was tolerably light from the open door.
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