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"Rodney, my boy," he said, "I felt as if we had been doing something underhanded, and nearly brought out three of those napoleons to pay that man." "Oh, uncle," said the boy huskily; "it would have been like telling him that the poor fellows had been here." "Yes, my boy, and that you had been helping them to escape." "Oh!" ejaculated Rodd, and he darted to the window.
Yes, it was a simple thing, an unostentatious remembrance; no breaking, surely, of his father's conditions. Rodney loyally kept away and manfully stuck to his business, but every spire and frond and leaf of green in this winter wreath shed off the secret, magnetic meaning with which it was charged.
Then the man, who said his name was Bill Seegor, and that he must call him Bill, and not Mister, nor sir, took him with himself into a ball-room. Here he saw a great many sailors and bad women, who danced together, and laughed, and shouted, and cursed, and drank, until long past midnight. Rodney had never witnessed such a scene.
Then they were at the shallow porch of the hut and Milo Standish had thrown open its iron door letting out a gush of golden melody from the violin. At his hail. the music ceased. And Rodney Hade, fiddle in hand, appeared in the doorway.
The motive had touched Rodney Sherrett's love and manliness, just as this fine manoeuvrer, pulling wires whose ends laid hold of character, not circumstance, believed and meant. It had only added to the strength and loyalty of his purpose. She had looked deeper than a mere word-faithfulness in communicating to him what another might have deemed it wiser not to let him know.
Rodney here showed thorough tenacity of purpose. De Guichen's orders were "to keep the sea, so far as the force maintained by England in the Windward Islands would permit, without too far compromising the fleet intrusted to him." With such instructions, he naturally and consistently shrunk from decisive engagement.
Lucia was the island next south of Martinique, and the harbor of Gros Ilot at its northern end was especially adapted to the work of watching the French depot at Fort Royal, their principal station in the West Indies. Thence Rodney pursued them before his great action in 1782. The absence of precise information causes hesitation in condemning D'Estaing for this mortifying failure.
"I don't see how we can talk. It keeps coming back again. I've had all those plants kept safe that you sent me, Rodney," she began, briskly, upon a fresh tack. "Those very ivies? Ah, the little three-windowed room!" "Rodney! I didn't think you were so unprincipled!" said Sylvie, getting up. "I wouldn't have come down here, if I had known there was a promise! I shall certainly help you keep it.
They would do their duty until their term of enlistment expired, and then they would stand aside and give somebody else a chance to fight the Yankees. That was what a good many deluded and disappointed rebels thought and said about this time; but those who have read "Rodney, the Partisan," know how very easy it was for the Confederate authorities to bring such malcontents to their senses.
They crossed the bridge, but the hand-clasp did not slacken when they reached the other side. Their pace quickened, but neither of them was conscious of it. As for Rodney, he was not even conscious what street they were walking on, nor how far they went. He had no destination consciously in mind or any avowed plan or hope for what should happen when they reached it.
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