The old men bent to each other; there were tears in their eyes. Without
speaking, they were aware of kindness and faithfulness and gratitude
beyond the power of words. They smoked a pipe together, and sometimes
changed glances and smiles, as they looked at, or listened to, Lysbet
and Janet Semple, who had renewed their long kindness in the sympathy of
their patriotic hopes and fears.
Hyde and Katherine were walking in the garden, lingering in the sweet
June twilight by the lilac hedge and the river-bank. All Hyde's business
was arranged: he was going into the fight without any anxiety beyond
such as was natural to the circumstances. While he was away, his wife
and son were to remain with Lysbet. He could desire no better home for
them; their lives would be so quiet and orderly that he could almost
tell what they would be doing at every hour. And while he was in the din
and danger of siege and battle, he felt that it would be restful to
think of Katherine in the still, fair rooms and the sweet garden of her
first home.
If he never came back, ample provision had been made for his wife and
son's welfare; but--and he suddenly turned to Katherine, as if she had
been conscious of his thoughts--"The war will not last very long, dear
heart; and when liberty is won, and the foundation for a great
commonwealth laid, why then we will buy a large estate somewhere upon
the banks of this beautiful river. It will be delightful, in the midst
of trees and parks, to build a grander Hyde Manor House. Most
completely we will furnish it, in all respects; and the gardens you
shall make at your own will and discretion. A hundred years after this,
your descendants shall wander among the treillages and cut hedges
and boxed walks, and say, 'What a sweet taste our dear
great-great-grandmother had!'"
And Katharine laughed at his merry talk and forecasting, and praised his
uniform, and told him how soldierly and handsome he looked in it. And
she touched his sword, and asked, "Is it the old sword, my Richard?"
"The old sword, Kate, my sweet. With it I won my wife. Oh, indeed, yes!
You know it was pity for my sufferings made you marry me that blessed
October day, when I could not stand up beside you. It has a fight twice
worthy of its keen edge now." He drew it partially from its sheath, and
mused a moment. Then he slowly untwisted the ribbon and tassel of
bullion at the hilt, and gave it into her hand. "I have a better
hilt-ribbon than that," he said; "and when we go into the house, I will
re-trim my sword."