"Nay, Jack, I've a text for thee too. 'I have married a wife and cannot come.'" And with a somewhat bitter laugh he strode on up the hill, leaving John Alden looking sadly after him.
That night as Standish slowly entered the Fort to fire his sunset gun, he was startled at seeing a muffled figure seated upon an empty powder keg in an angle of the works. As he appeared she rose, and pushing back her hood showed the beautiful face of Priscilla Molines, now strangely pale and distraught.
"You here, Mistress Molines," exclaimed the captain somewhat sternly. "Alden is not coming."
"It is not Alden but Captain Standish I fain would speak withal, and I hope he will pardon my forwardness in seeking him here."
The captain briefly waved the apology aside. "Your commands, madam?" inquired he.
"Nay, nay sir, my father's dear loved friend, my brother's tender nurse,--mine--oh what shall I say, how shall I plead for a little kindness. Have pity on a froward maid's distress"--
"And why not when my heart is sorrowful unto death."
"But--there then, child, wipe thine eyes and look up and let me see thee smile as thou art wont. What is it, maid? What is thy sorrow?"
"Forgive thee for what?" But the captain dropped the hand he had seized in his sympathy, and the dark look crept back to his face.
"Thou 'rt going to a terrible danger--my friend--and it may be to thy death."
"Well girl, 't is not worth crying for if I am. Life is not so sweet to me that I should over much dread to lay it down with honor."
"Oh, oh, and it is my fault!"--sobbed Priscilla.
The captain strode up and down the narrow space pulling at his red beard and frowning thoughtfully; then stopping before the girl who stood as he had left her, he quietly said,--
"Priscilla, I was indeed thy father's friend, and I am thine, and I fain would have wed thee, and thou didst refuse, preferring John Alden, who also is my friend, even as my younger brother, whose honor and well being are dear to me as mine own. What then is the meaning of thy grief, and what is thy request?"
"My grief is that since the day I gave John Alden my promise, you, sir, have been no more my friend, but ever looked upon me with coldness and disdain; and now that you go, it may be to your death, it breaketh my heart to have it so, and I fain would beg your forgiveness for aught I have done to offend you, though I know not what it may be."