Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 188: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

UNTO THE FOURTH GENERATION. 179 away with him the memory of the Jean he used to know.” “Am I?” she asked, scarcely know- ing whether to laugh or cry. “ Oh, Richard, what a persuader you are!” Like an obedient child she did as she was bid, but efter the holly trees had hidden him from sight, she buried her face on Vaughan’s shoulder and shook with tearless sobs. “T hate him!” she cried passionately. xk x 2K * Extract from a letter written by Miss Jean Ravenscroft of Virginia to her most intimate friend, Miss Dorothy Fairfax, of Albemarle County. “ * * * You would hardly know the old place. Uncle John suddenly appeared the other night, with a detach- ment of troops and has converted the left wing of the -house into his head- quarters. Such a running about; such confusion, such excitement! I suppose I ought to be used to it after three years (but I am not), for it has formed as much a part of our daily diet as the bat- ter bread and fruit on which we are ex- isting at present. Mother (who de- serves to be canonized) says we should be thankful for that—but oh! I do get so hungry sometimes for the old lux- uries of the old life. “This morning we had another sur- prise. Richard dropped in upon us on a two days’ leave of absence—dear old Richard ; a little thinner, perhaps, a lit- tle graver ; but still the same, only with an increased appetite! How he does eat—bread, fruit, hoe cake, indiscrim- inately. Poor fellow; I do not believe he has had a hearty meal for months. Aunt Keziah opened the last jar of pre- serves today in honor of his coming, and would you believe it he ate it all? I have slipped a bottle of old Madeira in his old, shabby army bag, for I am sure it will not come amiss. We only have a few left, but mother said ‘ Rich- ard must have one.’ ‘“T have been going over some old letters today—from ‘my great great prandfather, Sir Peyton, to his sweet- heart. You know her name was Jean; I was christened for her. Such strange, time worn letters, Dorothy, yellow with age and stilted in style but somehow breathing the same old attribute of friendship and the older attribute of love. And then there are others from sir Richard Vaughan to the first Jean. He was Dick’s great, great uncle, and he never married. His letters reveal nothing and he did not seem to care for women; though Lady Jean de- scribes him as ‘a brave and gallant and honorable gentleman.’ He must have been all that, for once he risked his own life in order that grandfather’s might not be imperiled. I do not quite know how, but I think it was a long and dangerous ride he took in the Rev- Olutionary days. “I wonder if they were as exciting days as the ones we are living in now? From the letters, there was a marvelous sort of friendship existing between these three—the Jean and Peyton and Richard of old! You see the names have all been perpetuated. Sir Rich- ard lived to be over forty, but he never smiled on any woman, so the letters say. He traveled a great deal but the old place was always his headquarters. He must have done a vast amount of good out West among the Indians, for he became their friend. “ One day there was a skirmish and he fell, fighting for his chosen people. They brought him home and then they found that in the pocket of his coat was a bit of rosemary. That was all. Call me romantic, if you will, but somehow, Dorothy, I think that was the key to the romance of his life. “You remember his grave here, do you not? It is quite near Sir Peyton's and Lady Jean’s. You used to be so interested in them that I thought you might like to hear these fragmentary bits I have just learned myself. Some- how, I imagine the Richard of old must have been like my Richard of today, fearless, strong and brave. “I miss you so much. Dorothy. ecomiclooolKs eo