"No one here is called upon to drink the toast I propose," I told the company. "To the President of the United States."
"Wait just a moment." Sir Godwine was gazing at me with a thoughtful expression. "Perhaps some of this company doesn't realize that the President is no longer Mr. Adams of Boston but Mr. Jefferson of Virginia. I understand he's of gentle birth."
"If you please, that doesn't enter into the toast."
"Well-spoke, by God! Let a man stand up for his own—I like to see it. I'll drink to the President's good health. I'll even add a bit-may he lead the American people in the way they should go. All of us on our feet. . . ,"
But Sophia had no need of the command. She was already up beside me, standing by me, her pearl wreath setting off the dusk of her hair, the glimmering necklace in contrast with the dark glow of her face and the gray luster of her eyes. She turned to me as she drank with a smile touching and beautiful, as though in pledge and pride and profound communion between us alone.
When we sat again, Sophia slipped her hand into mine.
"I'm going to leave the room as soon as we've had dessert," she told me in a low voice. "You must stay until Papa walks out—or is carried out."
"I see no sign of the latter."
"It doesn't happen very often. Now listen closely. He's got something to tell you—something he thinks important. I don't know what it is—something about America that will involve you. Whatever it is, play it as you have the rest."
"How soon can I see you again?"
"Maybe tonight in the salon. If not, come in a carriage about seven tomorrow night. There's a carnival near Rabat that we can watch."
"Have you a passport?"
"Of course—"
"Will you keep it with you? We might want to go further than Rabat—maybe across to Gozo, or even to Syracuse, where there's an American consul."
"Elope?"
"Yes."
"I'll have it with me, but—change the subject."
"Can't you stay to hear what your father has to say?"
"I wish I could."
"Can I say, 'Sir, Sophia said you had some news for me'?"
"Why not? Of course you can. This isn't exactly a love feast, and remember, an American goes after what he wants."
For the moment Sir Godwine was in earnest conversation with Harvey. Before I could break into it, Dick rose.
"I've a toast to offer, too," he said, his face darkly flushed. "To one who is with us no more, but whose gallant spirit inspires us yet. Our Eliza."
There followed a brief period of intense silence and complete stillness. It was charged with suspense I could share but not understand. Sophia stiffened in her chair. I caught a fleeting expression on Sir Godwine's face that was perhaps beautiful, perhaps sublime, but whose effect on me was frightening, although I could not possibly have told why. His love for his first ship was more than human, Sophia had told me. Perhaps his look was godlike.
"I don't know that we should do this, Dick, at this time," he replied after a thoughtful purse of his lips and in calm, level tones.
"Remember that at Our Eliza's first and greatest triumph—twenty years ago next Christmas Day—a fine American ship and crew went to the bottom. Still, our American guest knows that it was war—and I can assure him both vessels did themselves proud!"
He rose slowly. "Yes, we'll drink to the soul of Our Eliza! May she sail the seas of the hereafter as gallantly as she sailed our sea!"
I stood with the rest. I thought of offering a toast to the Yankee vessel who had engaged her and met defeat and death, only to decide against it. Afterward, Sir Godwine sat in reverie, the champagne in his glass casting a pale golden gleam on his white hand. When he emerged from it, I spoke.
"Sir Godwine, Sophia said you had news of America for me."
"Why, so I have! The minx had no business telling you until I gave her leave—but young ladies make their own rules, it seems, and feel free to break all others. But the tail of the cat is out of the bag, so I'll bring forth the body. The long and short of it is, your country's gone to war."
I answered with great care.
"With France—or again with England?"
Not that I harbored any real doubt. Most long-headed Americans believed that another war with England was in the stars. I could understand better now the talk and events of tonight's dinner—my feeling of something in the air, of emotions held in tight rein, and of words carefully chosen. The enmity and danger I had felt seemed of a different character than my affair with Sophia should create. All this was explainable by our two countries being at war.
But Sir Godwine had been struck speechless, as by great surprise.
"Sink me, but you're a cool one!" he broke forth at last. "With France, or again with England, say you, not turning a hair. Harvey, here's a Yankee as bluff as they come!"
"Bluff?" Dick asked quietly.
"I mean plain-spoken. No, sir. Homer, 'tis with neither one. On the fourteenth of May last, the Pasha of Tripoli cut down the flagstaff of the American consulate and declared war. Your consul there, by name of Cathcart, set out for home. My advices are there's no doubt the Yankees will meet the challenge—that they committed themselves to it when they refused the Pasha's demands—and will send a naval squadron to these waters to protect their shipping. If it ain't already on the way, 'twill soon be."
"Sir, I'm not surprised. I've heard talk of the Pasha's insolence and our exhausted patience for a good while."
"Then why didn't you guess Tripoli straight off?"
"You said, sir, we were at war. We wouldn't call it war, to be teaching a pirate king to stay clear of a Yankee ship."
He stared at me as might a sleepwalker. I thought that his bellyful of wine had finally washed up upon his brain. But he recovered with a little tremor and turned to Dick.
"Did you hear that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Harvey, you'd better listen to it, too, for our future's sake. Maybe all Europe had better stop their fooling and take notice. Homer, my lad, you'll have to forgive me for my old-fashioned ways. It seems just yesterday that what you call 'United States' were some English colonies, ruled by royal governors, a region where our yeomanry could buy cheap land. They rebelled against the king—France took their side—and we bitched the business right and left. Still, I can hardly believe you've got ahead this fast. After all, the king of Tripoli, pirate nest though it be, is still a king. But there's the new century, the New World. And Homer, you're as fine a representative as I'd want to meet. By heaven, I'm glad you came tonight! You were just the man to set me straight. A real, life-size, full-blooded young Yankee—"
He stopped, because Sophia had stood up. Truly she seemed to spring up, and her eyes were haunted and her mouth was drawn.
"Yes, daughter," he said in an indulgent tone.
"We've finished dessert, and with your permission, I'll withdraw."
"I fear I've bored you by reciting what you already know."
"You never bore anyone, but may I go?"
"Yes—yes—you may."
He rose and gave her a stately bow. We others were on our feet, but she would not look at Harvey and Dick, and it seemed she could not look at me. When Millen had bowed her through the door, he, too, went out.
"Now we can settle down to a good old-fashioned sailor's brandy bout," Sir Godwine remarked, "unless the company has other notions."
"I need a bit of air," Dick said. "Will you come with me, Harvey?"
"If Sir Godwine and Mr. Whitman can do the honors alone," Harvey answered, his tongue a little thick. Then with a sly wink at Dick, they went out together.
I did not care about that. I had more important business on my mind.