The Pilot's Daughter [pp. 41-64]

1882.] THE PfLOT'S DAUGHTER. 55
Phebe stood almost a minute without answering-an age it
seemed to impatient Ben-and, while her heart was in a terrible
flutter, many thoughts rushed through her mind. She could
not help considering her lover exceedingly fickle. He had undoubtedly been smitten with Mehitable Hunt. During the past
winter hQ had spent several hours every day at her father's
store. On the Sabbath he had been very distracted whenever
Mehitable had sung in the choir, and everybody knew that he
had dubbed her the belle of East Chester.
"Verily, I blame you not for hesitating," spoke Ben humbly.
"I have been for a year chasing another craft. But, thank the
Lord! I did not ask her to surrender. 0 Phebe! you are the
gem of the seas. There is more love, more soul in your sunburnt
face than in ten thousand Mehitables."
"I say, lay your topsails aback!" repeated the pilot, now
roaring through a speaking-trumpet. "Down, down with your
flag and let him come aboard!" "Well, you may take me into
port; I am your prize," murmured Phebe in a low tone. Then,
suddenly breaking loose from Ben's grasp and flinging wide her
arms, while her eyes seemed to be searching into the depths of
the beautiful sky, "0 my God!" she cried, "it is come at last.
I never, never can thank thee enough for this happy, happy
day!"
During the following week Ben did not show himself in East
Chester. What a blissful, golden week it was! How often in
after-years did he look to it! In shining letters it was graven on
his memory. But when the seven days were ended he disappeared altogether; after dark his schooner weighed anchor, and
nobody except Captain Bob and his daughter could tell whither
she had gone. But Nat Hunt made a pretty shrewd guess and
told his Tory friends that the Squall had not gone after codfish.
"It would not surprise me," he said, "if some night we heard
the boom of cannon in the creek."
Late one evening, a month after Ben's departure, Phebe
and her father were standing at the cabin-door listening. "It is
about time for Ben to return," spoke the old man. "Methinks I
hear the sound of oars." Phebe shook her head. "I hear only
the cry of a bittern and a fish jumping out of the water," she answered. Nor, although the full moon had risen high above Pelham Heights, could her eyes distinguish anybody approaching.
To the left, almost a mile away, gleamed the white tombstones
in St. Paul's churchyard; the big mill in West Chester was dimly
visible far to the right, while in front lay a broad expanse of