"That can be true only if he intended to remain in America," observed Maynadier.
"And he had already sounded me, tentatively, on that very idea," she answered. "I thought it was all fol-de-rol, at first; but I concluded differently, when he deliberately referred to it several times, and insisted that he was considering it very seriously. At all events, we played the game. We made fair progress at Hedgely Hall——"
"Yes, I rather think you did——"
"Particularly, when I saw how rapidly you had progressed with Miss Stirling," she retorted.—"And we did better at Montpelier,"—she went on—"andstill better at Sotterly. But he never quite reached the point—he came up almost to it, many times, then veered off, as gracefully as ship before the wind. I could see, or thought I could, what was in his mind. He was not quite sure, whether it was safe, yet, to doff his borrowed identity, either because he was not quite certain of himself, or because he was not quite sure of me. Such was the situation, when I left Sotterly, being called suddenly to Hedgely Hall.
"I did not see him, again, until this evening—and, at once, when we started on our walk after supper, I noticed the change. He was going to declare himself; indeed, we had not got to the rose-walk, until he had suggested, in a laughing way, that we continue on to Annapolis and St. Anne's Rectory on Hanover Street.... When we came back, half an hour or so later, I had the story. He did not bind me to secrecy. He was the high-bred gentleman in that, as he always has been with me—he even told me I should tell you, if I cared to do so. He assumed that you were—the one, Dick. And this is his story:—
"He is the son of the Earl of Doncaster—a second son. He disgraced himself, somehow, and, to avoid prosecution, fled to this country. On the voyage, he became acquainted with Sir Edward Parkington—their ship went down, near St. Mary's, during a storm, and all the rest on board were lost. He and Parkington's dead body were cast up onthe sands, together. He took Parkington's letters, presented them to Governor Sharpe as his own,—and that is all.—He is going back to England with his friend, Sir Charles Brandon."
"And how did Sir Charles——" Maynadier began; then, he stopped. (He was about to ask, how Brandon, knowing his rightful name, yet called him Parkington at the Coffee-house, when, according to report, it was a genuine surprise)—"how do you know," he amended, "that the confession is not false—how do you know that he is the son of the Earl of Doncaster, or that Brandon is Brandon?"
"I do not know," she answered—"more than this: he is a gentleman—and I believe his story."
"The tenderness which a woman always feels for the man who has proposed to her," thought Maynadier, looking down at her with steady eyes.
"You are not angry, Dick?" she said.
He laughed joyously.
"Angry, sweetheart!" he said. "No! no! but let us forget Parkington, and Brandon, and all else, and talk of you, and Rose Hill, and the Mistress Richard Maynadier that is to be."
The idea, of testing the matter out with Miss Marbury, had presented itself so suddenly, that Parkington had—he must confess it to himself—forgotten for the moment, his engagement to meet Miss Stirling.
In truth, it did not recur to him until they had returned from the water-front, after his proposal was rejected.
Instantly, he retraced his steps, hoping against hope that she was still waiting, or, better still, that she had not kept the rendezvous.
The first contingency failed—the rose-walk was deserted; if Miss Stirling had been there, she was gone, and he would have to pay the penalty. The other contingency was what he prayed for, most fervently. When one is about to ask a woman to be his wife, it is unfortunate if he has to start the interview explaining away his short-comings.
He strolled through the other walks—the peony, the mock-orange, and the golden-rose, but without success. She was not in any of them. He turned back to the house, a little discouraged. Now, that he had decided to go home, he had also decided that he wanted Miss Stirling to go back with him—and this was not a propitious beginning.
He met Brandon coming down the steps.
"What success?" he said.
"You mean, with Miss Stirling?" Parkington asked.
The other nodded.
"Poor," was the answer. "I forgot the rendezvous."
"Have you made your peace?"
"I have not found her."
"You are a careless fellow, De Lysle—I saw you go off with Miss Marbury. Why did you do it?"
"To determine whether I wanted to remain in Maryland."
"And you determined?"
"Yes!" with a faint laugh. "I determined to go back."
Brandon slipped an arm through his, and led him down to the esplanade.
"You proposed to Miss Marbury, I assume?" he said.
"I did."
"And she refused you!"
"She did."
"And you told her, in your infatuated ignorance, that you are not Parkington—that you are an impostor?"
"I did."
Brandon smiled, mockingly.
"She will not repeat it," Parkington averred.
"Think you so?" said Brandon. "Well, I havenot the trust in womankind which you seem to have suddenly acquired. The sooner our ship sails, now, the better."
"Wherefore?"
"For several wherefores—where was your head, man, that you should have been guilty of this folly? She will not keep your secret—the woman is not born who could keep a secret so interesting. She will babble. And, then, trouble. Think you, they will believe your present story? Having once confessed to living a lie, you are a liar always—they will suspect whatever you tell. You might prove you are a De Lysle by the best of legal evidence, and they would doubt you, still. And it will not stop withyou. They will question my identity as well: I will not be Sir Charles Brandon because you sponsored me. I am a suspicious character. I must account for myself. And that may lead to the Jolly Roger and the scaffold. For this knowledge and suspicion will be not among the people, in general, but with the greatest power in the Province: the Governor himself. And, though he is an easygoing, kindly gentleman, he can, I doubt not, be stern as death, if the occasion requires. You have violated his hospitality and his vouchment; I have accepted his hospitality, and must now prove my right to it or be kicked out—I must hang like a dog, if discovered."
"All of which," said Parkington, "is predicated upon Miss Marbury telling—in addition, you willhave to be identified. And the identification will be due solely to the fact that you and Long-Sword are the same individual—a condition for whichyoualone are responsible. And I might further remind you, that I had nothing to do with your coming to Annapolis—you rather complicated my affairs by appearing, as I told you at the time."
"Well, do not let us quarrel," said Brandon.
"Lord! man, I have no idea of quarreling!" laughed Parkington.—"It may have been a serious indiscretion to tell Miss Marbury, doubtless it was—but the fat is in the fire, now, and we must make the best of it. I may have weakened the authority of my identification of you, but nothing more. The Governor may be suspicious, but he cannot possibly connect you with Long-Sword. Marbury and Jamison are the only ones who might do it, and they are not likely to encounter you."
"We will forget it," said Brandon—"borrowing trouble only makes it the bigger when it comes. Nevertheless, I wish there were a ship sailing for home, to-morrow. Well, a man can die but once, thank God!—Do you intend to see Miss Stirling to-night?"
"Yes—I am searching for her, now."
"And you will tell her the truth?"
"Only part of it—enough to test her. One woman is like another, according to your estimate, so, she shall know who I am, but not what I am—thatI am a son of the Earl of Doncaster, but not that I am in disgrace and disowned."
"You will stand a better chance for trust with Miss Stirling. She is an Englishwoman—she would likely keep an Earl's son's secret."
"Why should I not wait until your ship has sailed, before I tell her—then, if she babbles, it will not affect you?"
"No," said Brandon; "since you have told it to Miss Marbury you must tell it to the other. I supposed you would test Miss Stirling first—see what your chances were—work up to it, gradually. Then, if all seemed propitious, confess just before we sailed. If she accepted you, all's well; if she refused you, we should be gone ere she could babble. I never dreamed that you would confide inMiss Marbury.—It is a beautiful scene, Parkington, a beautiful scene!" he exclaimed, suddenly, as a step sounded behind them. "Ah, Captain Herford!"
"I am looking for Miss Stirling," the Captain explained. "The Governor wants her."
"I have not seen her," Brandon replied.
"Nor I, since supper," said Parkington.
Half an hour later, when Miss Stirling came downstairs from the Governor's apartments, it was to find Sir Edward Parkington sitting on the lowest step. He arose and bowed.
"I have been waiting," he said.
"For what?" she asked.
"For you."
"You give yourself unnecessary trouble, sir."
"I give myself a pleasure."
She stepped by him, and proceeded on her way.
He followed, through the drawing-room, and the room beyond, and out to the rear piazza. Here, he sprang forward, and offered her his arm.
"I thank you," she scorned; "I do not need your assistance."
At the second step, the high heel of her slipper caught, she stumbled, and would have fallen, had not Parkington interposed.
He held her a moment, then released her.
"I thank you!" she said stiffly, and went slowly down.
"May I go along?" he asked, all the while, keeping step with her.
She did not answer.
"Miss Stirling, I addressed you," he said.
Still no answer.
"Thank you!" he replied. "You are very kind."
She stopped and looked him over, disdainfully.
"You have misinterpreted, sir," she said. "I have no intention to be kind—silence, in, this instance, does not give consent."
"What have I done?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I went to the rose-walk—I waited—you did not come."
"When?" she inquired.
"At the time appointed—before it, indeed."
"And I was not there?"
"I could not find you."
"You waited for me?"
"At least half an hour."
"And I did not come?"
"Alas! no."
She laughed derisively. "Why do you tell me such nonsense?"
"Nonsense!" he said. "Nonsense!"
"Lieswould be the more fitting term."
"I do not understand."
"No—there is your trouble; you do not know if I kept the rendezvous, so you play it as ifyoudid!"
"As if I did!" he repeated.
She laughed again. "I suppose you will be averring that you do not understand me."
He bowed. "Pray explain," he said.
"It is for you to explain. I kept the rendezvous; youdid not."
He tried to look his surprise. "You kept the rendezvous?"
"Yes, I kept the rendezvous; while you, sir, went strolling to the Bay with Miss Marbury—nor ever thought to cast even one look toward the rose-walk."
There could be no profit in prevaricating further.He was caught, and the quickest way out was to admit it.
"I did," he said humbly. "I did."
"Why did you not acknowledge it, at first?" she questioned.
"I thought, perhaps, you also had forgotten."
She looked at him, searchingly.
"Did you reallyforget?" she asked.
"As God is my witness!—until we were returning, I never thought of it. Then, as soon as I could leave Miss Marbury, I hastened to the rose-walk, and found it—deserted."
"It is a fine gentleman," she exclaimed, "who forgets one appointment, when another, more to his taste, intervenes!"
"I protest that you are unjust," he said. "I forgot, I admit, but I did it unwittingly and not of intention."
"Even that is unforgettable."
"But it is not unforgiveable," he pleaded.
She shook her head, and moved on, slowly.
"But it is not unforgiveable," he repeated.
"No, it is not unforgiveable," she said; "but—we will say no more about it, for the present. Whether I can forgive you, will depend on the future—there is still another matter which will require explanation," and she looked at him, thoughtfully.
"Another matter?" he interrogated—"that requires explanation, from me?"
"I think so."
"And will it call for your forgiveness, too?"
"I cannot answer," she said.
A puzzled frown appeared between his eyes. "Does that mean, you cannot or you will not."
"It means, I cannot—it depends upon your explanation; and whether it be asked for."
"Then the explanation is not to be made to you?"
"No!"
"To whom is it to be made?" he asked.
She shook her head. "That will be disclosed, presently."
"To-night?" he persisted.
"It will not be to-night."
"Then, we will forget it!" he said, gayly. "The morrow may care for itself—it will be soon enough when it comes. We will fancy these trees the rose-garden—I am keeping a belated rendezvous with you." He swept the turf with his hat. "What do you wish of me, my lady?"
"It is too late," she answered. "What I wished of you, I wish no more. It has passed from my hands—it is beyond me."
He was sobered, instantly. She could mean only that it had passed into the Governor's hands—but what?—Suddenly, he understood a part.
"I see," said he, "you wanted to give me a chance to explain; you appointed the rendezvous, and I failed you. Then, in your reasonable and just anger, you told the Governor."
She did not reply, but he knew that, thus far, he was right. His mind ran quickly back over the months that had passed since he came to Annapolis: he had cheated but rarely at cards—and not at all at the house-parties—he had led a thoroughly respectable life, trifled with no woman, victimized no man. There was only one thing that met him, insistently and always: the theft of the gold at Hedgely Hall; and it, he had returned.—Unless—unless, by some queer misadventure, she had received a letter from home, which aroused her suspicion of his identity. And therehadcome letters to her, before supper—the pinnace brought them down.—It was not Marbury's gold, Marbury was not at Whitehall denouncing him. No, itmustbe a letter!
"I had a letter from home, to-day," he said.
She started; and he knew he had guessed it.
"From home—did it contain much gossip?" she asked.
"Enough to hurry me back—I shall return with Sir Charles Brandon."
"Bad news?" she inquired.
He smiled. "That depends on the way one looks at it."
He drew a little closer. It were best to lose no time, now; if his imposture had been detected, the best way to meet it, was by confession, before the Governor could act. It would go far to sustain his story, if he should tell it, voluntarily, before he knew (apparently) that any one suspected him.
"Miss Stirling," he said, looking off into the distance, "we do queer things in this world, and we travel queer paths, sometimes—but we usually, once in our lives, at least, come back to the simple truth and the plain path. I have come to them, now."
He fell to drawing diagrams in the grass with his walking-stick, tracing them over and over, while he let her wonder what was in his mind. Presently he spoke again, seemingly with much feeling, his eyes now hard upon her face.
"I am going to make a confession," he said—"whether it is a good one or a bad must rest with you; but foryouit would not be made.—I amnotSir Edward Parkington."
"So I am aware," she answered.
"What! you knew?" he cried, with well feigned amazement.
"Since this evening."
"But how?" he protested. "How did you know?"
"I had a letter from Lady Catherwood, in London. She mentioned Sir Edward Parkington's coming to Annapolis—and described him. The description does not tally, in the least, with you."
("It is this letter which she has given to the Governor," he thought. "Why, the devil! did I forget the rendezvous?")
He laughed. "As far apart as the poles." Then he sobered. "My rightful name, MissStirling, is Roger de Lysle. I am the second son of the ninth Earl of Doncaster."
"Is this identity any more stable than the other?" she asked, after a pause.
"It is—though I cannot blame you for doubting."
"How did you come by the letters of introduction?"
"Parkington's dead body was cast up on the sands beside me. I took his letters, and, in a fit of foolishness, presented them to Governor Sharpe—my own having been lost in the sea."
"And why do you tell this story tome?" she inquired.
"To set myself right withyou. I shall go back to England, and no one else will ever know that it was not Sir Edward Parkington who sojourned among them."
"And why should I concern you—why wish me to know it and the others not."
"Because I love you," he answered. "From the first day I met you, I have loved you."
"And why, sir, has it taken you so long to tell it?" she asked, after a pause.
"I would not admit it, even to myself, until the time for separation drove me to it."—He slipped his arm around her, and drew her to him. "Martha!—sweetheart!—come home with me?" he whispered.
A moment she yielded, then abruptly released herself. May be he loved her, and she loved him as well as she could any man, but that was neither here nor there. If he were a De Lysle—she would marry him; love was not essential. But was he a De Lysle?
"You must realize," she said, "that whether I love or whether I do not, I can not marry you without further proof of your real identity."
"Sir Charles Brandon will vouch for me," he answered.
"You forget, that it was you vouched for him."
"True—but he has documents which will prove him Sir Charles Brandon."
"And you had the best sort of documents to prove you Sir Edward Parkington."
"I do not know what to say. Take me on faith, sweetheart."
"It would be a dangerous experiment!" she laughed; "to marry on faith, and find you a common rogue, when we got to London."
"Do I look a common rogue?" he smiled.
She turned and let her eyes move slowly over him. He was a brave figure, certainly, in his white silk coat and breeches—his cloth of silver waistcoat—his slender, well-shaped legs—his dark hair powdered—his handsome, aristocratic face.
"No—I admit you appear of the rank you claim; and you act it, too. But I must have more than appearances and acts."
He made a gesture of resignation and defeat.
"I have done my best," he said; "I am helpless to do more—unless you will come to London, and marry me there, after I have satisfied you of my identity."
"You mean it?" she demanded. Here was good faith.
"Unreservedly," he answered. "Anything to take you back with me. Though I would rather you went as wife."
He was doing his utmost to impress her—to have her intervene with the Governor, and keep the scandal hid.
She hesitated—then the truth came with a rush.
"The letter I spoke of," she said—"Lady Catherwood's—I gave it to his Excellency to act on as he saw fit."
"My God!" he cried. "It will ruin me—he will not excuse."
"You may thank the broken rendezvous, if it does," she replied.
"That was what you wished with me!"—he exclaimed—"and when I did not come you were angry!—oh! I see, sweetheart—youdocare, for you were jealous." He was playing the part well.
"I do not know why I did it. I was hasty. I repent." She sprang up. "I will go to the Governor—I will try to undo it. Wait here!" and she sped away.
Scarcely was she gone, when he saw her returning.
"I cannot see him, to-night," she said—"he has retired, it would only harm our chances. In the morning, I shall try again."
He took her hand, and kissed it—with wise forbearance, he did not try for her lips.
"Go!—we will hope for the best," he said. "And you may pray, as well, dear. The prayers of one's beloved are not without avail."
Before breakfast, the following morning, Colonel Sharpe sent for Maynadier.
"Sleep did it!" said the Governor. "I have made up my mind. I shall give him a chance to explain, and upon his explanation will depend my future course. Whether or not I shall take up the matter of the Marbury money, we will determine later."
"It is a wise decision," Maynadier agreed.
"I dare not do less out of consideration for my position. He has presented another man's letters, has taken that other man's name, has entered this house, and the houses of our friends under false pretenses. In short, he has acted the rogue, and he must bear the consequences."
"How can he possibly explain?" asked Maynadier. "What justification can there be for his conduct?"
"None that I can apprehend—but we must not prejudge him; we must give him a chance. I believe the law has a maxim, that every one is presumed innocent until proven guilty. You said, I think, that Marbury was not leaving Annapolis until to-night?"
"So he told me," said Maynadier.
The Governor nodded. "I have sent for him. When he arrives, we will proceed with the matter—the quicker it is settled the better. It is a nasty business, Maynadier. I like the fellow, too, damn well!—Come in!" he called, as a knock sounded on the door.—"Ah, my dear!" as Miss Stirling's face appeared, "what got you up so early?"
"I am up so early because—Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Maynadier. I thought the Governor was alone. I will withdraw——"
"By no means!" said Maynadier; "our business is over, for the time.—Permit me!" and he stepped to the door.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Colonel. "She is not going to talk secrets—what is it, Martha—permission to take some of the horses?"
"No," she replied, and glanced, meaningly, at Maynadier—who at once retired.
She waited until the door was shut.
"It is this," she said. "That letter, which I gave you last evening—I want it back again."
The Governor looked his surprise.
"You want it back again?" he asked.
"Yes—and your promise not to use it. There is nothing to be gained by exposing him, except a scandal, which must, necessarily, drag me in."
"You have changed your mind since last night," he commented.
"I have," she answered. "In less than twoweeks he will have sailed.—So, let it rest—it will profit nothing."
He unlocked a drawer, took out Lady Catherwood's letter, and handed it to her.
A glad smile came to her face.
"Thank you, sir! oh, thank you!" and she bent, and brushed his cheek, lightly, with her lips.
He reached up, and drew her down on the arm of his chair.
"And have you no other reason, my dear?" he asked.
"No!" with a shake of her pretty head.—"No other reason."
He looked at her thoughtfully.
"What were you and Sir Edward—I call him that for want of a better name—talking about last night—out yonder in the moonlight?" he asked.
WHAT WERE YOU AND SIR EDWARD TALKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT
"WHAT WERE YOU AND SIR EDWARD TALKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT?"HE ASKED.
She laughed, a little guiltily—watching his face the while.
"He was making love to me," she replied—"he does it very well, indeed, sir."
"So it would seem," said the Governor—"so well, indeed, that you sought at once to regain the Catherwood letter, but, thinking that I had retired, came back the first thing, this morning."
She flushed, and her eyes went toward the window.
"Just so!" he said. "I was sitting there, and saw it all—saw you leave, heard you come to my door and listen, saw you return, a moment, to him—and, now, you come again—and it is for the letter.You know that he is not Parkington, that he is an impostor—consequently, he must have told you something which explains. What was it?"
"He acknowledged that he was not Parkington; that he——"
"I told you, specifically, not to mention the letter to him!" said the Governor.
"And I obeyed you," she answered. "Not until he had, voluntarily and of his own free will, confessed, did I refer to the letter."
The Governor beat a tattoo on the table with his finger-tips.
"Who does he say he is?" he asked, presently.
She told him.
"Huh! Doncaster's son, is he! How does he explain the letters, and the impersonation?"
She told him.
When she had finished, he sat silent, pulling at his chin.
"Do you think him serious in his love-making?" he asked.
"He did me the honor to propose," she said.
"Hum!—And do you—care for him?"
"As much as I shall ever care for any man," she answered (thinking of Maynadier). "Furthermore, it would be an excellent match for me."
"An excellent match, if he speaks truly. There are none better, in all England, than the De Lysles."
"He offered to wait, until we got to England, for the wedding."
"Hum—that makes something for sincerity, at least.—So, you wish to marry him, my dear?"
"I think I do," she said—"that is, if he is a De Lysle."
He shook his head, sadly. "I am sorry, Martha, to have to injure your prospects, but I must act as the Governor, and it is his duty to call him to account. He has misused the proprietor's letters, and our hospitality."
"But you gave me the letter," she expostulated. "What other proof have you that he is an impostor?"
"I gave you the letter to relieve you of all participation," the Colonel said. "I do not need it. I have abundant evidence without it, and there may be more, besides."
She gave a little gasp, and sat up.
"Then I can do nothing?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said, his hand stroking tenderly the dark tresses—"the matter must go on to its finish. The people of the Province shall not say that I knew he was an impostor, yet did not expose him. I regret it, my dear, but when one takes another's name, he commits a crime against society which cannot be tolerated."
"What shall I tell him?" she asked.
"Tell him you have the letter, and that the Governor will not use the information it contained."
"That will be the truth," she reflected.
"It will," he said; "and, further, you need not go."
And she, knowing it was useless to argue or implore, kissed him, and went, slowly, the letter of Lady Catherwood clutched tightly in her fingers.
She had no opportunity to communicate with Parkington until after breakfast, other than a significant nod, as his eyes sought hers, inquiringly. When the meal was finished, he joined her, and, presently, they sauntered out together.
"I have the letter," she said.
"You are a dear!" he exclaimed.
"And I have, also, the Governor's promise not to use either it, or the information it contains."
"You are a darling!" bending down, and whispering in her ear.
It was a caress, though he touched her not at all.
And her heart warmed to him, with a sympathy she had never felt before. Surely, he was handsome, with the handsomeness which a woman loved, a debonairness that was fascinating.
"You have done everything—you have saved me!" he exclaimed.
She plucked a rose; he took it, and drew it through his buttonhole.
"I have done what I can," she replied; "but I have not saved you."
"What? the letter!—the information——"
"Will not be used against you," she broke in;"but, I fear that the Governor has other evidence, quite as strong and much more convincing."
His thoughts turned, instantly, to Miss Marbury. She had told—and lost no time in the telling, either, it would seem. He smiled, derisively. Brandon was right. No woman could keep a secret, unless she were vitally concerned in it.
"Well," he said, "I shall stay and face it. At least, they shall not say I ran away. Moreover, they cannot do more than unmask me—and, when the mask is off, they show a De Lysle—and between a De Lysle and a Parkington, even if the former is somewhat scar-marked, there is vast difference. I may not accompany Brandon home; but, when I go, you go with me."
She put her hand on his arm.
"Prove it, and I will go," she said.
He took her hand, regardless of who saw, and kissed it with inimitable grace, bowing low over it, the while.
"It is a bargain, my lady!" he said. "I accept your own terms. Now, with your permission, I will to Sir Charles Brandon, and take counsel with him."
As they were returning, a man came rapidly up the esplanade, from the landing, and passed them, at some little distance.
"Is not that Mr. Marbury?" Miss Stirling asked.
Parkington nodded, but did not speak.—Marbury! The one man who could prove the theft! The man who could identify Long-Sword! Why should he have come to Whitehall—and at this particular time?
"Was he not expected?" he asked, with assumed carelessness.
"No," she replied. "He likely comes to see the Governor, on business which requires his personal approval."
"I think I will hasten to Sir Charles," he said, now thoroughly alarmed.
Meanwhile, Marbury had been met, as he neared the house, by Maynadier, who had noted his approach.
"What does his Excellency want with me?" he asked. "Has it to do with the theft?"
"It has—with the theft, and something more. We will go in—the Governor awaits you in the drawing-room; he will relate the exact facts."
"Mr. Marbury," said Colonel Sharpe, laying aside the Gazette he was reading, and offering his guest a chair, "I have sent for you because I want your aid."
"I appreciate the honor, sir," replied Marbury, "but, as I am the only person concerned, I request your Excellency to let the matter rest. Moreover, the money was returned; why should it not be let rest?"
"I think you do not quite understand thesituation," returned the Governor. "Let me, briefly, outline the facts...."
Marbury listened, in impassive silence. The change of name did not affect him; he knew of another such, much closer home. But the stealing of another's identity, and the presentation of his letters, were serious matters to the Colonists, and, he admitted, any one who was guilty ought to be exposed.
"I was sure you would see it as we do, Mr. Marbury, when you knew everything!" said the Governor.
"Yes—the theft from me—if hewerethe thief—was solely, my affair," was the reply; "this, however, concerns us all. If the one fit into the other, I shall bear my part."
The Governor struck a bell; the orderly, on duty, entered.
"My compliments to Captain Herford," said the Colonel, "and say, I wish to see him."
The man saluted and withdrew. In a moment, Captain Herford entered.
"Captain Herford, you will say, to Sir Edward Parkington and to Sir Charles Brandon, that the Governor desires their attendance in the drawing-room. Then, station the guard outside the windows, with two just without the doors. You understand?"
Herford's heels came together, and his hand rose to his forehead.
"Yes, your Excellency!" he replied, with a surprised lift of the eye-brows toward Maynadier.
He found Parkington and Brandon together, pacing back and forth on the esplanade. He delivered his message curtly, faced about, and tramped off. These men were not to his liking, and in his official capacity, as his Excellency's aide-de-camp, it did his small soul good to treat them with scant courtesy.
"Well, it has come!" said Parkington.
Brandon was looking after Herford, with a frown.
"That fellow," he observed, "needs to be taught some civility with a club—a walking stick is not stout enough to be effective."
"Never mind Herford," smiled Parkington. "Come and help his Excellency hold court, for my particular benefit."
Brandon was wearing his sword, and, now, he gave it a hitch forward, so that it lay close to his hand.
"You do not anticipate using it?" his friend asked.
"I do not know," said he, with an ominous shake of the head. "One can never tell how suddenly the occasion may arise. That is why I am never without it—it has saved my life, a score of times, in the last four years."
"We are not flying the Jolly Roger, now," Parkington commented.
The other shrugged his shoulders. "I am not so sure."
"You are not in danger."
"You forget that Marbury is with the Governor."
"He will not recognize you—you, yourself, said so."
"That was before you were suspected—I counted on your word to prove my name."
"Then do not come with me—do not run the risk!" urged Parkington.
"No, I must brave it out. To decamp, now, would be useless. I was summoned, I presume, because you vouched for me—but, if I do not respond, that instant they will understand I had good cause for going, and I should be caught ere I had gone a mile. Come on—it is a good game and we will play it out.... You see!" he said, as they entered the house, pointing to the opposite doorway, through which could be seen the guard parading. "It were folly to do otherwise."
Every one was down at the race track, looking at the horses, the house was deserted, save for the servants. Miss Stirling, even, was gone with the rest—Marbury's coming had delayed the matter, she supposed, and some regard must be paid to the duties of hostess.
The two men crossed the entrance and knocked at the drawing-room door, which, contrary tocustom, was closed. Instantly, it was swung open—and the Governor bade them enter.
He was standing with his back to the fire-place, his hands behind him, his face grave and thoughtful. He returned, with studied courtesy, their bows of greeting, and motioned for them to be seated. Maynadier, placid and unmoved, was on one side, Marbury, grim-faced but plainly ill at ease, on the other.
"Gentlemen," said Colonel Sharpe, "I regret that it is as the Governor of Maryland, and not as Colonel Sharpe, that I have had to request your presence here, this morning."
"We took it, from the formal manner of our summons, that your Excellency wished to confer with us in your official capacity," said Parkington, easily.
The Governor bowed again.
"Which, being understood," said he, "we can proceed to business.... Sir Edward Parkington, I have received information of such a pertinent character, that I have no other course than to question your identity. I do it with the greatest reluctance—you have been a guest in my house, and in the houses of the prominent men of the Colony—you presented letters, from Lord Baltimore, which were regular, and which entitled you to be received. We are informed, now, that you are not their rightful owner—in other words, that you are animpostor. What, sir, have you to say in explanation?"
Parkington laughed a little, easy laugh, and brushed a speck of dust from his coat sleeve.
"I have nothing to say," he replied.—"Your Excellency's information is correct. I amnotSir Edward Parkington."
The Governor's jaw closed tight, his face grew very stern, and, for a brief time, he did not answer.
"How did you come into possession of Lord Baltimore's letters?" he asked, at length. "Did you steal them?"
"No!" said Parkington, "unless taking them from a dead man is stealing." ... He shrugged his shoulders. "I will tell you the facts, since you wish to know them."
He drew out his snuff-box—offered it to the others, with a graceful gesture—took a pinch himself, and told his story.
* * * * * * * * *
"And you say that you did this thing in a fit of foolishness?" the Governor asked, when he had finished.
"Yes—I did not appreciate how difficult it would be to throw off the false identity. That is why I was going home: to regain myself."
"Who, in truth, are you?" asked the Governor. (He did not care to disclose that Miss Stirling had told him.)
"Roger de Lysle, second son of the Earl of Doncaster," was the answer.
Maynadier turned and looked at him, with sudden interest—Marbury's grim visage relaxed a trifle. There was virtue, in those days, in a name.
"Have you the means of proving it?" said his Excellency—"any papers—anything, indeed?"
"My papers were lost whenThe Sallyfoundered. But Sir Charles Brandon can attest me."
The Governor turned, inquiringly, to Brandon, who was sitting somewhat back, and quite within the shadow.
"I can substantiate his statement that he is Doncaster's son," said Brandon. "I have known the family, intimately, for years."
As he spoke, Marbury suddenly threw up his head, much as a dog does to the scent, and his sharp eyes glistened. At the end, he arose, and, with never a glance at any one, went out.
"The difficulty is," said the Governor, "that this man (who admits he is an impostor) introduced you. Have you any means of identification?"
"It is a proper question," returned Brandon, promptly.
Arising, he took a bundle of papers from his pocket, and handed them to the Governor.
The latter examined them, one by one, carefully and slowly. When he had finished, he passed them on to Maynadier.
"They are regular," he said, "but rather old—thelatest is dated more than four years back."
"I am Sir Charles Brandon, now, just as well as four years ago!" he laughed. Then, he explained: "It is four years since I left England."
"And you have not, in that time, had letters from home?"
"None."
The Governor nodded, then turned to Maynadier, and the two conversed in low tones.
Brandon stretched out his legs and frowned—the talk had stirred old ashes that still smouldered.
De Lysle, untroubled and unconcerned, picked up the Gazette, the Governor had been reading, and glanced over it.
The first three columns had to do with news, three months old, of the Court and Parliament. He passed them by. The column which did for Boston, and New York and Philadelphia, also, went unread. The stick of Annapolis doings, for the past week, was glanced at, curiously. Then, down at the bottom of the last column, something in larger type, caught his eye. He looked, casually, at it, then looked again—then read it, amazed, and a second time, read it, and the third time.
Just at that moment, Marbury re-entered. Brandon turned his head from him, but the former stopped, deliberately peered in his face, and wheeled on the Governor.
"Your Excellency," he said, "it would appear that you have seined for a small fish, and caughta shark. This man you know, I believe, as Sir Charles Brandon?"
"He was so introduced," returned the Governor, a little surprise showing in his voice; "and his papers bear him out—albeit, they are some four years old."
Marbury laughed, scornfully.
"The papers seem to bear out Parkington, too!" he said. "However, they may be right enough—he may be Sir Charles Brandon—but—he is, also, Long-Sword the Pirate."
If Marbury had played for effect, he could not have done it better.
For an instant, no one spoke—no one even stirred. Then, the Governor recovered himself.
"My God! man! do you realize what you have said?" he exclaimed.
"I do," said Marbury; "and I am ready to prove it." He strode to the window. "Let Jamison and his mate come in!" he shouted.
At the same time, the Governor raised his voice.
"Herford!" he called, "the guard! the guard!—Your pardon, sir," addressing Brandon, "but the seriousness of the charge obligates it."
De Lysle had sprung up in indignation; Brandon stayed him with a gesture.
"I understand," he said, crossing his legs, with unconcern. "It is a proper precaution. If I were Long-Sword, there might be need for them. As I am not he, I must ask Mr. Marbury to produce his evidence at once. It is scarcely fitting, that Sir Charles Brandon rest under an imputation so serious, an instant longer than is required to disprove it."
"Let Jamison, and the mate, wait in the outer room until required," said Colonel Sharpe, to Herford who, at that moment, appeared at the head ofthe guard.—"Now, Mr. Marbury, we are ready to hear your proofs."
"Your Excellency knows of the attack on Hedgely Hall," Marbury said, "and the capture of their leader, who, by his own admission to me, was Long-Sword—also, of his escape, after killing his guard. I had every chance to observe him, during the long colloquy concerning ransom, and, afterward, on the ship. The voice, the face, the build, every action of the man is the same. I identify him, beyond question. And more, I have had no communication with Jamison and his mate, their ship brought me here, and I have sent for them—I have not seen them. They have never seen Sir Charles Brandon. I am willing to submit the case on their testimony. Let them confront him. If they do not sustain me, I will withdraw the charge, and apologize, most humbly."
The Governor turned to Herford, who, sword drawn, was standing by the closed door, and nodded for him to admit Jamison.
The skipper entered, hesitatingly, and halted just within the room. The soldiers, the Governor's mansion, the unfamiliar surroundings, the sudden summons, the mystery of it all had produced their natural result. He was frightened.
"Jamison," said Colonel Sharpe, "will you do us the favor to look at the gentleman, immediately on your left, and tell us whether you have ever seen him."
The skipper turned, slowly; at the same instant, Marbury threw back the hangings from the window, and the morning sun flooded the apartment.
"Good God!" he exclaimed, starting back. "It is Long-Sword! Long-Sword the Pirate!"
"That will do," said the Governor; "stand aside. Now, summon the mate."
He also entered, slowly, as though doubtful of his reception, his hat held nervously in his fingers, his eyes shifting rapidly from side to side, yet appreciating nothing. When the Governor spoke, he jumped as though he had been struck, instead, and the question had to be repeated before he understood its tenor. Then he wheeled, suddenly—and came face to face with Brandon.
Instantly, he let out a yell, and sprang clear to the other side of the room.
"Long-Sword! Long-Sword!" he cried.
Brandon laughed, lightly.
"Long-Sword must have been the very devil!" he said. Then, he became grave. "Surely, your Excellency will not view too seriously what must be a very striking resemblance between this pirate and myself. But, that you may be relieved of all embarrassment, I am willing to go to England under guard. There, that I am Sir Charles Brandon can be instantly attested by any one at Court, his Majesty, himself, included. If you do this, I will give you, in addition, my parole that I will not seek to escape."
"Why should you do it?" exclaimed De Lysle, seeing the play, and seeking to aid it.
"Because it is proper that I should aid his Excellency in his perplexity," Brandon said. "Three witnesses name me as Long-Sword; it is absurd, and the quickest way to prove the absurdity is to send me home for identification. It is the penalty I pay, for being a pirate's double."
"Will you be satisfied, if I send him to England under guard?" the Governor asked Marbury.
"No, I am not satisfied," was the answer. "He may, in truth, be Sir Charles Brandon, but that does not prevent him from being Long-Sword, too. By his own admission (I heard it, as I stood in the outer room), he has not been home for four years, and he has had no word from England in the interim. Why?—Why?—Where has he been these four years?—what doing? It is just about that period since Long-Sword the Pirate appeared. Strange coincidence, is it not, when you consider the resemblance?—and the further fact, that he is discreetly silent as to his whereabouts during these four years. I was willing to let him go, when he escaped. I wanted no further bother concerning him. But, when he actually has the effrontery to invade your Excellency's house, as a guest, and impose upon the good people of this Province, I say, let him be punished. No, sir, I am not satisfied to have him sent home, and then released, if he be identified as Brandon."
The Governor nodded, gravely.
"What have you to say, monsieur, to the proposition, that you could be both Sir Charles Brandon and Long-Sword?" he asked.
Brandon raised his hands, expressively.
"That may be true," said he. "But an English gentleman, of means, is not likely to become a pirate."
"Your Excellency," said Jamison, coming a step forward, "might I be permitted to say something?"
Colonel Sharpe turned to him, with a frown.
"Speak up!" he said, shortly. "What is it?"
"Long-Sword had a collar-bone broken in the fight, when he was captured—" began Jamison.
"And you mean, that there may be evidence of it?" the Governor interrupted. "Very good!—Brandon, will you submit to examination?"
"Certainly, sir! I shall be glad to let either you or Mr. Maynadier inspect my shoulders. Why did you not speak of this sooner, fellow?" he added.
It was the evidence he had been hoping for—had, indeed, depended on to establish his innocence. And they had been long in coming to it! The bones had knit as neatly as before the break.
"And when you are about it," added Jamison, "you might look for a star-shaped birth-mark, under the left arm. I noticed it, when I bound up his injury. If it is not there, then he is not Long-Sword."
"Very good! my man, they may look for the birth-mark, too," said Brandon.
He crossed to the window, where the sun would fall full upon him, divesting himself of his coat as he went; glanced out at the turf, below, tossed the coat, carelessly, on a chair, and, putting one hand on the ledge, suddenly vaulted through the opening.
It was so totally unexpected, that, for an instant, no one moved. Then Captain Herford, with a shout to his men to follow, bounded across the room, and leaped out in pursuit.
Brandon had slipped on the grass, when he landed, and Herford alighted almost in his arms, and a trifle beyond him. Both men recovered themselves at the same instant, but Herford was between Brandon and freedom. Like a flash, he drew his sword, and flung himself upon the aide.
Herford was not an expert, but he had agility, and, that first requisite of a fencer, a strong wrist, and he held his own, for the moment that was necessary to enable the guard to come up. Just as they appeared, he felt the other's sword pass through his shoulder, and he knew no more.
Brandon whipped out the blade, and sprang forward. Too late! A dozen soldiers were in the way. He put his back to the house, and waited.
He would die, here—die as Long-Sword—die with the music of the steel, perhaps the roll of musketry, in his ears. It was better—much better—than the rope.
A figure leaped down from the window. It was De Lysle.
"Brandon!" he exclaimed. "Let me aid you." The other waved him back.
"You cannot aid me. I am alone on the ship," he said. "Farewell, my friend.—Ah! place for his Excellency!"
The Governor came hurriedly out, followed by Maynadier and Marbury. Constable, and the rest of the men of the house party, attracted by the unusual commotion, were hastening over from the race track, though they could not yet see what was occurring on the opposite side of the house.
Colonel Sharpe took in the whole scene at a glance:—the solitary figure against the wall, the dozen soldiers that hemmed him in, the wounded Herford lying on the grass, the blood blotching breast and shoulder.
And he swore a great oath, and, kneeling, raised the Captain's head.
"He is not dead!" he said. "Here, Maynadier, look to him, will you?" Then he arose and faced Brandon.
The latter's sword went up in salute.
"Perhaps your Excellency will favor me with a pass or two?" he said.
The Governor's face was set and stern, for the time, all mercy had passed out of it.
"For IamLong-Sword," he continued, "evenas IamSir Charles Brandon. And, ere we grow busy in the business of death, I want to say, in order that my friend, De Lysle, may not be misunderstood, that, although he recognized me after he entered the cabin, where I was prisoner, yet he knew nothing of my coming to Annapolis, until I walked in upon him at the Coffee-house. I was going home. Long-Sword the Pirate was to be buried, forever. In ten days, I should have sailed.... But the Fates were against me—I shall not go home—I shall die as Long-Sword, instead." He bowed gracefully to the Governor. "I thank your Excellency! Now, cry on your dogs!"
At this instant, Constable came through the house and out on the esplanade.
"What is it?" he exclaimed—"what does it mean?"
"It is the passing of Long-Sword the Pirate," Brandon answered. "Will not your Excellency begin?"
"I would much rather you surrendered," said Colonel Sharpe.
"No doubt! it would save you a few lives," he mocked.
"You decline to yield?"
Brandon bowed.
"Then shoot him, sergeant!" was the order.
But before a trigger could be pulled, or a flintlock fall, Brandon was upon them. His sword flashed in and out, there was a swaying back andforth, shouts and cries, the clubbing of muskets, the groans of the wounded, a mêlée, in which all were mingled in a blur of strife and struggle....
Then, the line parted; and through the opening, his sword at the lunge, staggered Brandon. Blood gushed from his face and head, from his breast, from his legs. He was almost sped. He came a little way—faltered—stopped. A soldier stepped out behind him and passed his hanger through his throat. He fell without a word. So, Long-Sword died.
The Governor, his wrath passed, looked down at the dead, and shook his head, sadly.
"He was a brave man!" he said. "May I meet death as fearlessly, when my time comes.... Gentlemen, this deplorable scene is over—let me suggest that you hasten to the ladies, and keep them on the other side of the house, until all traces of the conflict have been removed."
He hooked his arm within Maynadier's, and went slowly in.
"I have had enough of crime and punishment," he said, as they passed the doorway. "What think you, shall we excuse Parkington—let him depart in peace, for England?"
"Yes!" replied Maynadier.
"How say you, Marbury?" the Governor asked.
"As I have said all along: let it rest! let him go!"
"There are some things that are not explained,but they can bide—yes, I think that he may go.—Parkington!" he called.
Parkington, who was kneeling by the body of his dead friend, arose and came forward.
"Sir Edward!" said the Governor. "We have decided to pursue your matter no further, upon the condition, however, that you will continue to bear the name of Parkington, and reside in this house, as a guest, until the first ship sails for England. Are you content?"
Parkington bowed low. "More than content, your Excellency. I am deeply grateful. Moreover, there are pressing reasons, now, for my instant return to England."
He drew the Annapolis paper from his pocket, and, pointing to the item in larger type at the foot of the last column, passed it across.
Colonel Sharpe read:
"FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD!"For information sent to the undersigned, that will lead to the location of the present whereabouts of the Honourable Roger James Howard de Lysle, who, it is thought, sailed for America, incognito, about the first of April, last past. He is of average size, with black hair and eyes, fair complexion, clear cut features, and fine bearing. By the sudden demise of the persons intervening, he has succeeded to the title and estates of the Earl of Doncaster."
"FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD!
"For information sent to the undersigned, that will lead to the location of the present whereabouts of the Honourable Roger James Howard de Lysle, who, it is thought, sailed for America, incognito, about the first of April, last past. He is of average size, with black hair and eyes, fair complexion, clear cut features, and fine bearing. By the sudden demise of the persons intervening, he has succeeded to the title and estates of the Earl of Doncaster."
The Governor ceased. "My lord," he said, extending his hand, "you have my congratulations! But I think, for reasons which you will understand," he added, "you best cling to the old name, so long as you are in America."
The Earl bowed. "Your Excellency is right. As Parkington I came to Annapolis, as Parkington I shall leave it.—Will you wait here one moment, sir?"
He returned, presently, with Miss Stirling.
"My dear," he said, "I did myself the honor of asking you to marry me, when I was simply Roger de Lysle; and, though you did not promise, yet you were good enough to consider it not unfavorably, I thought. Now, in the presence of his Excellency the Governor, your uncle, I do myself the further honor of asking you to become the Countess of Doncaster."
Miss Stirling's heart beat wildly.
"The Countess of Doncaster!" she repeated, wonderingly. "You are the Earl?"
"I am the Earl," he answered. Then he smiled, the winning, fascinating smile that was his, and held out his arms to her. "Will you go home with me, dear?" he asked.
Without hesitation, she went to him.
"I will go, my lord," she answered. "I will go."
Finis.