I had bathed and dressed me in my best suit of pale-lilac silk, with flapped waistcoat of primrose stiff with gold, and Cato was powdering my hair; when Sir Lupus waddled in, magnificent in scarlet and white, and smelling to heaven of French perfume and pomatum.
"George!" he cried, in his brusque, explosive fashion, "I like Schuyler, and I care not who knows it! Dammy! I was cool enough with him and his lady when they arrived, but he played Valentine to my Orson till I gave up; yes, I did, George, I capitulated. Says he, 'Sir Lupus, if a painful misunderstanding has kept us old neighbors from an exchange of civilities, I trust differences may be forgotten in this graver crisis. In our social stratum there is but one great line of cleavage now, opened by the convulsions of war, sir."
"'Damn the convulsions of war, sir!' says I.
"'Quite right,' says he, mildly; 'war is always damnable, Sir Lupus.'
"'General Schuyler,' says I, 'there is no nonsense about me. You and Lady Schuyler are under my roof, and you are welcome, whatever opinion you entertain of me and my fashion of living. I understand perfectly that this visit is not a visit of ceremony from a neighbor, but a military necessity.'
"'Sir Lupus,' says Lady Schuyler, 'had it been only a military necessity I should scarcely have accompanied the General and his guests.'
"'Madam,' says I, 'it is commonly reported that I offended the entire aristocracy of Albany when I had Sir John Johnson's sweetheart to dine with them. And for that I have been ostracized. For which ostracism, madam, I care not a brass farthing. And, madam, were I to dine all Albany to-night, I should not ignore my old neighbors and friends, the Putnams of Tribes Hill, to suit the hypocrisy of a few strangers from Albany. Right is right, madam, and decency is decency! And I say now that to honest men Claire Putnam is Sir John's wife by every law of honor, decency, and chivalry; and I shall so treat her in the face of a rotten world and to the undying shame of that beast, Sir John!'
"Whereupon--would you believe it, George?--Schuyler took both my hands in his and said my conduct honored me, and more of the same sort o' thing, and Lady Schuyler gave me her hand in that sweet, stately fashion; and, dammy! I saluted her finger-tips. Heaven knows how I found it possible to bend my waist, but I did, George. And there's an end to the whole matter!"
He took snuff, blew his nose violently, snapped his gold snuff-box, and waddled to the window, where, below, in the early dusk, torches and rush-lights burned, illuminating the cavalry horses tethered along their picket-rope, and the trooper on guard, pacing his beat, musket shining in the wavering light.
"That escort will be my undoing," he muttered. "Folk will dub me a partisan now. Dammy! a man under my roof is a guest, be he Tory or rebel. I do but desire to cultivate my land and pay my debts of honor; and I'll stick to it till they leave me in peace or hang me to my barn door!"
And he toddled out, muttering and fumbling with his snuff-box, bidding me hasten and not keep them waiting dinner.
I stood before the mirror with its lighted sconces, gazing grimly at my sober face while Cato tied my queue-ribbon and dusted my silken coat-skirts. Then I fastened the brilliant buckle under my chin, shook out the deep, soft lace at throat and wristband, and took my small-sword from Cato.
"Mars' George," murmured the old man, "yo' look lak yo' is gwine wed wif mah li'l Miss Dorry."
I stared at him angrily. "What put that into your head?" I demanded.
"I dunno, suh; hit dess look dat-a-way to me, suh."
"You're a fool," I said, sharply.
"No, suh, I ain' no fool, Mars' George. I done see de sign! Yaas, suh, I done see de sign."
"What sign?"
The old man chuckled, looked slyly at my left hand, then chuckled again.
"Mars' George, yo' is wearin' yo' weddin'-ring now!"
"A ring! There is no ring on my hand, you rascal!" I said.
"Yaas, suh; dey sho' is, Mars' George," he insisted, still chuckling.
"I tell you I never wear a ring," I said, impatiently.
"'Scuse me, Mars' George, suh," he said, humbly. And, lifting my left hand, laid it in his wrinkled, black palm, peering closely. I also looked, and saw at the base of my third finger a circle like the mark left by a wedding-ring.
"That is strange," I said; "I never wore a ring in all my life!"
"Das de sign, suh," muttered the old man; "das de Ormond sign, suh. Yo' pap wore de ghos'-ring, an' his pap wore it too, suh. All de Ormonds done wore de ghos'-ring fore dey wus wedded. Hit am dess dat-a-way. Mars' George--"
He hesitated, looking up at me with gentle, dim eyes.
"Miss Dorry, suh--"
He stopped short, then dropped his voice to a whisper.
"'Fore Miss Dorry git up outen de baid, suh, I done tote de bre'kfus in de mawnin'. An' de fustest word dat li'l Miss Dorry say, 'Cato,' she say, 'whar Mars' George?' she say. 'He 'roun' de yahd, Miss Dorry,' I say. ''Pears lak he gettin' mo' res'less an' mis'ble, Miss Dorry.'
"'Cato,' she 'low, 'I spec' ma' haid gwine ache if I lie hyah in dishyere baid mo'n two free day. Whar ma' milk an' co'n pone, Cato?'
"So I des sot de salver down side de baid, suh, an' li'l Miss Dorry she done set up in de baid, suh, an' hole out one li'l bare arm--"
He laid a wrinkled finger on his lips; his dark face quivered with mystery and emotion.
"One li'l barearm," he repeated, "an' I see de sign!"
"What sign?" I stammered.
"De bride-sign on de ring-finger! Yaas, suh. An' I say, 'Whar yo' ring, Miss Dorry?' An' she 'low ain' nebber wore no ring. An' I say, 'Whar dat ring, Miss Dorry?'
"Den Miss Dorry look kinder queer, and rub de ghos'-ring on de bridal-finger.
"'What dat?' she 'low.
"'Dasser ghos'-ring, honey.'
"Den she rub an' rub, but, bless yo' heart, Mars' George! she dess natch'ly gwine wear dat pink ghos'-ring twill yo' slip de bride-ring on.... Mars' George! Honey! What de matter, chile?... Is you a-weepin', Mars' George?"
"Oh, Cato, Cato!" I choked, dropping my head on his shoulder.
"What dey do to mah l'il Mars' George?" he said, soothingly. "'Spec' some one done git saucy! Huh! Who care? Dar de sign! Dar de ghos'-ring! Mars' George, yo' is dess boun' to wed, suh! Miss Dorry, she dess boun' to wed, too--"
"But not with me, Cato, not with me. There's another man coming for Miss Dorry, Cato. She has promised him."
"Who dat?" he cried. "How come dishyere ghost-ring roun' yo' weddin'-finger?"
"I don't know," I said; "the chance pressure of a riding-glove, perhaps. It will fade away, Cato, this ghost-ring, as you call it.... Give me that rag o' lace; ... dust the powder away, Cato.... There, I'm smiling; can't you see, you rascal?... And tell Tulip she is right."
"What dat foolish wench done tole you?" he exclaimed, wrathfully.
But I only shook my head impatiently and walked out. Down the hallway I halted in the light of the sconces and looked at the strange mark on my finger. It was plainly visible. "A tight glove," I muttered, and walked on towards the stairs.
From the floor below came a breezy buzz of voices, laughter, the snap of ivory fans spreading, the whisk and rustle of petticoats. I leaned a moment over the rail which circled the stair-gallery and looked down.
Unaccustomed cleanliness and wax and candle-light made a pretty background for all this powdered and silken company swarming below. The servants and children had gathered ground-pine to festoon the walls; stair-rail, bronze cannon, pictures, trophies, and windows were all bright with the aromatic green foliage; enormous bunches of peonies perfumed the house, and everywhere masses of yellow and white elder-bloom and swamp-marigold brightened the corners.
Sir Lupus, standing in the hallway with a tall gentleman who wore the epaulets and the buff-and-blue uniform of a major-general, beckoned me, and I descended the stairs to make the acquaintance of that noblest and most generous of soldiers, Philip Schuyler. He held my hand a moment, scrutinizing me with kindly eyes, and, turning to Sir Lupus, said, "There are few men to whom my heart surrenders at sight, but your young kinsman is one of the few, Sir Lupus."
"He's a good boy, General, a brave lad," mumbled Sir Lupus, frowning to hide his pride. "A bit quick at conclusions, perhaps--eh, George?"
"Too quick, sir," I said, coloring.
"A fault you have already repaired by confession," said the General, with his kindly smile. "Mr. Ormond, I had the pleasure of receiving Sir George Covert the day he left for Stanwix, and Sir George mentioned your desire for a commission."
"I do desire it, sir," I said, quickly.
"Have you served, Mr. Ormond?" he asked, gravely.
"I have seen some trifling service against the Florida savages, sir."
"As officer, of course."
"As officer of our rangers, General."
"You were never wounded?"
"No, sir; ... not severely."
"Oh!... not severely."
"No, sir."
"There are some gentlemen of my acquaintance," said Schuyler, turning to Sir Lupus, "who might take a lesson in modesty from Mr. Ormond."
"Yes," broke out Sir Lupus--"that pompous ass, Gates."
"General Gates is a loyal soldier," said Schuyler, gravely.
"Who the devil cares?" fumed Sir Lupus. "I call a spade a spade! And I say he is at the head of that infamous cabal which seeks to disgrace you. Don't tell me, sir! I'm an older man than you, sir! I've a right to say it, and I do. Gates is an envious ass, and unfit to hold your stirrup!"
"This is a painful matter," said Schuyler, in a low voice. "Indiscreet friendship may make it worse. I regard General Gates as a patriot and a brother soldier.... Pray let us choose a gayer topic ... friends."
His manner was so noble, his courtesy so charming, that there was no sting in his snub to Sir Lupus. Even I had heard of the amazing jealousies and intrigues which had made Schuyler's life miserable--charges of incompetency, of indifference, of corruption--nay, some wretched creatures who sought to push Gates into Schuyler's command even hinted at cowardice and treason. And none could doubt that Gates knew it and encouraged it, for he had publicly spoken of Schuyler in slighting and contemptuous terms.
Yet the gentleman whose honor had been the target for these slanderers never uttered one word against his traducers: and, when a friend asked him whether he was too proud to defend himself, replied, serenely, "Not too proud, but too sensible to spread discord in my country's army."
"Lady Schuyler desires to know you," said the General, "for I see her fan-signal, which I always obey." And he laid his arm on mine as a father might, and led me across the room to where Dorothy stood with Lady Schuyler on her right, surrounded by a bevy of bright-eyed girls and gay young officers.
Dorothy presented me in a quiet voice, and I bowed very low to Lady Schuyler, who made me an old-time reverence, gave me her fingers to kiss, and spoke most kindly to me, inquiring about my journey, and how I liked this Northern climate.
Then Dorothy made me known to those near her, to the pretty Carmichael twins, whose black eyes brimmed purest mischief; to Miss Haldimand, whose cold beauty had set the Canadas aflame; and to others of whom I have little recollection save their names. Christie McDonald and Lysbet Dirck, two fashionable New York belles, kin to the Schuylers.
As for the men, there was young Paltz Clavarack, ensign in the Half-moon Regiment, very fine in his orange-faced uniform; and there was Major Harrow, of the New York line; and a jolly, handsome dare-devil, Captain Tully O'Neil, of the escort of horse, who hung to Dorothy's skirts and whispered things that made her laugh. There were others, too, aides in new uniforms, a medical officer, who bustled about in the rôle of everybody's friend; and a parcel of young subalterns, very serious, very red, and very grave, as though the destiny of empires reposed in their blue-and-gold despatch pouches.
"I wonder," murmured Dorothy, leaning towards me and speaking behind her rose-plumed fan--"I wonder why I answered you so."
"Because I deserved it," I muttered,
"Cousin I Cousin!" she said, softly, "you deserve all I can give--all that I dare not give. You break my heart with kindness."
I stepped to her side; all around us rose the hum of voices, laughter, the click of spurs, the soft sounds of silken gowns on a polished floor.
"It is you who are kind to me, Dorothy," I whispered, "I know I can never have you, but you must never doubt my constancy. Say you will not?"
"Hush!" she whispered; "come to the dining-hall; I must look at the table to see that all is well done, and there is nobody there.... We can talk there."
She slipped off through the throng, and I sauntered into the gun-room, from whence I crossed the hallway and entered the dining-hall. Dorothy stood inspecting the silver and linen, and giving orders to Cato in a low voice. Then she dismissed the row of servants and sat down in a leather chair, resting her forehead in her hands.
"Deary me! Deary me!" she murmured, "how my brain whirls!... I would I were abed!... I would I were dead!... What was it you said concerning constancy? Oh, I remember; I am never to doubt your constancy." She raised her fair head from between her hands.
"Promise you will never doubt it," I whispered.
"I--I never will," she said. "Ask me again for the minuet, dear. I--I refused everybody--for you."
"Will you walk it with me, Dorothy?"
"Yes--yes, indeed! I told them all I must wait till you asked me."
"Good heavens!" I said, laughing nervously, "you didn't tell them that, did you?"
She bent her lovely face, and I saw the smile in her eyes glimmering through unshed tears.
"Yes; I told them that. Captain O'Neil protests he means to call you out and run you through. And I said you would probably cut off his queue and tie him up by his spurs if he presumed to any levity. Then he said he'd tell Sir George Covert, and I said I'd tell him myself and everybody else that I loved my cousin Ormond better than anybody in the world and meant to wed him--"
"Dorothy!" I gasped.
"Wed him to the most, beautiful and lovely and desirable maid in America!"
"And who is that, if it be not yourself?" I asked, amazed.
"It's Maddaleen Dirck, the New York heiress, Lysbet's sister; and you are to take her to table."
"Dorothy," I said, angrily, "you told me that you desired me to be faithful to my love for you!"
"I do! Oh, I do!" she said, passionately. "But it is wrong; it is dreadfully wrong. To be safe we must both wed, and then--God knows!--we cannot in honor think of one another."
"It will make no difference," I said, savagely.
"Why, of course, it will!" she insisted, in astonishment. "We shall be married."
"Do you suppose love can be crushed by marriage?" I asked.
"The hope of it can."
"It cannot, Dorothy."
"It must be crushed!" she exclaimed, flushing scarlet. "If we both are tied by honor, how can we hope? Cousin, I think I must be mad to say it, but I never see you that I do not hope. We are not safe, I tell you, spite of all our vows and promises.... You do not need to woo me, you do not need to persuade me! Ere you could speak I should be yours, now, this very moment, for a look, a smile--were it not for that pale spectre of my own self which rises ever before me, stern, inexorable, blocking every path which leads to you, and leaving only that one path free where the sign reads 'honor.' ... And I--I am sometimes frightened lest, in an overwhelming flood of love, that sign be torn away and no spectre of myself rise to confront me, barring those paths that lead to you.... Don't touch me; Cato is looking at us.... He's gone.... Wait, do not leave me.... I have been so wretched and unhappy.... I could scarce find strength and heart to let them dress me, thinking on your face when I answered you so cruelly.... Oh, cousin! where are our vows now? Where are the solemn promises we made never to speak of love?... Lovers make promises like that in story-books--and keep them, too, and die sanctified, blessing one another and mounting on radiant wings to heaven.... Where I should find no heaven save in you! Ah, God! that is the most terrible. That takes my heart away--to die and wake to find myself still his wife--to live through all eternity without you--and no hope of you--no hope!... For I could be patient through this earthly life, losing my youth and yours forever, ... but not after death! No, no! I cannot.... Better hell with you than endless heaven with him!... Don't speak to me.... Take your hand from my hand.... Can you not see that I mean nothing of what I say--that I do not know what I am saying?... I must go back; I am hostess--a happy one, as you perceive.... Will I never learn to curb my tongue? You must forget every word I uttered--do you hear me?"
She sprang up in her rustling silks and took a dozen steps towards the door, then turned.
"Do you hear me?" she said. "I bid you remember every word I uttered--every word!"
She was gone, leaving me staring at the flowers and silver and the clustered lights. But I saw them not; for before my eyes floated the vision of a slender hand, and on the wedding-finger I saw a faint, rosy circle, as I had seen it there a moment since, when Dorothy dropped her bare arms on the cloth and laid her head between them.
So it was true; whether for good or ill my cousin wore the ghost-ring which for ages, Cato says, we Ormonds have worn before the marriage-ring. There was Ormond blood in Dorothy. Did she wear the sign as prophecy for that ring Sir George should wed her with? I dared not doubt it--and yet, why did I also wear the sign?
Then in a flash the forgotten legend of the Maid-at-Arms came back to me, ringing through my ears in clamorous words:
"Serene, 'mid love's alarms,For all time shall the Maids-at-Arms,Wearing the ghost-ring,triumph with their constancy!"
I sprang to the door in my excitement and stared at the picture of the Maid-at-Arms.
Sweetly the violet eyes of the maid looked back at me, her armor glittered, her soft throat seemed to swell with the breath of life.
Then I crept nearer, eyes fixed on her wedding-finger. And I saw there a faint rosy circle as though a golden ring had pressed the snowy flesh.
I remember little of that dinner save that it differed vastly from the quarrelsome carousal at which the Johnsons and Butlers figured in so sinister a rôle, and at which the Glencoe captains disgraced themselves. But now, if the patroon's wine lent new color to the fair faces round me, there was no feverish laughter, nothing of brutal license. Healths were given and drunk with all the kindly ceremony to which I had been accustomed. At times pattering gusts of hand-clapping followed some popular toast, such as "Our New Flag," to which General Schuyler responded in perfect taste, veiling the deep emotions that the toast stirred in many with graceful allegory tempered by modesty and self-restraint.
At the former dinner I had had for my neighbors Dorothy and Magdalen Brant. Now I sat between Miss Haldimand and Maddaleen Dirck, whom I had for partner, a pretty little thing, who peppered her conversation with fashionable New York phrases and spiced the intervals with French. And I remember she assured me that New York was the only city fit to live in and that she should never survive a prolonged transportation from that earthly paradise of elegance and fashion. Which made me itch to go there.
I think, without meaning any unkindness, that Miss Haldimand, the Canadian beauty, was somewhat surprised that I had not already fallen a victim to her lovely presence; but, upon reflection, set it down to my stupidity; for presently she devoted her conversation exclusively to Ruyven, whose delight and gratitude could not but draw a smile from those who observed him. I saw Cecile playing the maiden's game with young Paltz Clavarack, and Lady Schuyler on Sir Lupus's right, charmingly demure, faintly amused, and evidently determined not to be shocked by the free bluntness of her host.
The mischievous Carmichael twins had turned the batteries of their eyes on two solemn, faultlessly dressed subalterns, and had already reduced them to the verge of capitulation; and busy, bustling Dr. Sleeper cracked witticisms with all who offered him the fee of their attention, and the dinner went very well.
Radiant, beautiful beyond word or thought, Dorothy sat, leaning back in her chair, and the candle-light on the frosty-gold of her hair and on her bare arms and neck made of her a miracle of celestial loveliness. And it was pleasant to see the stately General on her right bend beside her with that grave gallantry which young girls find more grateful than the privileged badinage of old beaus. At moments her sweet eyes stole towards me, and always found mine raised to greet her with that silent understanding which brought the faintest smile to her quiet lips. Once, above the melodious hum of voices, the word "war" sounded distinctly, and General Schuyler said:
"In these days of modern weapons of precision and long range, conflicts are doubly deplorable. In the times of the old match-locks and blunderbusses and unwieldly weapons weighing more than three times what our modern light rifles weigh, there was little chance for slaughter. But now that we have our deadly flint-locks, a battle-field will be a sad spectacle. Bunker Hill has taught the whole world a lesson that might not be in vain if it incites us to rid the earth of this wicked frenzy men call war."
"General," said Sir Lupus, "if weapons were twenty times as quick and deadly--which is, of course, impossible, thank God!--there would always be enough men in the world to get up a war, and enjoy it, too!"
"I do not like to believe that," said Schuyler, smiling.
"Wait and see," muttered the patroon. "I'd like to live a hundred years hence, just to prove I'm right."
"I should rather not live to see it," said the General, with a twinkle in his small, grave eyes.
Then quietly the last healths were given and pledged; Dorothy rose, and we all stood while she and Lady Schuyler passed out, followed by the other ladies; and I had to restrain Ruyven, who had made plans to follow Marguerite Haldimand. Then we men gathered once more over our port and walnuts, conversing freely, while the fiddles and bassoons tuned up from the hallway, and General Schuyler told us pleasantly as much of the military situation as he desired us to know. And it did amuse me to observe the solemn subalterns nodding all like wise young owlets, as though they could, if they only dared, reveal secrets that would astonish the General himself.
Snuff was passed, offered, and accepted with ceremony befitting; spirits replaced the port, but General Schuyler drank sparingly, and his well-trained suite perforce followed his example. So that when it came time to rejoin our ladies there was no evidence of wandering legs, no amiably vacant laughter, no loud voices to strike the postprandial discord at the dance or at the card-tables.
"How did I conduct, cousin?" whispered Ruyven, arm in arm with me as we entered the long drawing-room. And my response pleasing him, he made off straight towards Marguerite Haldimand, who viewed his joyous arrival none too cordially, I thought. Poor Ruyven! Must he so soon close the gate of Eden behind him?--leaving forever his immortal boyhood sleeping amid the never-fading flowers.
It was a fascinating and alarming spectacle to see Sir Lupus walking a minuet with Lady Schuyler, and I marvelled that the gold buttons on his waistcoat did not fly off in volleys when he strove to bend what once, perhaps, had been his waist.
Ceremony dictated what we had both forgotten, and General Schuyler led out Dorothy, who, scarlet in her distress, looked appealingly at me to see that I understood. And I smiled back to see her sweet face brighten with gratitude and confidence and a promise to make up to me what the stern rule of hospitality had deprived us of.
So it was that I had her for the Sir Roger de Coverley, and after that for a Delaware reel, which all danced with a delightful abandon, even Miss Haldimand unbending like a goddess surprised to find a pleasure in our mortal capers. And it was a pretty sight to see the ladies pass, gliding daintily under the arch of glittering swords, led by Lady Schuyler and Dorothy in laughing files, while the fiddle-bows whirred, and the music of bassoon and hautboys blended and ended in a final mellow crash. Then breathless voices rose, and skirts swished and French heels tapped the polished floor and solemn subalterns stalked about seeking ices and lost buckles and mislaid fans; and a faint voice said, "Oh!" when a jewelled garter was found, and a very red subaltern said, "Honi soit!" and everybody laughed.
Presently I missed the General, and, a moment later, Dorothy. As I stood in the hallway, seeking for her, came Cecile, crying out that they were to have pictures and charades, and that General Schuyler, who was to be a judge, awaited me in the gun-room.
The door of the gun-room was closed. I tapped and entered.
The General sat at the mahogany table, leaning back in his arm-chair; opposite sat Dorothy, bare elbows on the table, fingers clasped. Standing by the General, arms folded, Jack Mount loomed a colossal figure in his beaded buckskins.
"JACK MOUNT LOOMED A COLOSSAL FIGURE IN HIS BEADED BUCKSKINS".
"Ah, Mr. Ormond!" said the General, as I closed the door quietly behind me; "pray be seated. They are to have pictures and charades, you know; I shall not keep Miss Dorothy and yourself very long."
I seated myself beside Dorothy, exchanging a smile with Mount.
"Now," said the General, dropping his voice to a lower tone, "what was it you saw in the forest to-day?"
So Mount had already reported the apparition of the painted savage!
I told what I had seen, describing the Indian in detail, and repeating word for word his warning message to Mount.
The General looked inquiringly at Dorothy. "I understand," he said, "that you know as much about the Iroquois as the Iroquois do themselves."
"I think I do," she said, simply.
"May I ask how you acquired your knowledge, Miss Dorothy?"
"There have always been Iroquois villages along our boundary until last spring, when the Mohawks left with Guy Johnson," she said. "I have always played with Iroquois children; I went to school with Magdalen Brant. I taught among our Mohawks and Oneidas when I was thirteen. Then I was instructed by sachems and I learned what the witch-drums say, and I need use no signs in the six languages or the clan dialects, save only when I speak with the Lenni-Lenape. Maybe, too, the Hurons and Algonquins have words that I know not, for many Tuscaroras do not understand them save by sign."
"I wish that some of my interpreters had your knowledge, or a fifth of it," said the General, smiling. "Tell me, Miss Dorothy, who was that Indian and what did that paint mean?"
"The Indian was Joseph Brant, called Thayendanegea, which means, 'He who holds many peoples together,' or, in plainer words, 'A bundle of sticks.'"
"You are certain it was Brant?"
"Yes. He has dined at this table with us. He is an educated man." She hesitated, looking down thoughtfully at her own reflection in the polished table. "The paint he wore was not war-paint. The signs on his body were emblems of the secret clan called the 'False-Faces.'"
The General looked up at Jack Mount.
"What did Stoner say?" he asked.
"Stoner reports that all the Iroquois are making ready for some unknown rite, sir. He saw pyramids of flat river-stones set up on hills and he saw smoke answering smoke from the Adirondack peaks to the Mayfield hills."
"What did Timothy Murphy observe?" asked Schuyler, watching Mount intently.
"Murphy brings news of their witch, Catrine Montour, sir. He. chased her till he dropped--like all the rest of us--but she went on and on a running, hop! tap! hop! tap! and patter, patter, patter! It stirs my hair to think on her, and I'm no coward, sir. We call her 'The Toad-woman.'"
"I'll make you chief of scouts if you catch her," said the General, sharply.
"Very good, sir," replied Mount, pulling a wry face, which made us all laugh.
"It has been reported to me," said the General, quietly, "that the Butlers, father and son, are in this county to attend a secret council; and that, with the help of Catrine Montour, they expect to carry the Mohawk nation with them as well as the Cayugas and the Senecas.
"It has further been reported to me by the Palatine scout that the Onondagas are wavering, that the Oneidas are disposed to stand our friends, that the Tuscaroras are anxious to remain neutral.
"Now, within a few days, news has reached me that these three doubtful nations are to be persuaded by an unknown woman who is, they say, the prophetess of the False-Faces."
He paused, looking straight at Dorothy.
"From your knowledge," he said, slowly, "tell me who is this unknown woman."
"Do you not know, sir?" she asked, simply.
"Yes, I think I do, child. It is Magdalen Brant."
"Yes," she said, quietly; "from childhood she stood as prophetess of the False-Faces. She is an educated girl, sweet, lovable, honorable, and sincere. She has been petted by the fine ladies of New York, of Philadelphia, of Albany. Yet she is partly Mohawk."
"Not that charming girl whom I had to dinner?" I cried, astonished.
"Yes, cousin," she said, tranquilly. "You are surprised? Why? You should see, as I have seen, pupils from Dr. Wheelock's school return to their tribes and, in a summer, sink to the level of the painted sachem, every vestige of civilization vanished with the knowledge of the tongue that taught it."
"I have seen that," said Schuyler, frowning.
"And I--by your leave, sir--I have seen it, too!" said Mount, savagely. "There may be some virtue in the rattlesnake; some folk eat 'em! But there is none in an Indian, not even stewed--"
"That will do," said the General, ignoring the grim jest. "Do you speak the Iroquois tongues, or any of them?" he asked, wheeling around to address me.
"I speak Tuscarora, sir," I replied. "The Tuscaroras understand the other five nations, but not the Hurons or Algonquins."
"What tongue is used when the Iroquois meet?" he asked Dorothy.
"Out of compliment to the youngest nation they use the Tuscarora language," she said.
The General rose, bowing to Dorothy with a charming smile.
"I must not keep you from your charades any longer," he said, conducting her to the door and thanking her for the great help and profit he had derived from her knowledge of the Iroquois.
He had not dismissed us, so we awaited his return; and presently he appeared, calm, courteous, and walked up to me, laying a kindly hand on my shoulder.
"I want an officer who understands Tuscarora and who has felt the bite of an Indian bullet," he said, earnestly.
I stood silent and attentive.
"I want that officer to find the False-Faces' council-fire and listen to every word said, and report to me. I want him to use every endeavor to find this woman, Magdalen Brant, and use every art to persuade her to throw all her influence with the Onondagas, Oneidas, and Tuscaroras for their strict neutrality in this coming war. The service I require may be dangerous and may not. I do not know. Are you ready, Captain Ormond?"
"Ready, sir!" I said, steadily.
He drew a parchment from his breast-pocket and laid it in my hands. It was my commission in the armies of the United States of America as captain in the militia battalion of Morgan's regiment of riflemen, and signed by our Governor, George Clinton.
"Do you accept this commission, Mr. Ormond?" he asked, regarding me pleasantly.
"I do, sir."
Sir Lupus's family Bible lay on the window-sill; the General bade Mount fetch it, and he did so. The General placed it before me, and I laid my hand upon it, looking him in the face. Then, in a low voice, he administered the oath, and I replied slowly but clearly, ending, "So help me God," and kissed the Book.
"Sit down, sir," said the General; and when I was seated he told me how the Continental Congress in July of 1775 had established three Indian departments; how that he, as chief commissioner of this Northern department, which included the Six Nations of the Iroquois confederacy, had summoned the national council, first at German Flatts, then at Albany; how he and the Reverend Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Dean had done all that could be done to keep the Iroquois neutral, but that they had not fully prevailed against the counsels of Guy Johnson and Brant, though the venerable chief of the Mohawk upper castle had seemed inclined to neutrality. He told me of General Herkimer's useless conference with Brant at Unadilla, where that chief had declared that "The King of England's belts were still lodged with the Mohawks, and that the Mohawks could not violate their pledges."
"I think we have lost the Mohawks," said the General, thoughtfully. "Perhaps also the Senecas and Cayugas; for this she-devil, Catrine Montour, is a Huron-Seneca, and her nation will follow her. But, if we can hold the three other nations back, it will be a vast gain to our cause--not that I desire or would permit them to do battle for me, though our Congress has decided to enlist such Indians as wish to serve; but because there might be some thousand warriors the less to hang on our flanks and do the dreadful work among the people of this country which these people so justly fear."
He rose, nodding to me, and I followed him to the door.
"Now," he said, "you know what you are to do."
"When shall I set out, sir?" I asked.
He smiled, saying, "I shall give you no instructions, Captain Ormond; I shall only concern myself with results."
"May I take with me whom I please?"
"Certainly, sir."
I looked at Mount, who had been standing motionless by the door, an attentive spectator.
"I will take the rifleman Mount," I said, "unless he is detailed for other service--"
"Take him, Mr. Ormond. When do you wish to start? I ask it because there is a gentleman at Broadalbin who has news for you, and you must pass that way."
"May I ask who that is?" I inquired, respectfully.
"The gentleman is Sir George Covert, captain on my personal staff, and now under your orders."
"I shall set out to-night, sir," I said, abruptly; then stepped back to let him pass me into the hallway beyond.
"Saddle my mare and make every preparation," I said to Mount. "When you are ready lead the horses to the stockade gate.... How long will you take?"
"An hour, sir, for rubbing down, saddling, and packing fodder, ammunition, and provisions."
"Very well," I said, soberly, and walked out to the long drawing-room, where the company had taken chairs and were all whispering and watching a green baize curtain which somebody had hung across the farther end of the room.
"Charades and pictures," whispered Cecile, at my elbow. "I guessed two, and Mr. Clavarack says it was wonderful."
"It certainly was," I said, gravely. "Where is Ruyven? Oh, sitting with Miss Haldimand? Cecile, would you ask Miss Haldimand's indulgence for a few moments? I must speak to Sir Lupus and to you and Ruyven."
I stepped back of the rows of chairs to where Sir Lupus sat in his great arm-chair by the doorway; and in another moment Cecile and Ruyven came up, the latter polite but scarcely pleased to be torn away from his first inamorata.
"Sir Lupus, and you, Cecile and Ruyven," I said, in a low voice, "I am going on a little journey, and shall be absent for a few days, perhaps longer. I wish to take this opportunity to say good-bye, and to thank you all for your great kindness to me."
"Where the devil are you going?" snapped Sir Lupus.
"I am not at liberty to say, sir; perhaps General Schuyler may tell you."
The patroon looked up at me sorrowfully. "George! George!" he said, "has it touched us already?"
"Yes, sir," I muttered.
"What?" whispered Cecile.
"Father means the war. Our cousin Ormond is going to the war," exclaimed Ruyven, softly.
There was a pause; then Cecile flung both arms around my neck and kissed me in choking silence. The patroon's great, fat hand sought mine and held it; Ruyven placed his arm about my shoulder. Never had I imagined that I could love these kinsmen of mine so dearly.
"There's always a bed for you here; remember that, my lad," growled the patroon.
"Take me, too," sniffed Ruyven.
"Eh! What?" cried the patroon. "I'lltake you; oh yes--over my knee, you impudent puppy! Let me catch you sneaking off to this war and I'll--"
Ruyven relapsed into silence, staring at me in troubled fascination.
"The house is yours, George," grunted the patroon. "Help yourself to what you need for your journey."
"Thank you, sir; say good-bye to the children, kiss them all for me, Cecile. And don't run away and get married until I come back."
A stifled snivel was my answer.
Then into the room shuffled old Cato, and began to extinguish the candles; and I saw the green curtain twitch, and everybody whispered "Ah-h!"
General Schuyler arose in the dim light when the last candle was blown out. "You are to guess the title of this picture!" he said, in his even, pleasant voice. "It is a famous picture, familiar to all present, I think, and celebrated in the Old World as well as in the New.... Draw the curtain, Cato!"
Suddenly the curtain parted, and there stood the living, breathing figure of the "Maid-at-Arms." Her thick, gold hair clouded her cheeks, her eyes, blue as wood-violets, looked out sweetly from the shadowy background, her armor glittered.
A stillness fell over the dark room; slowly the green curtains closed; the figure vanished.
There was a roar of excited applause in my ears as I stumbled forward through the darkness, groping my way towards the dim gun-room through which she must pass to regain her chamber by the narrow stairway which led to the attic.
She was not there; I waited a moment, listening in the darkness, and presently I heard, somewhere overhead, a faint ringing sound and the deadened clash of armed steps on the garret floor.
"Dorothy!" I called.
The steps ceased, and I mounted the steep stairway and came out into the garret, and saw her standing there, her armor outlined against the window and the pale starlight streaming over her steel shoulder-pieces.
I shall never forget her as she stood looking at me, her steel-clad figure half buried in the darkness, yet dimly apparent in its youthful symmetry where the starlight fell on the curve of cuisse and greave, glimmering on the inlaid gorget with an unearthly light, and stirring pale sparks like fire-flies tangled in her hair.
"Did I please you?" she whispered. "Did I not surprise you? Cato scoured the armor for me; it is the same armor she wore, they say--the Maid-at-Arms. And it fits me like my leather clothes, limb and body. Hark!... They are applauding yet! But I do not mean to spoil the magic picture by a senseless repetition.... And some are sure to say a ghost appeared.... Why are you so silent?... Did I not please you?"
She flung casque and sword on the floor, cleared her white forehead from its tumbled veil of hair; then bent nearer, scanning my eyes closely.
"Is aught amiss?" she asked, under her breath.
I turned and slowly traversed the upper hallway to her chamber door, she walking beside me in silence, striving to read my face.
"Let your maids disarm you," I whispered; "then dress and tap at my door. I shall be waiting."
"Tell me now, cousin."
"No; dress first."
"It will take too long to do my hair. Oh, tell me! You have frightened me."
"It is nothing to frighten you," I said. "Put off your armor and come to my door. Will you promise?"
"Ye-es," she faltered; and I turned and hastened to my own chamber, to prepare for the business which lay before me.
I dressed rapidly, my thoughts in a whirl; but I had scarcely slung powder-horn and pouch, and belted in my hunting-shirt, when there came a rapping at the door, and I opened it and stepped out into the dim hallway.
At sight of me she understood, and turned quite white, standing there in her boudoir-robe of China silk, her heavy, burnished hair in two loose braids to her waist.
In silence I lifted her listless hands and kissed the fingers, then the cold wrists and palms. And I saw the faint circlet of the ghost-ring on her bridal finger, and touched it with my lips.
Then, as I stepped past her, she gave a low cry, hiding her face in her hands, and leaned back against the wall, quivering from head to foot.
"Don't go!" she sobbed. "Don't go--don't go!"
And because I durst not, for her own sake, turn or listen, I reeled on, seeing nothing, her faint cry ringing in my ears, until darkness and a cold wind struck me in the face, and I saw horses waiting, black in the starlight, and the gigantic form of a man at their heads, fringed cape blowing in the wind.
"All ready?" I gasped.
"All is ready and the night fine! We ride by Broadalbin, I think.... Whoa! back up! you long-eared ass! D'ye think to smell a Mohawk?... Or is it your comrades on the picket-rope that bedevil you?... Look at the troop-horses, sir, all a-rolling on their backs in the sand, four hoofs waving in the air. It's easier on yon sentry than when they're all a-squealin' and a-bitin'--This way, sir. We swing by the bush and pick up the Iroquois trail 'twixt the Hollow and Mayfield."