The Maid-At-Arms: A Novel Page 6

  IV

  SIR LUPUS

  I had bathed and slept, and waked once more to the deep, resonant notesof a conch-shell blowing; and I still lay abed, blinking at the sunsetthrough the soiled panes of my western window, when Cato scraped at thedoor to enter, bearing my sea-boxes one by one.

  Reaching behind me, I drew the keys from under my pillow and tossed themto the solemn black, lying still once more to watch him unlock my boxesand lay out my clothes and linen to the air.

  "Company to sup, suh; gemmen from de No'th an' Guy Pahk, suh," hehinted, rolling his eyes at me and holding up my best wristbands, madeof my mother's lace.

  "I shall dress soberly, Cato," said I, yawning. "Give me a narrowqueue-ribbon, too."

  The old man mumbled and muttered, fussing about among the boxes until hefound a full suit of silver-gray, silken stockings, and hound's-tongueshoes to match.

  "Dishyere clothes sho' is sober," he reflected aloud. "One li'l golevine a-crawlin' on de cuffs, nuvver li'l gole vine a-creepin' up dewes'coat, gole buckles on de houn'-tongue--Whar de hat? Hat done loosehisse'f! Here de hat! Gole lace on de hat--Cap'in Ormond sho' is qualitygemm'n. Ef he ain't, how come dishyere gole lace on de hat?"

  "Come, Cato," I remonstrated, "am I dressing for a ball at Augustine,that you stand there pulling my finery about to choose and pick? I tellyou to give me a sober suit!" I snatched a flowered robe from the bed'sfoot-board, pulled it about me, and stepped to the floor.

  Cato brought a chair and bowl, and, when I had washed once more I seatedmyself while the old man shook out my hair, dusted it to its naturalbrown, then fell to combing and brushing. My hair, with its obstinateinclination to curl, needed neither iron nor pomade; so, silvering itwith my best French powder, he tied the short queue with a black ribbonand dusted my shoulders, critically considering me the while.

  "A plain shirt," I said, briefly.

  He brought a frilled one.

  "I want a plain shirt," I insisted.

  "Dishyere sho't am des de plaines' an' de--"

  "You villain, don't I know what I want?"

  "No, suh!"

  And, upon my honor, I could not get that black mule to find me the shirtthat I wished to wear. More than that, he utterly refused to permit meto dress in a certain suit of mouse-color without lace, but actuallybundled me into the silver-gray, talking volubly all the while; and I,half laughing and wholly vexed, almost minded to go burrowing myselfamong my boxes and risk peppering silk and velvet with hair-powder.

  But he dressed me as it suited him, patting my silk shoes into shape,smoothing coat-skirt and flowered vest-flap, shaking out the lace onstock and wrist with all the delicacy and cunning of a lady's-maid.

  "Idiot!" said I, "am I tricked out to please you?"

  "You sho' is, Cap'in Ormond, suh," he said, the first faint approach toa grin that I had seen wrinkling his aged face. And with that he hungmy small-sword, whisked the powder from my shoulders with a bit ofcambric, chose a laced handkerchief for me, and, ere I couldremonstrate, passed a tiny jewelled pin into my powdered hair, where itsparkled like a frost crystal.

  "I'm no macaroni!" I said, angrily; "take it away!"

  "Cap'in Ormond, suh, you sho' is de fines' young gemm'n in de province,suh," he pleaded. "Dess regahd yo'se'f, suh, in dishyere lookum-glass.What I done tell you? Look foh yo'se'f, suh! Cap'in Butler gwine see howde quality gemm'n fixes up! Suh John Johnsing he gwine see! Dat oleKunnel Butler he gwine see, too! Heah yo' is, suh, dess a-bloomin' lakde pink-an'-silver ghos' flower wif de gole heart."

  "Cato," I asked, curiously, "why do you take pride in tricking out astranger to dazzle your own people?"

  The old man stood silent a moment, then looked up with the mild eyes ofan aged hound long privileged in honorable retirement.

  "Is you sho' a Ormond, suh?"

  "Yes, Cato."

  "Might you come f'om de Spanish grants, suh, long de Halifax?"

  "Yes, yes; but we are English now. How did you know I came from theHalifax?"

  "I knowed it, suh; I knowed h'it muss be dat-away!"

  "How do you know it, Cato?"

  "I spec' you favor yo' pap, suh, de ole Kunnel--"

  "My father!"

  "Mah ole marster, suh; I was raised 'long Matanzas, suh. Spanish mandone cotch me on de Tomoka an' ship me to Quebec. Ole Suh WilliamJohnsing, he done buy me; Suh John, he done sell me; Mars Varick, he buyme; an' hyah ah is, suh--heart dess daid foh de Halifax san's."

  He bent his withered head and laid his face on my hands, but no tearfell.

  After a moment he straightened, snuffled, and smiled, opening his lipswith a dry click.

  "H'it's dat-a-way, suh. Ole Cato dess 'bleged to fix up de youngmarster. Pride o' fambly, suh. What might you be desirin' now, Mars'Ormond? One li'l drap o' musk on yoh hanker? Lawd save us, but you sho'is gallus dishyere day! Spec' Miss Dorry gwine blink de vi'lets in hereyes. Yaas, suh. Miss Dorry am de only one, suh; de onliest Ormond indishyere fambly. Seem mos' lak she done throw back to our folk, suh.Miss Dorry ain' no Varick; Miss Dorry all Ormond, suh, dess lak you an'me! Yaas, suh, h'its dat-a-way; h'it sho' is, Mars' Ormond."

  I drew a deep, quivering breath. Home seemed so far, and the old slavewould never live to see it. I felt as though this steel-cold North heldme, too, like a trap--never to unclose.

  "Cato," I said, abruptly, "let us go home."

  He understood; a gleam of purest joy flickered in his eyes, then diedout, quenched in swelling tears.

  He wept awhile, standing there in the centre of the room, smearing thetears away with the flapping sleeves of his tarnished livery, while,like a committed panther, I paced the walls, to and fro, to and fro,heart aching for escape.

  The light in the west deepened above the forests; a long, glowing crackopened between two thunderous clouds, like a hint of hidden hell, firingthe whole sky. And in the blaze the crows winged, two and two, likewitches flying home to the infernal pit, now all ablaze and kindlingcoal on coal along the dark sky's sombre brink.

  Then the red bars faded on my wall to pink, to ashes; a fleck of rosycloud in mid-zenith glimmered and went out, and the round edges of theworld were curtained with the night.

  Behind me, Cato struck flint and lighted two tall candles; outside thelawn, near the stockade, a stable-lad set a conch-horn to his lips,blowing a deep, melodious cattle-call, and far away I heard themcoming--tin, ton! tin, ton! tinkle!--through the woods, slowly, slowly,till in the freshening dusk I smelled their milk and heard them lowingat the unseen pasture-bars.

  I turned sharply; the candle-light dazzled me. As I passed Cato, the oldman bowed till his coat-cuffs hung covering his dusky, wrinkled fingers.

  "When we go, we go together, Cato," I said, huskily, and so passed onthrough the brightly lighted hallway and down the stairs.

  Candle-light glimmered on the dark pictures, the rusted circles of arms,the stags' heads with their dusty eyes. A servant in yellow livery,lounging by the door, rose from the settle as I appeared and threw openthe door on the left, announcing, "Cap'm Ormond!" in a slovenly fashionwhich merited a rebuke from somebody.

  The room into which the yokel ushered me appeared to be a library, lowof ceiling, misty with sour pipe smoke, which curled and floated level,wavering as the door closed behind me.

  Through the fog, which nigh choked me with its staleness, I perceived abulky gentleman seated at ease, sucking a long clay pipe, his bulginglegs cocked up on a card-table, his little, inflamed eyes twinkling redin the candle-light.

  "YOU'RE MY COUSIN, GEORGE ORMOND, OR I'M THE FATTEST LIARSOUTH OF MONTREAL!".]

  "Captain Ormond?" he cried. "Captain be damned; you're my cousin, GeorgeOrmond, or I'm the fattest liar south of Montreal! Who the devil put 'emup to captaining you--eh? Was it that minx Dorothy? Dammy, I took itthat the old Colonel had come to plague me from his grave--your father,sir! And a cursed fine fellow, if he was second cousin to a Varick,which he could not help, not he!--though I've heard him damn his luck tomy very face, sir! Y
es, sir, under my very nose!"

  He fell into a fit of fat coughing, and seized a glass ofspirits-and-water which stood on the table near his feet. The draughtallayed his spasm; he wiped his broad, purple face, chuckled, tossed offthe last of the liquor with a smack, and held out a mottled, fat hand,bare of wrist-lace. "Here's my heart with it, George!" he cried. "I'dstand up to greet you, but it takes ten minutes for me to find thesefeet o' mine, so I'll not keep you waiting. There's a chair; fill itwith that pretty body of yours; cock up your feet--here's a pipe--here'ssnuff--here's the best rum north o' Norfolk, which that ass Dunmore laidin ashes to spite those who kicked him out!"

  He squeezed my hand affectionately. "Pretty bird! Dammy, but you'llbreak a heart or two, you rogue! Oh, you are your father all over again;it's that way with you Ormonds--all alike, and handsome as that youngdevil Lucifer; too proud to be proud o' your dukes and admirals, and athousand years of waiting on your King. As lads together your fatherused to take me by the ear and cuff me, crying, 'Beast! beast! You eatand drink too much! An Ormond's heart lies not in his belly!' And Ikicked back, fighting stoutly for the crust he dragged me from. Dammy,why not? There's more Dutch Varick than Irish Ormond in me. Rememberthat, George, and we shall get on famously together, you and I. Forgetit, and we quarrel. Hey! fill that tall Italian glass for a toast. Igive you the family, George. May they keep tight hold on what is theirsthrough all this cursed war-folly. Here's to the patroons, Godbless 'em!"

  Forced by courtesy to drink ere I had yet tasted meat, I did my partwith the best grace I could muster, turning the beautiful glassdownward, with a bow to my host.

  "The same trick o' grace in neck and wrist," he muttered, thickly,wiping his lips. "All Ormond, all Ormond, George, like that vixen o'mine, Dorothy. Hey! It's not too often that good blood throws back; themongrel shows oftenest; but that big chit of a lass is no Varick; she'sOrmond to the bones of her. Ruyven's a red-head; there's red in the resto' them, and the slow Dutch blood. But Dorothy's eyes are like thosewild iris-blooms that purple all our meadows, and she has the Ormondhair--that thick, dull gold, which that French Ormond, of King Stephen'stime, was dowered with by his Saxon mother, Helen. Eh? You see, I readit in that book your father left us. If I'm no Ormond, I like to findout why, and I love to dispute the Ormond claim which Walter Butlermakes--he with his dark face and hair, and those dusky, golden eyes ofhis, which turn so yellow when I plague him--the mad wild-cat thathe is."

  Another fit of choking closed his throat, and again he soaked it openwith his chilled toddy, rattling the stick to stir it well ere hedrained it at a single, gobbling gulp.

  A faint disgust took hold on me, to sit there smothering in the fumes ofpipe and liquor, while my gross kinsman guzzled and gabbled andguzzled again.

  "George," he gasped, mopping his crimsoned face, "I'll tell you now thatwe Varicks and you Ormonds must stand out for neutrality in this war.The Butlers mean mischief; they're mad to go to fighting, and that meansour common ruin. They'll be here to-night, damn them."

  "Sir Lupus," I ventured, "we are all kinsmen, the Butlers, the Varicks,and the Ormonds. We are to gather here for self-protection during thisrebellion. I am sure that in the presence of this common danger therecan arise no family dissension."

  "Yes, there can!" he fairly yelled. "Here am I risking life and propertyto persuade these Butlers that their interest lies in strictestneutrality. If Schuyler at Albany knew they visited me, his dragoonswould gallop into Varick Manor and hang me to my barn door! Here am I, Isay, doing my best to keep 'em quiet, and there's Sir John Johnson andall that bragging crew from Guy Park combating me--nay, would youbelieve their impudence?--striving to win me to arm my tenantry for thisKing of England, who has done nothing for me, save to make a knight ofme to curry favor with the Dutch patroons in New York province--orstate, as they call it now! And now I have you to count on for support,and we'll whistle another jig for them to-night, I'll warrant!"

  He seized his unfilled glass, looked into it, and pushed it from himpeevishly.

  "Dammy," he said, "I'll not budge for them! I have thousands of acres,hundreds of tenants, farms, sugar-bushes, manufactories for pearl-ash,grist-mills, saw-mills, and I'm damned if I draw sword either way! Am Ia madman, to risk all this? Am I a common fool, to chance anything now?Do they think me in my dotage? Indeed, sir, if I drew blade, if I asmuch as raised a finger, both sides would come swarming all overus--rebels a-looting and a-shooting, Indians whooping off my cattle,firing my barns, scalping my tenants--rebels at heart every one, and I'dnot care tuppence who scalped 'em but that they pay me rent!"

  He clinched his fat fists and beat the air angrily.

  "I'm lord of this manor!" he bawled. "I'm Patroon Varick, and I'll do asI please!"

  Amazed and mortified at his gross frankness, I sat silent, not knowingwhat to say. Interest alone swayed him; the right and wrong of thisquarrel were nothing to him; he did not even take the trouble to pay ahypocrite's tribute to principle ere he turned his back on it;selfishness alone ruled, and he boasted of it, waving his short, fatarms in anger, or struggling to extend them heavenward, in protestagainst these people who dared urge him to declare himself and stand orfall with the cause he might embrace.

  A faint disgust stirred my pulse. We Ormonds had as much to lose as he,but yelled it not to the skies, nor clamored of gain and loss in suchunseemly fashion, ignoring higher motive.

  "Sir Lupus," I said, "if we can remain neutral with honor, that surelyis wisest. But can we?"

  "Remain neutral! Of course we can!" he shouted.

  "Honorably?"

  "Eh? Where's honor in this mob-rule that breaks out in Boston to spotthe whole land with a scurvy irruption! Honor? Where is it in this viledistemper which sets old neighbors here a-itching to cut each other'sthroats? One says, 'You're a Tory! Take that!' and slips a knife intohim. T'other says, 'You're a rebel!' Bang!--and blows his head off!Honor? Bah!"

  He removed his wig to wipe his damp and shiny pate, then set the wig onaskew and glared at me out of his small, ruddy eyes.

  "I'm for peace," he said, "and I care not who knows it. Then, whetherTory or rebel win the day, here am I, holding to my own with both handsand caring nothing which rag flies overhead, so that it brings peace andplenty to honest folk. And, mark me, then we shall live to see theseplumed and gold-laced glory-mongers slinking round to beg their bread atour back doors. Dammy, let 'em bellow now! Let 'em shout for war! I'llkeep my mills busy and my agent walking the old rent-beat. If they canfill their bellies with a mess of glory I'll not grudge them what theycan snatch; but I'll fill mine with food less spiced, and we'll seewhich of us thrives best--these sons of Mars or the old patroon whostays at home and dips his nose into nothing worse than old Madeira!"

  He gave me a cunning look, pushed his wig partly straight, and lay back,puffing quietly at his pipe.

  I hesitated, choosing my words ere I spoke; and at first he listenedcontentedly, nodding approval, and pushing fresh tobacco into his claywith a fat forefinger.

  I pointed out that it was my desire to save my lands from ravage, ruin,and ultimate confiscation by the victors; that for this reason he hadsummoned me, and I had come to confer with him and with other branchesof our family, seeking how best this might be done.

  I reminded him that, from his letters to me, I had acquired a fairknowledge of the estates endangered; that I understood that Sir JohnJohnson owned enormous tracts in Tryon County which his great father,Sir William, had left him when he died; that Colonel Claus, Guy Johnson,the Butlers, father and son, and the Varicks, all held estates ofgreatest value; and that these estates were menaced, now by Tory, now byrebel, and the lords of these broad manors were alternately solicitedand threatened by the warring factions now so bloodily embroiled.

  "We Ormonds can comprehend your dismay, your distress, your doubts," Isaid. "Our indigo grows almost within gunshot of the British outpost atNew Smyrna; our oranges, our lemons, our cane, our cotton, must witherat a blast from the cannon of Saint Augustin
e. The rebels in Georgiathreaten us, the Tories at Pensacola warn us, the Seminoles aregathering, the Minorcans are arming, the blacks in the Carolinas watchus, and the British regiments at Augustine are all itching to ravage andplunder and drive us into the sea if we declare not for the King whopays them."

  Sir Lupus nodded, winked, and fell to slicing tobacco with a small, goldknife.

  "We're all Quakers in these days--eh, George? We can't fight--no, wereally can't! It's wrong, George,--oh, very wrong." And he fella-chuckling, so that his paunch shook like a jelly.

  "I think you do not understand me," I said.

  He looked up quickly.

  "We Ormonds are only waiting to draw sword."

  "Draw sword!" he cried. "What d'ye mean?"

  "I mean that, once convinced our honor demands it, we cannot choose butdraw."

  "Don't be an ass!" he shouted. "Have I not told you that there's nohonor in this bloody squabble? Lord save the lad, he's mad asWalter Butler!"

  "Sir Lupus," I said, angrily, "is a man an ass to defend his own land?"

  "He is when it's not necessary! Lie snug; nobody is going to harm you.Lie snug, with both arms around your own land."

  "I meant my own native land, not the miserable acres my slaves plant tofeed and clothe me."

  He glared, twisting his long pipe till the stem broke short.

  "Well, which land do you mean to defend, England or these colonies?" heasked, staring.

  "That is what I desire to learn, sir," I said, respectfully. "That iswhy I came North. With us in Florida, all is, so far, faction andjealousy, selfish intrigue and prejudiced dispute. The truth, the vitaltruth, is obscured; the right is hidden in a petty storm where localtyrants fill the air with dust, striving each to blind the other."

  I leaned forward earnestly. "There must be right and wrong in thisdispute; Truth stands naked somewhere in the world. It is for us to findher. Why, mark me, Sir Lupus, men cannot sit and blink at villany, norlook with indifference on a struggle to the death. One side is right,t'other wrong. And we must learn how matters stand."

  "And what will it advance us to learn how matters stand?" he said, stillstaring, as though I were some persistent fool vexing him withunleavened babble. "Suppose these rebels are right--and, dammy, but Ithink they are--and suppose our King's troops are roundly trouncingthem--and I think they are, too--do you mean to say you'd draw sword andgo a-prowling, seeking for some obliging enemy to knock you in the heador hang you for a rebel to your neighbor's apple-tree?"

  "Something of that sort," I said, good-humoredly.

  "Oh, Don Quixote once more, eh?" he sneered, too mad to raise his voiceto the more convenient bellow which seemed to soothe him as much as itdistressed his listener. "Well, you've got a fool's mate in Sir GeorgeCovert, the insufferable dandy! And all you two need is a pair o' Panzasand a brace of windmills. Bah!" He grew angrier. "Bah, I say!" He brokeout: "Damnation, sir! Go to the devil!"

  I said, calmly: "Sir Lupus, I hear your observation with patience; Inaturally receive your admonition with respect, but your bearing towardsme I resent. Pray, sir, remember that I am under your roof now, but whenI quit it I am free to call you to account."

  "What! You'd fight me?"

  "Scarcely, sir; but I should expect somebody to make your words good."

  "Bah! Who? Ruyven? He's a lad! Dorothy is the only one to--" He brokeout into a hoarse laugh. "Oh, you Ormonds! I might have saved myself thepains. And now you want to flesh your sword, it matters not inwhom--Tory, rebel, neutral folk, they're all one to you, so that youfight! George, don't take offence; I naturally swear at those I differwith. I may love 'em and yet curse 'em like a sailor! Know me better,George! Bear with me; let me swear at you, lad! It's all I can do."

  He spread out his fat hands imploringly, recrossing his enormous legs onthe card-table. "I can't fight, George; I would gladly, but I'm too fat.Don't grudge me a few kindly oaths now and then. It's all I can do."

  I was seized with a fit of laughter, utterly uncontrollable. Sir Lupusobserved me peevishly, twiddling his broken pipe, and I saw he longed tolaunch it at my head, which made me laugh till his large, round, redface grew grayer and foggier through the mirth-mist in my eyes.

  "Am I so droll?" he snapped.

  "Oh yes, yes, Sir Lupus," I cried, weakly. "Don't grudge me this laugh.It is all I can do."

  A grim smile came over his broad face.

  "Touched!" he said. "I've a fine pair on my hands now--you and SirGeorge Covert--to plague me and prick me with your wit, like mosquitoesround a drowsy man. A fine family conference we shall have, with SirJohn Johnson and the Butlers shooting one way, you and Sir George Covertfiring t'other, and me betwixt you, singing psalms and getting all yourarrows in me, fore and aft."

  "Who is Sir George Covert?" I asked.

  "One o' the Calverts, Lord Baltimore's kin, a sort of cousin of theOrmond-Butlers, a supercilious dandy, a languid macaroni; plagues me,damn his impudence, but I can't hate him--no! Hate him? Faith, I owe himmore than any man on earth ... and love him for it--which is strange!"

  "Has he an estate in jeopardy?" I inquired.

  "Yes. He has a mansion in Albany, too, which he leases. He bought a mileon the great Vlaic and lives there all alone, shooting, fishing, playingthe guitar o' moony nights, which they say sets the wild-cats wilder.Mark me, George, a petty mile square and a shooting shanty, and thislanguid ass says he means to fight for it. Lord help the man! I told himI'd buy him out to save him from embroiling us all, and what d' yethink? He stared at me through his lorgnons as though I had been somequeer, new bird, and, says he, 'Lud!' says he,' there's a world o'harmless sport in you yet, Sir Lupus, but you don't spell your titleright,' says he. 'Change the a to an o and add an ell for good measure,and there you have it,' says he, a-drawling. With which he minced off,dusting his nose with his lace handkerchief, and I'm damned if I see thejoke yet in spelling patroon with an o for the a and an ell forgood measure!"

  He paused, out of breath, to pour himself some spirits. "Joke?" hemuttered. "Where the devil is it? I see no wit in that." And he pickedup a fresh pipe from the rack on the table and moistened the clay withhis fat tongue.

  We sat in silence for a while. That this Sir George Covert should callthe patroon a poltroon hurt me, for he was kin to us both; yet it seemedthat there might be truth in the insolent fling, for selfishness andpoltroonery are too often linked.

  I raised my eyes and looked almost furtively at my cousin Varick. He hadno neck; the spot where his bullet head joined his body was marked onlyby a narrow and soiled stock. His eyes alone relieved the monotony of astolid countenance; all else was fat.

  Sunk in my own reflections, lying back in my arm-chair, I watcheddreamily the smoke pouring from the patroon's pipe, floating away, tohang wavering across the room, now lifting, now curling downward, asthough drawn by a hidden current towards the unwaxed oaken floor.

  No, there was no Ormond in him; he was all Varick, all Dutch, allpatroon.

  I had never seen any man like him save once, when a red-faced Albanymerchant came a-waddling to the sea-islands looking for cotton andindigo, and we all despised him for the eagerness with which he trimmedhis shillings at the Augustine taverns. Thrift is a word abused, andserves too often as a mask for avarice.

  As I sat there fashioning wise saws and proverbs in my busy mind, thehall door opened and the first guest was announced--Sir George Covert.

  And in he came, a well-built, lazy gentleman of forty, swinginggracefully on a pair o' legs no man need take shame in; ruffles on cuffand stock, hair perfumed, powdered, and rolled twice in French puffs,and on his hand a brilliant that sparkled purest fire. Under one arm hebore his gold-edged hat, and as he strolled forward, peering coollyabout him through his quizzing glass, I thought I had never seen suchgraceful assurance, nor such insolently handsome eyes, marred by thefaint shadows of dissipation.

  Sir Lupus nodded a welcome and blew a great cloud of smoke into the air.

  "Ah," observed Sir Geo
rge, languidly, "Vesuvius in irruption?"

  "How de do," said Sir Lupus, suspiciously.

  "The mountain welcomes Mohammed," commented Sir George. "Mohammedgreets the mountain! How de do, Sir Lupus! Ah!" He turned gracefullytowards me, bowing. "Pray present me, Sir Lupus."

  "My cousin, George Ormond," said Sir Lupus. "George first, Georgesecond," he added, with a sneer.

  "No relation to George III., I trust, sir?" inquired Sir George,anxiously, offering his cool, well-kept hand.

  "No," said I, laughing at his serious countenance and returning hisclasp firmly.

  "That's well, that's well," murmured Sir George, apparently vastlyrelieved, and invited me to take snuff with him.

  We had scarcely exchanged a civil word or two ere the servant announcedCaptain Walter Butler, and I turned curiously, to see a dark, gracefulyoung man enter and stand for a moment staring haughtily straight at me.He wore a very elegant black-and-orange uniform, without gorget; a blackmilitary cloak hung from his shoulders, caught up in his sword-knot.

  With a quick movement he raised his hand and removed his officer's hat,and I saw on his gauntlets of fine doeskin the Ormond arms, heavilyembroidered. Instantly the affectation displeased me.

  "Come to the mountain, brother prophet," said Sir George, waving hishand towards the seated patroon. He came, lightly as a panther, hisdark, well-cut features softening a trifle; and I thought him handsomein his uniform, wearing his own dark hair unpowdered, tied in a shortqueue; but when he turned full face to greet Sir George Covert, I wasastonished to see the cruelty in his almost perfect features, which weresmooth as a woman's, and lighted by a pair of clear, dark-golden eyes.

  Ah, those wonderful eyes of Walter Butler--ever-changing eyes, nowalmost black, glimmering with ardent fire, now veiled and amber, nowsuddenly a shallow yellow, round, staring, blank as the eyes of a cagedeagle; and, still again, piercing, glittering, narrowing to a slit.Terrible mad eyes, that I have never forgotten--never, never can forget.

  As Sir Lupus named me, Walter Butler dropped Sir George's hand andgrasped mine, too eagerly to please me.

  "Ormond and Ormond-Butler need no friends to recommend them each to theother," he said. And straightway fell a-talking of the greatness of theArrans and the Ormonds, and of that duke who, attainted, fled to Franceto save his neck.

  I strove to be civil, yet he embarrassed me before the others, babblingof petty matters interesting only to those whose taste invites them togo burrowing in parish records and ill-smelling volumes written by sometoad-eater to his patron.

  For me, I am an Ormond, and I know that it would be shameful if I turnedrascal and besmirched my name. As to the rest--the dukes, the glory, thegreatness--I hold it concerns nobody but the dead, and it is afoolishness to plague folks' ears by boasting of deeds done by those younever knew, like a Seminole chanting ere he strikes the painted post.

  Also, this Captain Walter Butler was overlarding his phrases with"Cousin Ormond," so that I was soon cloyed, and nigh ready to damn therelationship to his face.

  Sir Lupus, who had managed to rise by this time, waddled off into thedrawing-room across the hallway, motioning us to follow; and barely intime, too, for there came, shortly, Sir John Johnson with a company ofladies and gentlemen, very gay in their damasks, brocades, and velvets,which the folds of their foot-mantles, capuchins, and cardinalsrevealed.

  The gentlemen had come a-horseback, and all wore very elegant uniformsunder their sober cloaks, which were linked with gold chains at thethroat; the ladies, prettily powdered and patched, appeared a trifleover-colored, and their necks and shoulders, innocent of buffonts,gleamed pearl-tinted above their gay breast-knots. And they made asparkling bevy as they fluttered up the staircase to their cloak-room,while Sir John entered the drawing-room, followed by the othergentlemen, and stood in careless conversation with the patroon, whileold Cato disembarrassed him of cloak and hat.

  Sir John Johnson, son of the great Sir William, as I first saw him was aman of less than middle age, flabby, cold-eyed, heavy of foot and hand.On his light-colored hair he wore no powder; the rather long queue wastied with a green hair-ribbon; the thick, whitish folds of his doublechin rested on a buckled stock.

  For the rest, he wore a green-and-gold uniform of very elegantcut--green being the garb of his regiment, the Royal Greens, as Ilearned afterwards--and his buff-topped boots and his metals werebrilliant and plainly new.

  When the patroon named me to him he turned his lack-lustre eyes on meand offered me a large, damp hand.

  In turn I was made acquainted with the several officers in hissuite--Colonel John Butler, father of Captain Walter Butler, broad andsquat, a withered prophecy of what the son might one day be; ColonelDaniel Claus, a rather merry and battered Indian fighter; Colonel GuyJohnson, of Guy Park, dark and taciturn; a Captain Campbell, and aCaptain McDonald of Perth.

  All wore the green uniform save the Butlers; all greeted me withparticular civility and conducted like the respectable company theyappeared to be, politely engaging me in pleasant conversation, desiringnews from Florida, or complimenting me upon my courtesy, which, theyvowed, had alone induced me to travel a thousand miles for the sake ofpermitting my kinsmen the pleasure of welcoming me.

  One by one the gentlemen retired to exchange their spurred top-boots forwhite silk stockings and silken pumps, and to arrange their hair orstick a patch here and there, and rinse their hands in rose-water tocleanse them of the bridle's odor.

  They were still thronging the gun-room, and I stood alone in thedrawing-room with Sir George Covert, when a lady entered and courtesiedlow as we bowed together.

  And truly she was a beauty, with her skin of rose-ivory, her powderedhair a-gleam with brilliants, her eyes of purest violet, a friendlysmile hovering on her fresh, scarlet mouth.

  "Well, sir," she said, "do you not know me?" And to Sir George: "I vow,he takes me for a guest in my own house!"

  And then I knew my cousin Dorothy Varick.

  "SHE SUFFERED US TO SALUTE HER HAND".]

  She suffered us to salute her hand, gazing the while about herindifferently; and, as I released her slender fingers and raised myhead, she, rounded arm still extended as though forgotten, snapped herthumb and forefinger together in vexation with a "Plague on it! There'sthat odious Sir John!"

  "Is Sir John Johnson so offensive to your ladyship?" inquired SirGeorge, lazily.

  "Offensive! Have you not heard how the beast drank wine from my slipper!Never mind! I cannot endure him. Sir George, you must sit by me attable--and you, too, Cousin Ormond, or he'll come bothering." Sheglanced at the open door of the gun-room, a frown on her white brow."Oh, they're all here, I see. Sparks will fly ere sun-up. There'sCampbell, and McDonald, too, wi' the memory of Glencoe still stewingbetwixt them; and there's Guy Johnson, with a price on his head--andplenty to sell it for him in County Tryon, gentlemen! And there's youngWalter Butler, cursing poor Cato that he touched his spur in drawing offhis boots--if he strikes Cato I'll strike him! And where are their fineladies, Sir George? Still primping at the mirror? Oh, la!" She steppedback, laughing, raising her lovely arms a little. "Look at me. Am I welllaced, with nobody to aid me save Cecile, poor child, and Benny to holdthe candles--he being young enough for the office?"

  "Happy, happy Benny!" murmured Sir George, inspecting her through hisquizzing-glass from head to toe.

  "If you think it a happy office you may fill it yourself in future, SirGeorge," she said. "I never knew an ass who failed to bray in ecstasy atmention of a pair o' stays."

  Sir George stared, and said, "Aha! clever--very, very clever!" in sopatronizing a tone that Dorothy reddened and bit her lip in vexation.

  "That is ever your way," she said, "when I parry you to your confusion.Take your eyes from me, Sir George! Cousin Ormond, am I dressed to yourtaste or not?"

  She stood there in her gown of brocade, beautifully flowered in peachcolor, dainty, confident, challenging me to note one fault. Nor could I,from the gold hair-pegs in her hair to the
tip of her slim, pompadourshoes peeping from the lace of her petticoat, which she lifted a trifleto show her silken, flowered hose.

  And--"There!" she cried, "I gowned myself, and I wear no paint. I wishyou would tell them as much when they laugh at me."

  Now came the ladies, rustling down the stairway, and the gentlemen,strolling in from their toilet and stirrup-cups in the gun-room, and Inoted that all wore service-swords, and laid their pistols on the tablein the drawing-room.

  "Do they fear a surprise?" I whispered to Sir George Covert.

  "Oh yes; Jack Mount and the Stoners are abroad. But Sir John has a troopof his cut-throat horsemen picketed out around us. You see, Sir Johnbroke his parole, and Walter Butler is attainted, and it might go hardwith some of these gentlemen if General Schuyler's dragoons caught themhere, plotting nose to nose."

  "Who is this Jack Mount?" I asked, curiously, remembering my companionof the Albany road.

  "One of Cresap's riflemen," he drawled, "sent back here from Boston toraise the country against the invasion. They say he was a highwaymanonce, but we Tories"--he laughed shamelessly--"say many things in thesedays which may not help us at the judgment day. Wait, there's thatlittle rosebud, Claire Putnam, Sir John's flame. Take her in to table;she's a pretty little plaything. Lady Johnson, who was Polly Watts, isin Montreal, you see." He made a languid gesture with outspreadhands, smiling.

  The girl he indicated, Mistress Claire Putnam, was a fragile, willowycreature, over-thin, perhaps, yet wonderfully attractive and pretty, andthere was much of good in her face, and a tinge of pathos, too, for allher bright vivacity.

  "If Sir John Johnson put her away when he wedded Miss Watts," said SirGeorge, coolly, "I think he did it from interest and selfishcalculation, not because he ceased to love her in his bloodless, fishyfashion. And now that Lady Johnson has fled to Canada, Sir John makesno pretence of hiding his amours in the society which he haunts; nordoes that society take umbrage at the notorious relationship soimpudently renewed. We're a shameless lot, Mr. Ormond."

  At that moment I heard Sir John Johnson, at my elbow, saying to SirLupus: "Do you know what these damned rebels have had the impudence todo? I can scarce credit it myself, but it is said that their Congresshas adopted a flag of thirteen stripes and thirteen stars on a bluefield, and I'm cursed if I don't believe they mean to hoist the filthyrag in our very faces!"