The next few days were uneventful. Richard Maynadier, after staying until midnight, rode home, sober and sedate, with his body-servant, a fruitless effort of the men to keep him, by other means than simple persuasion, having failed. Equally futile had been Miss Stirling's politic allurements, and George Marbury's importunities.

Sir Edward Parkington had spent a number of hours with Judith Marbury, and was rather well pleased with them. Not that he had ventured on anything personal,—he was far too old a bird—but inferences from actions may be drawn, and he thought that she was not altogether dense. Enough, for the present, if she gathered that he had shown a slight partiality for her society. Let her get persuaded of that fact, before he proceeded further. He had all the summer before him, and the matter could be worked out, in that time—if it was to be worked out at all.

He had, also, paid due attention to the father. He had inspected his tobacco fields—had watched the slaves and servants at work—had listened to a minute description of the manner of curing and hogs-heading—in fine, had the whole industry expounded to him. And, with it all, he had been careful to show a quiet enthusiasm that did much to set right the indiscretion of the other morning. He wanted to relieve Marbury's mind of all distrust, and he took the very best means to accomplish it:—he evinced an interest in the other's work, and he grew confidential himself.

"I have not told any one, not even Colonel Sharpe," he said, as they were riding in from the fields, "the real object in my coming to America. I am thinking of settling here. Do not repeat it, please.—Yes, I know I can trust you, else I should not have spoken. I shall look around, and pick out a likely place, and if the price is not excessive, and if some other like matters can be arranged, I am about ready to become one of you."

"Maryland should be proud to welcome you!" Marbury exclaimed.

"Well, there are other ways of looking at it," said Parkington laughing. "Some people may say that I should be glad to come to Maryland. But that is neither here nor there; if the old residents will receive me, and let me be one of them, it is quite enough."

"There will be no trouble on that score—they will be glad enough to take you in!"

"That is very good of you," (including, by the "you," Marbury among the old residents), "I shall try to make a companionable neighbor. I wonder if there are any estates, in this part of the country, for sale—or which could be purchased for a reasonable amount. I like this section—it is a little farther South than Annapolis, and, besides, seems more fertile—better adapted for tobacco."

"It is, sir!—it is quite equal to Virginia.—And, speaking of places, you might get Rousby Hall, one of the finest we have. You have not seen it?"

"No, I have seen no place but this one—and it, I suppose, is not in the market."

Old Marbury shook his head, decisively.

"Not at any price!" he said. "But Rousby Hall has a woman for the heiress—she is here, now, young Mrs. Plater. Colonel Rousby, her father, might be willing to sell it, for a good price, and pass his winters in Annapolis, and his summers with his daughter, at Sotterly.... I do not know any other that could be had—Maynadier's is out of the question—and Plater's, and Fitzhugh's, and Snowden's, and Bladen's, and Ridgeley's—no, Rousby Hall is the only one.—Do you wish to see it?"

"Yes—sometime before we leave here—just a glance. I would not wish to appear, yet, you understand—not until my affairs are more definitely arranged."

"Very well," said Marbury. "Any help I can give is yours for the asking. Meanwhile, I can ascertain whether Colonel Rousby would consider selling."

"Yes—it would be very kind," said Parkington, as he dismounted. "Meanwhile, not a word."

"Hum-m!" thought Marbury. "I shall not be the one to tell it.... Going to settle here—maybe! He is not married—I wonder if Judith might take a fancy to him.... Hum-m!... She will have a very good sized dowery, and an Englishman does not despise such things.... Well, we shall see.... Hum-m!" And he went on to the wharf.

And Parkington, watching him ride down the avenue, was thinking.

"Let that idea sink in, Marbury. Sir Edward Parkington is considering settling here—and marrying—with your permission and a fitting competence. But Rousby Hall? There is not money enough won across the card tables, in all Maryland, to buy it,—and I have no other source of revenue.... I reckon, the girl herself will be sufficient; if I can win her, I will be content. Afterward, with father's generosity, we can consider Rousby Hall. And the girl is a beauty—ah, here she comes!—God, what a figure!"

"Whither away, Sir Edward?" she asked, seeing that he wore riding boots.

"No whither," he said. "I have just returned—your father and I were inspecting the fields."

"You are a guest after his own heart!" she laughed. "Are you really interested, or is it chargeable to good manners?"

"I am really interested—and one can learn much from your father."

"Yes, that they can," she said enthusiastically. "None in the Colony is better qualified from actual experience."

"And experience is what I want," he said. "You would not believe me, the other evening, that I am thinking seriously of making Maryland my home."

"Of course, not!" she answered.

"But I am in earnest," he insisted.

She looked at him, a moment, in silence. What was the meaning of this move. What could be its object. That he intended to remain, she never for a moment believed, but, why pretend? Here was a problem too difficult for her to solve—she would have to tell Maynadier.

"I ask you, however, not to disclose it, for the present," he continued. "I want to look around a bit—and pick out a place, and—you understand."

"No, I do not understand," she replied, implying much more than she conveyed; "but, if you wish, I shall hold it confidential until you release me—I fancy the notion will not linger overlong."

"Mademoiselle still doubts?" he smiled.

"Monsieur still plays on my credulity."

"You will see!"

"I shall be very glad to see!" she laughed, (meaning the end of his masquerade).

"What—my staying or my leaving?"

"Whatever is for the best," she evaded.

"Rather enigmatic!" he said. "Do you mean, the best for me, or the best for the Colony?"

"They should be identical—the best for the Colony should be the best for you."

"In theory, possibly, but not always in practice. The best thing for me may be to stay, but it may be the worst for the Colony."

"That can be determined only by trial," she said. "In the meantime, what do you think it will be?"

"Which brings us back to the starting point!" he laughed. "We have rounded the circle. I think it will be that I stay."

"Then, I hope it will prove pleasant and profitable."

"And you will stand my friend?" he asked.

"What makes you think I shall not?" she said, evasively.

"Nothing—I only wanted to have your promise safely filed away."

"I fancy every one will be glad to be your friend, Sir Edward,"—(smiling) "so long as you deserve it."

"So long as I deserve it," he repeated, with a laugh. "Do you think the time may come when they will deem it well to give me their backs?"

"Not at all!" she replied. "I would have said the same to any one—under similar circumstances."

His eyes studied her—he did not miss the qualifying phrase, but he took it to apply to him as an Englishman.

"If all my Annapolis acquaintances are as glad to have me one of them, as you are," he remarked, "my welcome will not turn my head."

"Are you in search of flattery, or do you honestly want what I think?"

"What you think; by all means, what you think," he said.

"Well, you have it—you cannot persuade me, that one of Sir Edward Parkington's standing, in London, can ever voluntarily become a Colonist. If he does, there must be a cause—and a cause means——"

"What, mademoiselle?"

She shrugged her pretty shoulders, "I do not know, monsieur; but I have a woman's intuition, and it tells me——"

"Yes," he said, "tells you what?"

She looked at him with a quizzical smile.

"That Sir Edward Parkington will never settle in the Colonies," she replied.

He thought of the dead man, in the grave by the seashore, near St. Mary's.

"Sir Edward is quite content with his present abode," he said, and laughed.

"Yes, for a time," thinking he referred to Hedgely Hall.

"For all time, and eternity, too."

"Am I to take that as compliment?" she asked.

"Not as a compliment—as the simple truth," he answered, very seriously,—too seriously, indeed, for it did not ring quite true, and she detected it.

"I fear that you equivocate," she cried. "You mean something which you do not say."

"I protest——"

"Be careful, lest you protest too much, Sir Edward."

"You are unjust," he declared—"what other meaning could I have?"

Again the shoulders did duty. "I am a poor guesser of motives—particularly, when they do not concern me," she answered.

"Unkind, unkind!" he cried—then they both laughed.

"Let us go in to breakfast," she said.

They were turning away, when the clatter of a galloping horse, attracted them, and up the avenue, at full speed, came Henry Marbury.

"Why, it is father!" she exclaimed—"what can be the matter? he is waving to us—what does he mean?"

"Stay here, I will meet him," said Parkington, and hurried down the steps.

At the same time, a negro groom ran out from the stables, and stood ready to take the horse.

"Go in! Go in! Close the house!" Marbury cried—"close the house, quick!—quick!"

"What?" shouted Parkington, the pounding of the hoofs drowning the words. "What do you say?"

"Close the house! quick!—quick!"

"Close the house! quick!" Parkington repeated to Judith.

A moment later, Marbury dashed up, flung the reins from him, and leaped down.

"Pirates!" he shouted. "Pirates!—they are coming!" pointing behind him—where, five hundred yards away, and barely distinguishable among the trees, a crowd of men were approaching on the run.

"Pirates!" said Parkington, incredulously. "Surely not!"

"Then, stay and welcome them, if you think so," called Marbury, rushing up the steps.

Parkington stayed long enough to get another view of the nearing men, then followed him.

Within, he found both order and confusion. The guests were just about to assemble for breakfast—some were down stairs, some about to come down, others just finishing their toilet. Marbury was standing in the hall giving orders to the blacks, who were frightened but still retained sufficient sense to do as they were told. Mr. Paca, Captain Herford, and the other men were closing the shutters on the lower floor, the women those on the floor above. Already the pirates had sent a detachment around to the rear of the house, keeping under cover of the stables, and escape for the women, by horseback, was cut off. George Marbury had managed to send a servant off, an instant before, however, to apprise the nearest plantations of their plight—and begging that they muster all the assistance in their power and hasten to the rescue.

Parkington looked on, for an instant, then, seeing Constable come from the library with a gun, he hastened in, took one from the rack, and returned to the front of the house. Old Marbury was standing in the doorway. The main body of the freebooters had halted a hundred yards away, while the leaders were taking council and observing the place. There could be no doubt, even at that distance, what they were—their variegated costumes and strange headgear proclaimed the riffraff of all lands. Cutlasses, daggers, swords, and pistols, were their weapons—none of them appeared to have a gun; they were wont to come quickly to close quarters, and, then, to show no mercy.

"Are pirates plentiful along this coast, Mr. Marbury?" inquired Sir Edward.

"Plentiful! I've never heard of a pirate on the inner Chesapeake."

"Well, they appear to be there, now!" Parkington laughed.

Marbury stared at him, "Man alive!" he said. "You don't seem to appreciate your danger."

"My danger is nothing," remarked Parkington, measuring the powder and ramming home the charge. "We men can only die; but the women!—God! I have seen one pirate crew at work, I want never to see another."

"They may not know the peril," said Marbury. "Promise me, Sir Edward, that, if the worst come, you will not let my daughter fall alive into their hands."

"I promise," Parkington answered. "Neither her nor any other, so long as I can wield a dagger."

The old man nodded. "Thank you," he said. Then:—"We have an abundance of rifles and ammunition, the house cannot be set on fire, save at the doors—and they can be defended—and the roof. We should hold out until help arrives." He turned and raised his voice: "Let every man to a window, and defend it with his life. We can expect no mercy, therefore show none."

Parkington took a window on the front, Constable the one beside him, Plater and Snowden similar ones across the hall, George and the others, were at the rear. The women were gathered in the drawing-room. They were very quiet—though, occasionally, a sob, half suppressed, gave evidence of the strain. Five minutes before they had only the breakfast in mind—now, death had replaced breakfast.

Marbury stood at the open door, waiting. There was a chance, the demands would be such that he could grant. All the cash and silver, in the house, he would gladly give them, if they would take it and go.

The leaders of the pirates still held council together. They could rate the possible strength of a ship, whether it was a likely prey, and what, if any, was its armament, and the number of its crew, but here was a new proposition: A house, with every window closed, and a man in the open doorway—a rifle in his hand.

"What do you make of it, Captain," said his second in command, a tall, red-bearded, heavy featured man, in a red silk shirt and breeches, and tall jackboots. He wore no head dress, other than his flaming hair. "It may be easy, and then again it may not."

"Ah! damn! You're a white-livered rogue!" exclaimed the one on the Captain's left, a very stout fellow, with a patch over one eye, and a bright red scar from chin to temple. "You're always for being careful—no wonder you've got the name of Coward—you——"

"Shut up!"—said the other—"We won't quarrel before strangers, but I tell you that you're a dirty dog, One Eye.—Put back your sword, or I'll break every bone in your damn body!"

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! I beg of you restrain yourselves!" said the Captain. "Remember, there is work before us. Afterward, we shall be glad to see you fight it out—though I question, not at all, that One Eye will lose as usual."

He drew out his snuff-box and, with all the air of a Court dandy, took a pinch of its contents, dusted the traces from his shoulder, with a fine white handkerchief, and replaced the box. He was a small man, his dress was black velvet, and there was nothing about him to distinguish him from a peaceful gentleman, save that his rapier was of somewhat unusual length, and hung a little forward, and ready to his hand.

"I am a bit perturbed, over what course to pursue," he continued. "We can board a ship, easy enough, but it is not quite the same with a house. The general aspect of the surrounding premises suggests that there is a goodly company concealed within, and, we can assume, prepared to defend to the uttermost." He paused, took a fresh pinch of snuff, the handkerchief was flourished again, and the box replaced. "I like to know something of the milk that is in the cocoanut before I crack it, but, I reckon, I shall have to take this one wholly on faith. I thought to surprise them, but that fellow on horseback upset my plans—for which he shall be turned over to your tender mercies, One Eye, if we take him alive."

"I'd sooner have my pick of the women, if there be any," was the surly answer.

"If any woman wants you, she may take you," said the Captain, gently. "Otherwise, you know the rules."

Whereat, the Coward laughed mockingly and twirled his moustache, while One Eye cursed him under his breath.

"Well, are we going to rest here all day?" he exclaimed. "If we are not to attack, let us back to the brig. We would be in nice case if some one captured her, while we're nosing around ashore—this is a crazy expedition, anyway, so far from the ship."

"The only thing you are fit for," said the Captain, "is to stir up trouble. We've never overhauled a prize, but it ought to have had more treasure or more girls aboard. It is an awful affliction, One Eye, to have it so in the blood. But there is some truth in what you say—we are a half mile from the brig and it is dangerous. Suppose you bear our terms to the man at the door, yonder."

"Not I, Captain! I'm ready to take my chances with the rest, but excuse me from walking up, alone, to be shot."

The other surveyed him with an amiable smile. "Afraid, are you——"

"No, I'm not afraid," said One Eye, laying hand on his sword. "But I——"

"Then you will go?"

"No—I won't go."

"And you?" to the Coward.

"Sure, Captain, I'll go.—What are the terms?" was the prompt response. "I'm not afraid."

"Tut! tut!" said the Captain, stepping between them. "What did I tell you about squabbling. I only wanted to try the temper of you both. I will go myself. Await me here," and he walked briskly toward the house.

Marbury saw him coming, and went down to meet him.

"Monsieur!" greeted the pirate, and bowed, his hat across his heart.

Marbury's only response was a curt inclination of the head.

"We have called, this morning, monsieur," the pirate remarked, "to collect his Majesty's taxes, if it will occasion you no particular inconvenience."

"By 'his Majesty,' I presume you mean the Devil," said Marbury.

"Precisely, monsieur. Your mind is very quick—it is a great pleasure to deal with one so exceedingly discerning."

Marbury gave a shrug of deprecation.

"What is the amount of the taxes?" he asked.

"It rests with you, monsieur—how much can you pay for his Majesty's favor?"

"How am I to know that it will buy his favor?" said Marbury.

"You will have to take my word for it, monsieur."

Marbury smiled. "The word of a pirate?"

"Is doubtful security, you mean? I grant it, monsieur, but it is the best I can give you—you may take it or not, as you see fit. However, let me point out, that, by taking it, you stand to lose certain possessions but save your lives and the house; by not taking it, you will lose your lives and property as well. VoilÀ!"

"Not exactly," said Marbury. "I may be willing to pay a reasonable amount to avoid a nasty fight, but, that is all. If we fight, we are reasonably sure of saving our lives and the cash, and of sending a goodly number of your pirate crew to hell—yourself among them."

"There may be some casualties," was the answer, "but they will not be confined to one side, monsieur."

"Possibly not, sir, but we fight under cover of the house, you in the open. You have doubtless observed that there are holes in the shutters—air holes, they are, but quite as serviceable for guns. But, what you do not know is, that behind every window, both front and rear, stands a man, with rifles and ammunition—and a slave to serve him—you can judge, better than I, what will be the result to an attacking party."

"You have a large household, monsieur!" said the Captain, laughing incredulously.

"At present, yes, to my good fortune. A party of gentlemen, engaged in hunting the fox, arrived late last evening and remained the night. With us, sir, you must know, a fox chase may last a week, the horsemen putting up wherever night overtakes them."—("That keeps the women out, thank God!" he thought.)

The Captain played with his rapier hilt, and considered. What bothered him was the celerity with which the shutters had been closed—he had seen them swing shut almost simultaneously, as they approached. If this man spoke truthfully, then there was grave doubt of success—and, even if successful, a sorry depletion of his men, before he attained it. He had slipped into the Chesapeake to raid among the plantations close to the water, with the chance of picking up a fat merchantman or two, going to convoy off the Capes. This was the first attempt—brought about by information, from one of the men who knew something of the country, that Hedgely Hall was particularly good picking. He had not anticipated more than a momentary resistance—now, he was not so sure; it might take hours, and, in the meantime, his ship was lying in the river, with but two hands aboard. And a pirate without a ship is not long a pirate!

"Monsieur, it is this way," said he. "I must weigh anchor and away—we have spent overlong here, as it is. I will trust you——"

Marbury bowed in affected gratitude.

"If you will trust me," the Captain went on, and bowed back at him. "How much specie have you in the house?"

"Twelve hundred pounds," Marbury answered promptly.

"It is not enough—I must have two thousand."

"You ask what is physically impossible—I have no more."

"You have your ancestral silver, and the women's jewels."

"The ladies are in Annapolis," said Marbury, readily, "and I possess no ancestral silver; I am a new man in Maryland. What little of my own there is shall be included."

The pirate regarded him in stern silence for a moment—then he suddenly swung forward his sword hilt.

"Will you swear, on the Cross, to the truth of what you have said?" he inquired.

"Certainly, sir, I will swear, if you wish it," said Marbury, raising his hand. "But I warn you, that the Cross is no more sacred to me than, I fancy, it is to you."

The sword sank back into its place, and the pirate chief laughed softly.

"And I would have known you lied, had you sworn," he said. "So be it. Pay over the twelve hundred pounds and the silver, and I, on my part, promise to depart straightway, and to leave you in peace, hereafter."

"You, and all your crew?" questioned Marbury.

"Oh, certainly—I and all my crew."

"But what assurance have I, that, when the money is paid over to you, you will withdraw?" said Marbury cautiously.

"My friend, as I have already said, you will have to trust my faith. If I capture the house, I should take the gold, anyway, so you lose nothing, in the end, and may gain much. Come, monsieur, to business, either of gold or blood—which shall it be? Long-Sword makes few compacts—those compacts he keeps."

"Long-Sword!" exclaimed Marbury, in amazement.

"The same, monsieur, perchance you have heard of me."

"Who has not heard of you——"

"As a bloody and cruel scoundrel," Long-Sword completed. "Such is not always true, as you now can evidence. But, we dally, monsieur—are we to have the gold or are we not?"

"Yes," said Marbury; "I will have it brought here with the silver, at once."