Considering the events of that night, one may be tempted to suppose that I lay awake for a long time in restless anxiety. But I did no such thing. I had had a hard day of it, and, in addition to that, my personal sorrow and the reaction from what I had passed through, so overcame me that I fell into a kind of stupor, and slept without undressing. When I awoke in the morning it was broad day. The room, however, was not bright, for the shutters, which had been open when I went to bed, had blown together during the night. A sheet of dusty sunlight slanted through the room. I lay half awake, half asleep, watching the shadows fold like tapestry in the sunbeams. I tried to see pictures in them as one does in the clouds of a summer’s night; and soon I found myself dwelling upon the grotesque features of the dwarf, and on the words he had spoken to me when we parted the night before.

“I shall not tell you what we have been doing,” he had said. “But I swear, before God, hereafter to be your true friend.”

I knew that he had spoken the truth. A few moments before he had been engaged in an attempt to take my life; yet, when he said these words, his voice rang with unmistakable sincerity. He looked me in the face, which is not the way of a liar, and the expression in his face was the expression of truth itself. Of this fact I was mortally certain. What had I done to make his feeling change towards me? We had had but a small matter of words. I had helped him to carry poor old Meg to a place of safety. What else had I done? “Ha!” thought I. “It was she who first warned me of my danger.” Could it be that there was some connection between these two, some unexplained relation that would put a new light upon the small kindness I had shown her? I sprang to my feet. Then I discovered—for I had come fully awake at last—that the door of my room was shut tight and barred on the outside.

I fell into a rage. Had they not done enough the night before? Was this some new trap they had laid for me? I beat and banged upon the floor. I kicked viciously against the door. It did not take much of this to bring a response. There was a clattering of feet in the corridor without, the bolt was quickly drawn back and then the door flew open. In the hallway opposite my door stood the patroon. The white-haired dwarf, peering beneath his arm, was making strange faces at me from his half-sheltered position behind his master’s back. Did he mean them for signs of warning? Beyond these two clustered half a dozen surprised domestics.

Van Volkenberg gazed at me for a moment and then burst into a fit of hearty laughter.

“So they locked you in, did they? Ha, ha, ha! I forgot to tell them that there was a new lodger in the house. We forgot it, eh, Louis?”

He spoke with his usual precision, as if reciting a lesson. There was no light in his eyes and the moment he was done talking his face became stolid and set like one who has said his part and was glad to be done with it. The patroon was a good actor, and yet there were times when a child could see through his artifice. As he turned to the dwarf, Louis’ face, which a moment before had been strangely contorted, instantly grew impassive. I conceived the idea that he had been making signs, wishing to convey some secret intelligence to me. Whereupon I resolved to give him a chance to speak to me in private if he chose to do so.

“By my soul, St. Vincent!” exclaimed the patroon. “You have slept late.”

“Have I? Indeed, I do not know what time it is,” I answered, scarce knowing what to say. The patroon was so ill at ease, so manifestly acting a part, that I knew it behooved me to be careful and not to lose my temper.

“It is hard upon the hour of noon,” he continued. “Come, come; you shall break your fast royally despite the hour.”

We set out along the corridor, which was dimly lighted and echoed the sound of our footsteps in a gloomy manner. This was the time to test the dwarf, and to find out what he had to communicate to me.

“I have forgotten my sword,” I cried to him. “Will you fetch it?”

Without a moment’s hesitation the dwarf started back towards my room. I can see him yet, almost running in his quick, mincing steps, his half-bent arms dipping to the same time, and his ill-shaped head and flowing locks of white hair all bobbing together in unison. Yet for all this apparent haste he progressed no faster than an ordinary walk.

I let him proceed but a short distance when I made some excuse to the patroon and followed his henchman to my room. When I got there, Louis was already bending over my bed, where my sword lay. One arm was up and one heel slightly off the ground, as if he had suddenly been arrested in the midst of his capricious way of walking. I touched him on the shoulder and he collapsed with startled fear. Evidently he had not heard me approach.

“Louis,” I said, “that was a strange promise you made to me last night. What did you mean by it?”

Suddenly his whole figure was transformed. I saw this change often in the next few weeks, but then it was new to me and almost took my breath away. When Louis walked he seemed all joints and quivering elastic bands. Now, like a flash, he turned to stone—nay, to steel and iron. Every tremor of his body vanished. Every line in his face, the very droop of his hair made one feel as if the Gorgon’s head had been thrust before him. Then he gripped my hand, and I winced inwardly from the pain of it.

“Hush,” he whispered. “You can trust me. She is my mother. Hark! The patroon is coming back. Let me warn you hastily. There is distrust here. Do not start whatever you may hear down stairs. Beware, you are treading on a powder mine. Believe me. I am your friend. She is my mother. Let that suffice for reason.”

That moment the patroon returned. Louis began helping me to buckle on my sword. In a moment all his rigidity had disappeared and his old manner returned to him. I had no time then to think of the suspicion he had referred to, for the patroon led me down stairs to the dining room at once. As we traversed the corridor for the second time, I could hear Louis’ pattering steps behind us like a faithful dog; and in my mind’s eye I saw his wagging head and bent arms keeping time to his nimble step.

As I say, we went below, but had hardly entered the dining room when Mistress Miriam darted into it. She was bonneted, dressed in riding clothes, and her cheeks were flushed with exercise.

“Oh, father,” she cried passionately, “Monsieur Le Bourse is dead.”

“Dead!” echoed the patroon.

At that moment I felt Louis Van Ramm’s fingers close on my wrist like a vise. In an instant he relaxed his grip, for the patroon turned to look at me.

“You are pale,” he said abruptly. “You should be hungry.”

But of the two, he must have been the paler.

However, he would have nothing more to say to me till I had eaten. I was not sorry, for, in very truth, I was as hungry as a bear, and the silence that followed gave me time to think over what had happened.

Evidently Louis’s warning and the locking of my door were pieces of the same cloth. No doubt of Louis’s honesty came into my mind. I knew by an experience I had had in France that a deformed person like this dwarf was likely, however vicious he might be at heart, to feel a dog-like attachment to any one who had befriended him. The fact that Meg was his mother was enough to justify my belief in his honesty. I felt now that, beyond peradventure, I might trust in him. But the suspicion he had warned me against—what was that? What could it be but that I was discovered? I recalled the fact that both Lady Marmaduke and Pierre had recognized me. Had the patroon? I confess to trembling at the moment, and I looked up to see if I were noticed.

“Your hand trembles,” said the patroon. Trust him for seeing everything that was in sight!

“Trembles,” I answered. “Which?”

“Your right,” he replied, with a vicious smile on his dark features.

I stretched my right hand out before him as steady as his own.

“Mere accident,” I said, careful not to show either too much disregard or too much interest in what he had just said. “What made you think so, or did it really tremble for an instant?”

“I thought it did, Le Bourse, but I may have been mistaken.”

I fell to eating savagely. He had called me by my right name! Ah, yes; Louis was right. That was his master’s suspicion, was it? But now I was fully warned. He should not catch me napping. I paid no attention to his remark and went on eating. This behavior seemed to reassure the patroon. When I next looked up he wore a more satisfied expression. His elbows were on the edge of the table and his eyes fixed on the tips of his fingers, which were tapping each other softly.

“Now you are done eating,” he said at last, “let us hear her story. Miriam, tell us of your visit.”

I then learned that, for some reason unknown to herself, Mistress Van Volkenberg had been sent by her father to Lady Marmaduke’s, in New York. Her errand was to inquire my whereabouts. She was told at the hall that I was dead and that my body lay in the small room upstairs, which had been mine.

“Ay, but was he dead?” interrupted her father. “Did you see him, Miriam?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I saw him. Oh!” She shuddered and turned to leave the room.

Mistress Van Volkenberg, then almost unknown to me, was a woman who could not pass unnoticed in any place. She was tall and slender, with a high forehead and piercing brown eyes like her father’s. What most characterized her, however, was the color in her cheeks. I have seen her since in sickness and in health, and always there was the same color of blooming red, which was the more welcome for the beauty it gave her face. She was flushed, perhaps overflushed, when she left the room, and both the patroon and I noticed it.

“Poor child,” he said softly with a yearning look in his eyes. “She has had too much excitement. I should not have sent her.”

Van Volkenberg had little to say for a while. He was wholly taken up with the news his daughter had brought. Often he would be in a brown study for minutes at a time. I said nothing to rouse him, for I was bound that he should lead our conversation till I should be less in the dark as to what he knew about me. At last he seemed to notice how evident his moody conduct was.

“This man Le Bourse,” he said, at the same time bending his bright eyes upon my face as if he would read me through and through, “this man, Le Bourse, was a man I wished to see. Alas the while! I wish he were yet alive.”

“A friend of yours?” I asked, mustering my voice as well as I could. I knew instinctively that I was under examination.

“No, hardly a friend; and yet I owed him some reparation for an injury. I wish he were here.”

“There is no fetching dead men back to life,” I said. And then I added: “At least in the flesh.”

“He will not haunt me, if that is what you mean.”

The patroon walked thoughtfully across the room, and stood for some time with his back towards me, looking out of the window across the broad terrace where I had seen Ronald Guy and the execution the night before. I could see his figure relax and droop a little.

“Alas, poor Guy,” I heard him mutter. He could afford to pity, now that it was all over.

Then his figure against the lighted window stiffened and he seemed to gather strength again. Two minutes later, when he turned to face us once more, he was quite himself. The night before I had asked myself a question; now I was ready to answer it. Yes, there were two actors in Van Volkenberg manor. I was one. The other was the patroon.

And from that moment I conceived a fair notion of how the ground lay between us. Perhaps he knew me, perhaps not; but, at any rate, he suspected me, and this was like to prove my ruin. I recalled just then one of the war cries of the English revolution that my father used to talk so much about. The King and the parliament were pitted one against the other till the bitter end. It was the great church hero, Cromwell, so my father used to say, who first foresaw what the end was going to be. Then grew up that motto, “Thy head or my head,” which neither Roundhead nor Cavalier forgot for many years.

Thus it was between Van Volkenberg and me. Disclaim superstition as I would, I could not resist the idea that fate had had a hand in our first meeting and had molded subsequent events. Van Volkenberg, as I learned later, regarded me with even greater superstition than I felt towards him. Though I managed to allay his suspicions for a while, he never seemed quite free in my presence, even when he took me into his confidence and made me his right hand man.

As I said, he turned towards us from the window overlooking the terrace, and his manner was quite composed.

“Come to my room,” he said cheerily. “I have something of importance to say to you. You may come, too,” he added to the dwarf.

We went to the room where he had first received me when I came to the manor-house to present my silver buttons. I glanced warily around the room. There were the books and the maps on the walls, the table littered with papers, and the windows on one side flooding the center of the room with light. I was with my face to the window and the patroon stood opposite me.

“Sit.”

As he jerked out the short monosyllable, he waved his hand to Louis and me. The dwarf climbed into a huge chair and collapsed loosely into a heap till you would hardly have recognized in him a human being.

The patroon, however, made a more striking figure. He was dressed all in black, save for the crimson cap he always wore in the house, and the pale lace about his neck and wrists. His long black coat was trimmed in silver buttons artificially darkened till they were of a deep grey. His knee breeches and hose were also black. His shoes, instead of being fastened with huge silver buttons, as was the custom, were tied with narrow black ribbons. His black robes set off his silvery hair—prematurely white through trouble and disease—with superb effect. The only other bit of color about him was the gold head of his ebony cane, which he held between his thumb and forefinger, as if he were about to lift it lightly from the floor.

But all this description of how the patroon looked is the result of a moment’s glance and after recollection. For almost in an instant I forgot everything, and saw only those eagle eyes like jewels gazing at me. Was it the dove and the serpent over again? No, no, Patroon Van Volkenberg. You have a man to deal with this time. “Thy head or my head,” saith the King.

At last he spoke to me.

“If you are to cut a figure in the Red Band, you must know somewhat of my affairs. I spoke a while ago of a man Le Bourse.” He kept his eyes fiercely on me. “I have cause to hate this dog, for I hold him little better than a dog. If I ever have him in arm’s reach—you saw how I dealt with Ronald Guy?”

“Yes, I saw it. What is your grievance against Le Bourse?”

“I have done him wrong.”

“Therefore you would do him more?”

“Is not that logic? I would break him upon the rack. Bah, he is no fool. I must watch him close.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“Ay, dead if not alive. Lately he had the impudence to hang about that very window and spy upon my affairs.”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, but he kept his eyes on me. I saw through his plot clearly. He did not know that I was Le Bourse, but he thought so, and wanted me to betray myself. I was more than a match for him, however, as events soon proved. He told me briefly what he knew of my escapade of a few nights before and how it led up to his expulsion from the privy-council. All the while he watched me narrowly, though now and then glancing for a moment at Louis, who seemed more asleep than awake in the great chair. At last the patroon let his cane slip. It came down with a startling rattle upon the floor, and when he picked it up again he leaned back in his chair with a silent, sullen manner. He was evidently at the end of his string for that moment. My first ordeal was over. He had tried me in the balance and found—nothing. Evidently the patroon was not convinced one way or the other.

He did not wait long before he was at me again. This time he took a new tack that was harder to resist ten times over. He began to talk about Ruth. So long as his thrusts were aimed at me alone the game was in my own hands. But he played strong cards when he alluded to my sister. I had much ado to control my feelings. He must have seen me wince more than once. But, besides an angry flush or two, or a sign of sullen humor, I did nothing to increase his suspicions, though, on the other hand, I did nothing to allay them. For my part, I was drawn tight as a harp string. I felt that one more twist of the key would snap me, come what would. Then it all ended suddenly and in a marvelous way. Just as I was at my wit’s end for self-control, I heard the patroon gasp and cry out:

“My God, St. Vincent, do you know whom I took you for? I thought you were Le Bourse.”

They say it is nearly a hundred years since the English play writer wrote his Hamlet; yet it is so good a play that it can still be seen upon the London stage. I well remember a scene in it where Hamlet is laying what he calls a mouse-trap to catch his uncle Claudius. Hamlet has the players play something like the murder of his father before the King. Hamlet thought that if the King were guilty he would betray himself by some sign. Once in dumb show and once in real acting the murder was performed before the King, who remained calm and silent, betraying no sign of guilt. This failure of his plan so exasperated Hamlet that he broke down himself and flew into hysterics singing little nonsense songs. In the confusion, the King called for a light and took his leave. But I could see from the expression of his face that another moment would have broken him.

This was the situation of the patroon. While he had been piercing me with one prong of the fork the other turned and twisted among his own nerves. It was when my calm behavior became too much for him that he broke down pitifully, crying that he took me for Le Bourse. Hardly had he said it than he repented; but it was too late. For very shame he had to disguise his suspicion now. So he carried on his play-acting; but I was well aware that the confidence he now pretended to show in me was acting like the rest.

“Well, well, well. I’ll just tell you all. Henrie—I’ll first name you now because you are in the Red Band—Henrie, do you know how near you were to following Ronald Guy? Ronald was a good man in his way, but there was no obedience in his bones. Louis, whom did we take St. Vincent for?”

The dwarf looked at me for a full minute before he said a word. Then he replied:

“We took you for Michael Le Bourse.”

“Ay, that we did,” continued Van Volkenberg. “Do you remember Caesar? We set him on your track last night. Where do you think he went? Straight for my study window on the outside. Perhaps you don’t know that this Michael Le Bourse stood out there the other night—well, if he were not dead he should feel my hand.” The patroon’s face clouded for an instant; then he continued: “When the dog went there I thought that you were Le Bourse in disguise, for there is a familiar look about your eyes, and I only half believed your story. But Ronald’s business pressed, and after that Louis held out that it was all a mistake.”

“It was,” mumbled the dwarf.

“Yes, yes, stick to it. Louis is a bulldog to his belief. Nothing would suit him but to try the hound again. This time he led us a long chase to a place where Louis had met some friends of his by Webber’s tavern—never mind who they were. Do what we could, the hound would not take another scent. So Louis stuck out that there was no meaning in it at all, and I had to give in to him. But fast on that came a report that you—I mean, Le Bourse—had gone post for Albany. I’m quick at putting two and two together, and I said to Louis: ‘Not at all. He’s gone post to the Hanging Rock.’ It came close to going hard with you then.”

“How did it come to pass otherwise?” I managed to say in a tolerably firm voice.

“Let Louis tell. It was his doing. Speak up my little hawk.”

He lifted his impassive face slowly. “It is my habit to make sure. The master could not go. The young mistress was the only other one who had seen you. I said, 'Send her.'”

“And she found you dead.” The patroon laughed loudly at his joke. “Yes, she found you dead. So that settled my doubts. Here is my hand. Welcome to the Red Band.”

After a few more words he dismissed the dwarf in order to talk to me alone.

“St. Vincent,” he began, “I have a delicate task for you to undertake. Doubtless you know that I and my household are in bad repute in Yorke. You see, this putting arms into the hands of my retainers is a new custom in the province. We patroons are bound to get the power, but I am the only one who has had the courage to begin in the proper way. The gossips tell strange stories about me and mine. I keep them away from the ears of Miriam; but—God bless her!—she loves to see the gay sights of the town. I shall let her ride to Yorke this afternoon and you shall ride with her. Mind you keep her ears stuffed with wax against the common murmur. That is your task.”

Towards three o’clock I stood before the terrace beside our horses awaiting Mistress Miriam’s coming out. Soon she came. The blood mantled in her cheek and she drew back when her eyes fell upon me.

“I thought I should go alone or with Annetje,” she said to her father.

“I think that Monsieur St. Vincent will be better company. Pretty maids like you should not ride alone nowadays.”

Whether she objected to riding with me, or whether she suspected that I was set as a spy upon her, one could not have told from anything she said or did. She thanked me kindly, so kindly for my trouble, that I did not feel the pain of her refusal. She bade me lead her horse back to the stable and then re-entered the house.

I had hardly taken the saddle off when Louis came in all apant with running.

“Put it on again,” he cried. “She has changed her mind.”

I resaddled the horse. Five minutes later Mistress Van Volkenberg stepped upon the terrace. She wore the same riding habit as before, but this time she wore a mask that concealed her features. When I helped her to mount, she bowed her thanks, but did not speak to me. Soon we were riding at a rapid pace through the park towards New York.

I rode behind as fitted a man in my position. When we neared the Kissing Bridge she reined in her horse slowly till we rode side by side. I wondered at her action. Something little Pierre had said about Annetje and the way she always made him go before when they crossed the Kissing Bridge caused a shadow to fill my heart. Was my young mistress—? I did not have time to follow the thought further before she laid her hand upon my bridle. Both horses stopped with their front feet upon the bridge. I could see her eyes twinkling through the holes in her mask.

“Why do we stop?” I asked.

“Why do we stop? Why don’t you—” She laid her hand lightly upon my shoulder. “Why don’t you kiss me?”

I started back suddenly. My companion burst into the happiest, merriest peal of laughter I ever heard.

“What a coward. I shall tell Pierre.”

With that she snatched off her mask. To my astonishment, I saw the dancing black eyes of my mistress’ maid, Annetje Dorn.