As I glance over the pages I have just written I wonder whether anyone will believe the record I have set down. So much happened during the first three days of my residence at the manor-house that the recollection of it seems to me now more like some romance of the old time than of life here in New York within the memory of people now alive. Yet these are events not soon forgotten, and every detail clings in my memory as fresh to-day as on the day it happened.

When the patroon dismissed me there was a strange, half-convinced look about him which augured further trouble. His state of mind was peculiar, and later events enable me to say pretty surely what it was. Though I was fairly free from superstition myself, that was a time when it ran riot. In that respect, Van Volkenberg was the creature of his day. He felt many a secret dread that could never have taken hold of me. Once he had tried my life at night; and Louis subsequently told me that my opportune absence when they came inspired the patroon with the unrighteousness of his act. He never guessed, nor did I at the time, that Meg’s warning to me had been due to the prompting of her son. Again he had tripped, captured and buried me, as he firmly believed, only to find me in his house the next morning as hearty as ever. And so I became, to him, an invulnerable foe; I bore a charmed life. The swift and deadly blows that made such short work of his other enemies, had, to all appearance, scarcely a finger’s weight with me. I grew vaguely conscious of this superstitious attitude on the part of the patroon towards me, though not until afterwards did I learn how heavily the burden weighed upon his spirit.

There was not much difficulty in persuading the patroon of the truth of the story we had put upon him to account for my second escape. To him it was a fearful dream, which pointed yet more clearly to the fact that I was not the man for him to meddle with. This fact almost turned the balance permanently in my favor, though he still had a lingering suspicion that I was some sort of spy, and I was to feel still more of his ill-humor on this score.

I heard no more of him that day. But the next he set me to some dirty work which was quite beneath the position in the household that he had at first accorded me. On the second day he forbade me to eat at the family table, and banished me to the servants’ hall. In a thousand ways, he did all in his power to make my position as uncomfortable as he could. I resented it much at the time, and was continually on the point of an angry outbreak of temper. One fact, however, more than anything else, deterred me. That was my duty to Lady Marmaduke.

I was heartily sick of the part I was playing. I had never been ashamed to own my name before, and, day by day, the sound of my false name covered me with more confusion. I felt like a coward, and that is a hard thought to one who prides himself on his courage. It was about this time that I began to doubt the leadership of my stern mistress. A man, however, cannot betray others to set himself right in his own eyes. I had done wrong to be led into this duplicity; but I had accepted a trust, and I should consider myself doubly wrong to betray my mistress now. I resolved to get out of it as soon as I could, but not by means of a second act of dishonor.

Meanwhile, the patroon’s ill-treatment of me continued. Yet it had its good side, as I can see now. I had already gained Miriam’s attention in the recital of my adventure at the tannery. She did not share her father’s prejudices against me. The patroon had said nothing openly, except to Louis, about his suspicions of my identity with Le Bourse. In Miriam’s presence, he had been especially careful to express himself in a way different from what he really felt. Doubtless he thought she would repeat his compliments to me, thus throwing me quite off my guard. In this way, without suspecting it, he pleaded my cause to Miriam long before it had taken shape in my own mind. Her sympathies were already enlisted in my behalf when I told her of my narrow escape. Her father’s present treatment of me was so at variance with what he had formerly said to her, that she was utterly at a loss to understand it. “It must be a mere whim,” she would say; or, “He is ill. He does not feel so, let me tell you.” Then she would repeat, just as the patroon had expected, what he had said to her. Thus, I and my affairs were constantly in her mind, as if it was her duty to settle them and restore peace.

“It will wear off,” she said soothingly, just after he had brought me up sharp with an insulting answer. “He has not been well lately. I know he does not mean it. Come, take a walk with me.”

So, twenty times a day, she would speak to me kindly and do some little act to soothe a reproach from him. At last she went to him direct to appeal for me. She has told me many a time since how she talked him out of a sullen humor. He told her flatly that he thought I was Le Bourse. Dear girl! She vouched for my honesty, and defended me so stoutly that he gave in at last.

“It is fate, Miriam,” he said. “It is fate. Let us cast lots. Cry as I toss. Crown or shield?”

He took a coin from his pocket and spun it on the table.

“Crown!” cried Miriam.

“It is so,” said the patroon as the coin flattened down with a jarring ring. “Fate says that I shall trust him. Call the man in.”

From that moment I stood in the better graces of the master. There were times, to be sure, when I thought that he still shared his old suspicions. But for the most part he seemed to trust me. After all, the silver buttons were a good introduction. I had to thank them for much.

I now quite supplanted Louis. He did not seem to resent the change, but followed or stayed at home as he was bid. Time went on in this way for several days, during which my own feelings toward the master began somewhat to change. He seemed in a way to charm me. One who looks too long on an uncomfortable color will grow used to it at last. This fact and the presence of Miriam did much to account for this spleen of toleration. Many a time I had wondered how a man of his wicked practices could rise to such a height of influence and power. Little by little I came to comprehend the secret of his hold over the affections of his retainers. He was their lord and master and they loved him as their lives. I was soon to learn of this at first hand.

A few days after he had taken me into his confidence, the patroon set out for a ride about his estate. He chose me instead of Louis to go with him. His new confidence in me must have been increased by the growing distrust of Louis; yet he continued to treat the dwarf with kindness; nor was Louis the least jealous of me, who was fast taking his place in the affairs of his master.

The patroon and I set out on horseback. It was a bright day full of the sombre autumn color. As we rode about we met many persons, all of whom were known to the patroon. He had a word and a smile for each of them; of every one he had some kind inquiry to make of mother, brother, or sister; sometimes he would crack a merry joke, or indulge in some quiet chaff that did not hurt. Frequently on that ride I heard the “Good Patroon” blessed for some little act of interest, or for a bit of money bestowed without the air of righteous charity.

We had been riding for an hour in parts unknown to me, when we came out upon a cliff where we could look out over the bay and catch a faraway glimpse across Long Island to the turquoise sea beyond. My companion lifted his arm and swept it slowly along the horizon. I was surprised to see the grim, set expression of seriousness that came into his face. For the last hour he had been entertaining me with merry tales of his childhood, and of his adventures aboard ship when he was a young man. But now all that was gone. Was it the vast presence of the distant ocean that put a curb on his jolly spirits? Or was there some nearer motive close at hand, whose presence I could not see?

We sat side by side for twenty minutes. Neither of us spoke a word all this time. Only now and then was the silence broken when one of the horses stamped impatiently on the ground. The patroon’s face grew more stern and lowering. His fingers doubled tight around the bridle. Once or twice his lips moved, as if he were talking to himself. Then he struck his breast fiercely and pointed to the blue ocean.

“There, Vincent, there lies the fortune of the Red Band. By the sea we live or perish.”

I did not know what he meant, nor did I have a chance to ask him, for he turned quickly and galloped away, with me hard at his heels. It was some time before I was able to come abreast of him again, but when I did so, he opened the conversation.

“A man who would be great must keep his own secrets. I know that fact to my cost. I shall not tell you this, at least not for the present; but there will come a meeting soon and I shall need you then.”

He fell silent and musing. Evidently he was much tossed about in his own mind over something. I could see by his face that he was on the point of saying something to me a dozen times, and that he checked himself in the effort again and again. Suddenly these words burst from him in a sharp tone.

“Van Ramm knows too many of my secrets. I want him killed. Will you do it?”

I was thunderstruck at the proposal. I looked at him to see if he was in earnest. His face was set and rigid, full of heavy lines, and the corners of his mouth were drawn down in an evil fashion. My ears had certainly made no mistake. He was in earnest. It was a long moment before I found my voice.

“Must everyone who knows your secrets die?”

“God damn you, no!”

This was no ribald oath, but uttered from the very depths of his soul. I knew as well as I knew my name that I had alluded unknowingly to some secret of his, perhaps the very one for which he sought the life of his henchman, for a sudden gust of terror seemed to leap into his face at my words. He gazed at me for a moment speechless, his jaw dropped and there was a gurgling rattle in his throat. Then the mood seemed to pass slowly, and he became himself again.

“Do not say that word again, Vincent. It cuts me like a knife. There are sins upon my soul you cannot know. My God, if I were only what I used to be. But that day is long, long passed. Sometimes I think that I am possessed by a devil. I have gone wrong so long that I cannot stop now if I would. I have resolved against it, but I have no power. I can see my ruin close before my eyes. Do you think there is no terror in it? My God! Yet I cannot haste enough to meet it. It is like the dizziness that takes you on a cliff. I cannot keep back my mad desire to leap. You are my man. Answer me yes or no. Will you kill the dwarf?”

“No.”

“Then let it be. I respect you all the more for it. I wish I had had men like you about me from the first. Then I should not see the gallows in my dreams. But I have done my wicked work myself before. Let this pass.”

There were drops of sweat upon his forehead as he galloped ahead. But in a short time he had thrown off all trace of this behavior, and what was in his mind then seemed to be quite forgotten now. His merry tales returned. A beggar we met was well rewarded for his humble plea for alms. So we continued, just as if nothing had happened, as if we had not for a moment been at swords points, almost ready to fight over a question of honor. And in this way we rode till we came into the hills that sheltered the cottage of Meg.

“Poor old Meg,” said the patroon gently. “She has been ill since yonder night of Ronald’s death. I must stop and see her.”

The cottage of the old woman was a tumble-down affair, with doors and windows all awry, and the thatch hanging loose and all but off in many places. We dismounted and met the dwarf in the doorway.

“Hist,” he said, cautioning silence with his raised finger.

“Has he come?” asked a feeble voice from inside.

“The noise of the horses must have waked her,” explained Louis. “Come in.”

We entered the low, desolate looking room. On a pallet in one corner lay Meg of the Hills. The patroon went to her and took her hand with something like affection in his manner.

“How is the day with you, my Meg?”

“My Meg,” she repeated plaintively. “It is a long time since you have called me that.”

“Hist, Meg, not so loud,” said the patroon in a half-whisper.

“Why should I hist?” she cried with a tinge of anger in her tone. “Are you ashamed of me?”

The patroon made no reply, and in a moment she repeated her question.

“Answer me, ye auld jade, be ye ashamed of me?”

“Hush, Meg. Don’t fall into that ballad-singing habit of yours. I can stand anything but that.”

“You stand! What have you to stand compared to me? It was not always so. I was fair to see in the old days long gone by. Was I not a bonny lass then, Kilian?”

“Ay, you were so, Meg; but that is long gone by.”

The old woman moaned. She had regular features and may have been a beauty once; but, as the patroon said, it was long ago. How wistfully she must have looked back upon what would never come again. There was a pause, and Meg was the first to break it.

“What did you come for?”

“To see how you were; to see what I could do for you.”

The last word seemed to rouse her evil demon. She sat bolt up in bed and clasped her hands tight together; then she doubled her fists and shook them in his face like a mad woman.

“To do what you can for me, you brat of hell. Have you not had half a life for that? What have you done for me? You have kept me, you would say. Ay, you have kept me like the old toothless bitch I am. But you did not keep me where I should have been. And I could have hanged you any time these twenty years. But I loved you. My God, what will not a woman do for the man she loves!”

Meg fell back upon the pillow in exhaustion.

“So, so,” said the patroon, trying to soothe her. He only made her worse. In a moment she had risen again and was glowering at him through fierce flashing eyes.

“What have you done?” she cried in a frenzy, snapping and wringing her long, bony fingers. “What have you done for me and mine these twenty years, since you had your fill of pleasure out of me?”

“Tut, tut, Meg, you are wild to-day.”

“Wild I have ever been since you cast me adrift like a gutter drab of Yorke. Tell me what you have done for me and mine.”

Her face grew dark and sullen like an animal’s at bay. The patroon glanced about him and half rose to go; but she clutched his wrist and repeated persistently:

“What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?”

“You know well enough what I have done, my Meg,” said the patroon. He spoke quietly, but I could see that he was in the grip of fear. Was the woman going to make a disclosure? I half expected what it would be, but I did not guess the half.

“But what have you done?” she went on, sticking to her one idea.

“I have done my best, Meg. You know that I could not do it openly, but I have kept him near me; he wants for nothing.”

“Ay, he wants for nothing but his life.”

“Life?” cried the patroon. “What do you mean?”

She looked at him in contempt and rage.

“Who is it that you say wants for nothing?”

“Louis, you hag,” he hissed between his teeth. “Louis Van Ramm.”

She fell into a mocking laugh that was terrible to hear.

“You thought it was Louis, did you? He was my son well enough, born in lawful wedlock; but he was no son of yours. Did you think I told the truth when I came back to live on you? Ha, ha, I was a bonny lass then. Do you remember how you pleaded for my love and the use of my shapely body? ‘I’ll marry you, Meg, if anything goes wrong.’ Those were your very words and everything went wrong and—”

Here the patroon caught her by the shoulder and shook her violently.

“Stop. If Louis is not our child, who is?”

“Ha, ha, ha! You dolt! You idiot! You liar, thief—” She paused for a moment and then almost shrieked out the word “Murderer.”

“Murderer!”

“Ay, murderer. Louis is my child but none of yours. Our boy is dead. His name was Ronald Guy.”

Then she fell to singing that weird scrap of an old ballad that I had heard once before:

The patroon sprang up from where he had been sitting on her bedside. He covered his face with his hands, and, for a moment, swayed back and forth, but he was not taken with one of his seizures as I feared. In a moment more he started for the door.

“Follow me, St. Vincent,” he said, and nothing more.

In silence he mounted his horse and spurred desperately away. I rode at his stirrup, awestruck and wondering what would happen next. He remained silent so far as words went, though sometimes he was muttering to himself. We had nearly reached the manor-house when he spoke briefly in cold tones, like a man asleep.

“I have killed my son. The day of reckoning has come.”

A horror of this man took hold of me and I turned to bait him as I would a dog.

“You thought Louis was your son and you wanted me to kill him.”

The patroon stopped his horse; I, also, full in front of him. He stared me in the face.

“Don’t try me,” he said doggedly, “or I’ll kill you. Had I not thought he was my son he should have paid the penalty of what he knows any day these ten years past. When all’s said, I thought him but a bastard. Ride after me in silence.”

I did as I was bid. For the one time in my life I felt completely cowed. I did not know what to do, and before the reaction came, we had reached the house and Van Volkenberg had disappeared in his study.