Though we sat together for some time after that, little enough passed between us. I had my own thoughts and so had the patroon. Whatever was in his mind I could not tell, but I thought that it was Louis. For if there was the least sound outside he would start up expectantly; and when, as always happened, Louis did not appear, his face would grow black, and the corners of his mouth would drop down, as they did in his worst moments. I hardly wonder, considering what followed later, that he was ill at ease. In all likelihood, he suspected the real cause of Louis’s absence and knew much better than I did in what danger it would involve himself.

However, the whole evening was not to be given up to hopeless grumbling after the lost henchman. I had first come to New York in August, as you will remember, and it was now late in November. The roads were still hard, witness the sharp clattering ring of the horseman who had ridden by shortly before on the frozen ground; but at any day now we might expect the bad weather to set in and difficult roads to follow.

We had heard the horseman ride by about nine o’clock. For two hours the patroon fussed and fumed and visited the clock in the hall so often that it scarce seemed to leave time for him to do anything else. I wondered why he should be so anxious about the clock, when he explained the motive all of a sudden.

“Get on your cloak. It is time for us to go. This is the errand I spoke to you about this morning.”

I asked no questions—no one ever did of the patroon, especially when he was in a bad humor. No one ever dared to approach him on a forbidden subject, and I knew enough to know my place if I knew nothing else. So I wrapped myself up warm and the two of us set out on foot. We followed the narrow path that led down to the river. It was steep walking part of the way, but we managed to stumble to the end of it in safety. At the landing we found the patroon’s barge waiting for us. Eight negro slaves were at the oars and an overseer held the tiller.

“Have you seen the signal?” asked Van Volkenberg.

“Yes, about ten minutes ago for the first time, and twice since. He seems to be in a hurry.”

“Very well. Let him know that we are coming. Get in, St. Vincent.”

As soon as we were seated, word was given to the slaves, and the barge shot out into the current, turning southward towards the town.

“I do not like this disappearance of Louis,” said the patroon in a low voice to me. “I have expected him to turn against me for a long time, but I was hardly prepared for it just at this moment. If he comes back he shall feel the lash on his bare back for the fright he has given me.”

“Poor Louis; I hope we shall not find him now.”

“No, this meeting is with someone else. You’ll know who shortly.”

Soon after this the slaves left off rowing and we drifted with the tide. We had come to a place just opposite the fields north of the city wall.

“Show the light,” said the patroon.

A dark lantern held by the steersman was made to flash three times; it was answered close at hand. Five minutes later a boat glided up out of the darkness, from which a stranger stepped aboard us. Then we set out for home.

The stranger, so far as I could see in the dim light, was a strong-built man, not over large in stature. He wore a seaman’s great coat and carried his cutlas in his hand. He swore fearfully in his speech and the patroon was constantly warning him to lower his gruff voice.

“I tell you, William,” he said after their conversation had gone on for some time, “it will never do. I have had a change of heart. It will never do. I have surely suffered a change of heart.”

“Well,” returned the stranger with a large accompaniment of oaths, “if that’s the fact, what’s the use o' lugging Willie Kidd all the way to Hanging Rock?”

“Tut, tut, man, we shall have a glass of old Madeira and talk of bygone days.”

“Ah,” muttered Kidd, smacking his lips in anticipation, “that is another matter.”

So this was Captain William Kidd, merchant, of New York. This was the man to whom had been entrusted the King’s ship that was to prey upon the buccaneers and to put the booty into the pocket of the sovereign and his co-adventurers. This was the man about whom the patroon had got himself into disgrace with the governor’s council. I tried to make out the expression on Van Volkenberg’s face, but the night was too dark for that. I could only fancy how this appointment had been brought about. Then I remembered the seaman we had met in the city the day before, and the patroon’s parting injunction: “At midnight on the river.” He must have been Captain Kidd—at least his name was William, for I had heard my master call him so. They went on talking in low voices, although not so low but that I could catch the drift of their talk.

I soon learned that the troops had been dispatched to Albany mainly upon Kidd’s representation. He had urged Bellamont to protect the colony at all hazards against an invasion from the north; and such was the faith of Bellamont and Livingstone in the advice of the commander of the Adventure that he tipped the scale of a hesitating executive, and the troops were sent.

I also learned that, whereas Bellamont had taken the advice of Kidd, Kidd had received his cue from Van Volkenberg. So it was the patroon after all who had emptied the fort of its regular guard. But I had no time then to think of what motive he had for doing so, for we were fast nearing the landing at Hanging Rock. Several times during this conversation Van Volkenberg had spoken again of his change of heart. Often a low chuckle escaped him on the occasion of such a reference. His spirits were evidently rising, and, for the present, all thoughts of Louis and his absence must have been forgotten.

When we arrived at the manor-house, the patroon led his guest to the door of the dining room.

“St. Vincent,” he said, “stand here on guard. No one is to come in or to interrupt us in any way till we come out again.”

With that he opened the door and motioned Captain Kidd to enter. I could only see a part of the room from where I stood. What mainly occupied the vista disclosed by the open door was the great mahogany sideboard, which stood against the wall at the farther end of the room. On the upper part of it were plenty of glass vessels and blue china pieces from Delft and heavy articles of silver plate; the lower part was a huge cupboard used to store less showy articles of furniture. I used to wonder at the bigness of this enclosure and thought what a place it would be to play hide and seek in if there were only children about the house. Then the door closed and I saw no more of the sideboard or of the visitor for a while. But I heard a laugh; it was loud and uproarious, and I thought he would never have done. But he subsided at last; then I could hear the muffle of low voices, but never a word reached my ears that I could understand.

I walked up and down the hall for a long time. The minutes merged into an hour and then two hours. I grew tired with nothing to occupy my mind but the continual mumble of low voices. I fell to wondering where Louis was and what he was up to. More than once I had suspected the patroon’s motive in garrisoning the fort with his own men. I was so sure that his action was a mere trick, though I was taken in by it at the time, that I intended to slip from my window that very night and go to the Earl with a warning. Then it flashed upon me that perhaps Louis had already done this. Could the horseman we had heard be a messenger to recall the troops that had been dispatched to Albany? The idea seemed possible. The more I thought of it the more certain I became. I can remember to this day the thrill of satisfaction that I felt when I understood that the patroon was within one of checkmating himself. My imagination ran riot there in the silence before the door I was guarding. I began to fancy that the patroon meant to get possession of the city. I had noticed that day that his seven ships were so drawn up in the harbor as to command the whole front of the city. But in spite of everything I was satisfied with the situation. If the Earl had received warning, the patroon, after all, might succeed only in trapping himself.

Then I felt a pang at heart—he was Miriam’s father. I could no longer hide from myself the fact that I was in love with the patroon’s daughter. From the moment when I first felt the charm of her attractiveness, I had fought hard against it. She was a Catholic and, worse than that, she was his daughter. But she had been good to Ruth. I recalled how earnestly my sister had tried to break down my unreasoning hatred of the Catholics. I thought, too, of Miriam’s kindness to old Meg; and of her love and belief in her father; and of her simple purity of faith. These were qualities I had not looked for in the Roman church. Then came that sweet picture of her and Ruth kneeling side by side in the little oratory, each praying in her own faith.

This very evening I had begged Miriam for a keepsake. She had been with us during a part of the time when her father was so upset by Louis’s absence. She had tried to coax him into a better humor, but he told her sharply to leave the room and go to bed. I followed her into the hall and when, a moment later, I picked up a handkerchief which she had dropped on the floor, I begged her to let me keep it. It was a mere bit of sentiment on my part, I confess, but it would have been a treasure to me and I wanted it with all my heart.

But Miriam thought differently. She protested against the gift in such a vigorous manner that I could think nothing less than that she would not have me wear a favor of hers. This dashed my spirits and she saw accordingly how seriously I took the matter.

“Pooh, you are foolish,” she cried, laughing. “This is why I won’t let you have it.”

She shook out the handkerchief and thrust her finger through a tiny hole in one corner. In vain I told her it was all the better for that. She only brushed me lightly in the face with it and ran up stairs laughing.

All this and many other things were in my head as I walked back and forth like a sentinel before the door of the dining room. Soon the sound of other voices besides those of my master and Captain Kidd became audible. They were above stairs and seemed to come from the upper landing. One I recognized immediately as Annetje’s. The other person could be none but her mistress; though I heard but little that she said, who else would be with Annetje at this hour of the night?

There was a lamp burning in the hall whose light fell dimly upon the foot of the stairs, but all above the fifth or sixth step was as dark as the pit.

“Look on the bottom step, Monsieur St. Vincent,” I heard Annetje whisper.

I glanced at the door of the dining room and then walked sideways towards the stairs, so that I could keep my eyes cast backward and attend to my duty at the same time. On the bottom step lay a patch of white which I caught up eagerly, for it was the very handkerchief I wanted, hole, wrinkles and all.

“It is for you,” said Annetje from the dark above. “She sends it with her—”

A hand must have been clapped over her mouth, she stopped so suddenly. I hardly dared to hope for that last word. No matter; I had the handkerchief safe, at least. I called up my thanks, though I could not see either of them and was soon back at my post.

When Van Volkenberg and Kidd came out, we retraced the journey of two hours previous, dropping down river and transferring Kidd to his own boat. And with this one appearance he vanishes from these pages.

During those two hours when they were closeted in the dining room, he and the patroon hatched a plan which indirectly affected us mightily, but whose ultimate success transpired too late to influence the fortunes of the patroon.

As everyone knows, Captain Kidd sailed from New York an honorable merchant and well trusted by the government. When he was next heard of he was a jolly pirate on the high seas, flying the black flag. But he was only an amateur buccaneer after all, and found pirating less to his mind than he had hoped for. So he sat in his cabin till he had fashioned a whole book full of lies to explain how he had been made the victim of his crew and how he had meant to deal honestly with the King’s commission. Thus armed he sailed boldly into Boston harbor, where he was promptly arrested to answer for his crimes.

For a time it looked as if his treachery would stain the honor of his patron. But at length Bellamont was cleared beyond a doubt of all complicity, and Kidd was sentenced to hang by the neck till he was dead.

But all this happened afterwards and is beyond the limits of this story. Kidd played a losing game, in which he staked his life and reputation. What right have we to heap calumny upon his memory? Let him wend his own wicked way alone, while we return to the fortunes of the Red Band.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE EFFECT OF KIDD’S VISIT

During the next forenoon I had no opportunity to go to Yorke. Nor did I feel the duty quite so necessary now that I thought Louis had been beforehand in the matter of warning the governor. For a long time that morning the patroon and I were closeted together. He had begun to suspect the dwarf himself and the suspicion irritated him beyond measure. At last he suggested plainly that Louis must be aware of his motive in garrisoning the fort.

“But,” said I, sure at last that my own suspicions were correct, “why should a knowledge of your motives take him to Yorke?”

The patroon flushed with anger when he discovered how carelessly he had disclosed his secret. There seemed to be a moment’s hesitation in his mind as to what to do, but he saw plainly that I now understood the whole situation clearly. Patroon Van Volkenberg was a man who always acted with decision and at once. He saw that there was no use to brazen it out, and so he made a clean avowal.

“I took you for a man of sense, but I see that you are a fool.”

I had had too long a time of training in keeping cool under adverse circumstances to mind a little fling like this.

“Your words to me yesterday on the way,” I said.

He snapped his fingers. “Mere practice. I wanted someone to practice on, otherwise I should have laughed in Bellamont’s face.”

This taunt was a home thrust, the more so since I had been completely taken in at the time.

“Well,” said I, with a hint of sarcasm in my voice, in spite of my desire not to rouse him yet. “If Louis knows this I should say that you—”

“What of me?”

“That you are in a bad way.”

“True,” he answered, totally unmoved. “I have been in a bad way for a long time; but I have the Earl on the hip now.”

“He has the deed to your estate.”

“I shall get it back. I gave him that to win his confidence. I never thought he would swallow such an open bait. I took so many men with me because I thought he would order my arrest. If I had known what a gull he would prove I should have got inside the fort with half the number. But the best is yet to come. Be ready to-night to go with me to Webber’s tavern. I expect great news, glorious news; news that will shake Yorke to its foundation. In the meantime I must look for Louis.”

At that moment the door opened without a warning knock and Louis Van Ramm stepped across the threshold. For a moment the master and servant remained where they were without moving. The patroon sat in his great leather chair. In front of him was a table strewn with papers. A decanter of wine with a tray of glasses stood in the center, and lying close at hand, his long, sharp pointed sword. Within a yard of the door, glowering across the intervening table, was the sullen figure of the white-haired dwarf.

“Well,” said the patroon viciously after two minutes of this strained silence.

“Well,” echoed the dwarf.

“What do you come here for?”

“Money.”

“State your errand,” he cried, starting up in anger.

“That is easily done,” answered the dwarf, doggedly, at the same time taking a cautious step or two forward. “Do not get impetuous,” he continued with a sneer. “I have written out all that I know and have left the writing with my friends. I have come to ask what you will give me not to have the seals broken.”

If Louis had expected to find his master a prey to one of his usual fits of rage, he was disappointed. In a moment the patroon had overcome his first outbreak and smiled, leaning back upon the arm of his chair; then he dropped his hand cautiously on the table near the hilt of his sword.

“Now hearken, Kilian Van Volkenberg,” Louis began in an insolent tone. “I know why the Red Band is in the fort, and I know why William Kidd came here last night.”

The patroon had shown no emotion at the mention of the first of these facts, but the second seemed to startle him.

“So you were somewhere near about after all, were you?”

“I was in the bottom of the sideboard last night, and heard you discuss all your plans.”

“You lie,” said the patroon, yet he was calm withal. I could see the shadow of fear in his face, but he gave no sign of it by word or act. “Louis Van Ramm, you lie in your throat.”

“Perhaps, but I have written out the full account of all I heard, and my friends will break the seals at noon unless—”

“Unless what?” for Louis paused.

“Unless you pay me a thousand pounds.”

“I could pay that, you fool, but I know you lie.” The master’s voice was wavering and I knew he believed what he denied with so much confidence. “This tale does not take me in. It is impossible. You could not have overheard, and if you did there is nothing I would not be willing to have published.”

The dwarf looked at him in contempt. For a moment I doubted whether he really had any proof. It might all be a skilful lie to blackmail the patroon. But not so! Louis raised his finger slowly, pointing at his master. His mouth opened, but he waited maliciously before he spoke, as if he knew well the fatal result of his next word. Then he snapped out suddenly, “Jacques.”

The effect was instantaneous. With a sharp cry of rage the patroon caught up his sword. He lunged forward before either of us had a moment to think what he was doing, and passed the sharp blade clean through the body of the dwarf. Louis toppled forward across the table without uttering a sound. The glasses shattered with a crash, and the wine from the decanter trickled out and mingled with the blood which I can hear to this day, as it rattled with a sharp sound on the papers which were everywhere about. The patroon stood mopping the sweat from his brow and looking down on the body of his henchman.

“Come with me, Vincent, come with me. If what this fellow said is true, I am in a trap indeed. Perhaps the papers are in his room, perhaps he did not write them, but let us see.”

We went to Louis’s room and ransacked every corner for some sign of the papers. We sounded the floor for loose boards. We tore open the bedding. We let no nook or cranny escape our vigilance. But nothing rewarded our search.

“Well,” muttered Van Volkenberg moodily, “he must have told the truth. Someone else has the papers if they were ever written at all. Who had he for friends?” Then he swore a fearful oath, for he had thought of the Marmadukes. “If she comes against me—” He doubled his fists, but did not finish the sentence.

We went back to dispose of the body of Louis. When this was done the patroon prepared to summon the remaining members of the Red Band. I did not know what he wanted of his retainers, nor did I care. I remembered what Louis had said to me about the loose bricks by the oven and that I should look there in case of his death by violence. I resolved to do a little hunting on my own account and, sure enough, when I reached the place, I found two small packets, which I hastily concealed about me and retired to my room. One of the packets was marked “The Great Secret.” The other bore the date of that very day. I tore it open. Here is what I read:

“I heard the whole conversation between Van Volkenberg and Captain Kidd. The latter has come here to recruit the crew which is to take the Adventure out to sea to capture pirate ships. Van Volkenberg has agreed to furnish the eighty men needed to complete the crew. The agreement is that as soon as they are well at sea these men are to mutiny. Kidd is to give in without resistance. Then they are all to turn pirates. Van Volkenberg is to get a share of the booty and to start the rumor that this was Bellamont’s intention from the first. There was another plan disclosed”

The account stopped abruptly, without even the formality of a period. Louis may have been interrupted in his writing and found no chance to finish, or he may have thought better and decided not to tell all he knew. Of this fact, of course, no one will ever know. I was about to break the seal of the second packet and read the Great Secret, when I heard steps in the corridor on the way to my door. The next moment there was a knock.

“Patroon Van Volkenberg wishes your presence in the hall,” said the messenger.

Five minutes later I was at the door of the assembly room where the remainder of the Red Band had already gathered and seemed to be waiting for my appearance. This was the first time I had seen them together by daylight, and as I glanced round upon their faces, several questions that I had often asked myself were partly answered. The lower class I had seen everywhere so far in and about Yorke were men whose independence of spirit and ability to think for themselves would not have countenanced such blind obedience to a leader as was shown by these men of the Red Band. But as I looked upon them now I saw the reason. Most of them were foreigners, all of them weather-beaten soldiers or sailors, who may have seen as many campaigns or more than I had seen myself. As soldiers they had had obedience drilled into their very bones. But there was another reason yet. Three of the men who stood nearest to me had each but one ear. Several more had letters branded upon their foreheads or upon their hands. I knew well enough what that meant. In a time when, on the continent, as well as in the colonies, mutilation was so common, I needed no one to tell me how many of the members of the Red Band had served their time in prison. Surely this was a lawless set of men. They spared no one, and every man’s hand was against them. The newness of the patroon’s attempt to assume rights that were no longer his may have been all that accounted for his criminal deeds being kept a secret thus far; but I thought, as I looked at these men, to whom could they turn if they once deserted their present master?

Van Volkenberg had drawn largely upon his followers when he garrisoned the fort. All of those who were left behind were now gathered in the hall before me. I had not long to wait to learn the purpose of the meeting. The patroon commanded silence. In a few words he reminded his followers of the oaths of service they had all taken to him. Then he explained that Captain William Kidd was about to set out on an expedition for the welfare of the province.

“My men,” continued the patroon, “a task is expected of you. I cannot now make known to you all the particulars of your new duty. I shall entrust my plans to Edward Baine and Harold Bromm. You know and respect both of these men. You must obey them as if I were there myself to give orders. Each man shall receive at the outset twenty pounds. The money has already been sent aboard ship. You must follow yourselves as secretly as possible before night. At midnight the anchors will be lifted and by sunrise you will be far from shore.”

He looked about him as if to note the temper of his audience. There was no dissatisfaction. Most of the men were already tired of the quiet times since the elections, and welcomed this chance of action. No question of its propriety seemed to enter their heads. They acted like machines, ready to come and go as their master sent them.

“Now,” continued the patroon. “In accordance with our general custom we shall take the oath of service together.

“Edward Baine, stand forth. Do you solemnly swear to remain true to the brotherhood of the Red Band, to advance its interests with your life, so help you God?”

“I do, Amen.”

The oath was next administered to Harold Bromm. After that a clause was inserted binding the men to obey the orders of these two ringleaders. One after another the members of the band bound themselves to this new venture. At last there were but three left, myself and two others. I wondered whether the patroon intended to send me along with the rest on this mutinous expedition.

“Dick Ramsey, do you solemnly swear—”

The oath was duly sworn to.

“Barnard Lee—”

He likewise assented to the oath.

All eyes turned upon me. The others looked expectant as if they too had thought of the same question that I had just put to myself. Perhaps even the patroon did not know what he would do till the moment came. He looked at me as if in deliberation with himself. There was a long pause, then I heard my name.

“Henrie St. Vincent, do you solemnly swear to remain true to the brotherhood of the Red Band, to advance its interest with your life, to obey Edward Baine and Harold Bromm in all things as they may command, so help you God?”

“I do not.”

The silence of amazement followed. I could not forbear to smile at the look on every face. Only the patroon appeared as if he had expected my answer. He was angry rather than surprised.

“Why not?” he cried petulantly. “Why not, St. Vincent?”

“I do not care to leave Yorke,” I answered. “This duty is not within my understanding of what I promised when I took service. If you wish it, I will withdraw from the Red Band, but—”

“Withdraw! Such a thing was never heard of.”

There was a murmur of discontent throughout the room. Some spoke openly and bade me remember Ronald Guy. Disobedience had been a part of his offense.

I was standing close to the patroon and spoke to him so that no one else could hear what I said. “Do you intend to treat me as you treated your—” I was on the point of saying “your son,” but he cut me short.

“No, no, if you don’t want to go you need not. No one shall go against his will. Never mind, my men; you will lose a good blade, but I shall gain one. I really need him here after all. It cost me an effort to make up my mind to let him go.”

The patroon whispered to someone next him and after that two or three men left the hall. We were detained but a few moments longer. Then the men began to say good-by to their master. Only about one in ten of them lived on the estate. Some of these came to take his hand and even wept at parting. “You have been a good master. I’ll never forget when the old woman was sick,” said one. And another, “I’ll do my best for you. I’ve not forgot when my little boy died.” Truly this master was good to his own, save only when his malady was upon him.

I was much touched by what I had just witnessed. From the assembly room I went to my own. I was anxious to read the secret contained in the second packet which Louis had hidden in the oven. But I was to be interrupted once again. I had hardly closed the door behind me when I discovered that I was not alone in the room. A tall figure, completely robed in a black mantle, stood in one corner. When I closed the door she stepped forward.

“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I exclaimed, “what has brought you here?”

It took me several minutes to recover my self-possession. Miriam meantime dropped her cloak and stood blushing before me. Her voice trembled with confusion and she could hardly speak.

“Oh, what will you think of me?” she broke out after one or two attempts to speak. “But I could not help it. Listen to me and let me go. What have you done? My father has given orders to have you watched. In a few minutes you will not be able to get away; you must go at once.”

When she bade me go away and leave her there alone, I recalled a former occasion when I had resolved to protect this girl if need be against her father.

“Shall I leave you here?” I asked.

“Me? What have I to do with it? Go, go; do not stay; you must, you must.” She laid hold of my arm and tried to push me towards the door.

“Why do you want me to go?”

She became silent and the bright color came into her cheeks.

“You must go. I want you to save yourself.”

“I cannot go,” I answered.

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

She stepped backward as if frightened at my simple words.

“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I continued, “I am a plain woer. I do not know how to tell you what I feel. My heart tells me that I love you, but how shall I make you know it? Bid me to do something. Prove my love. Do you care nothing for how I feel?”

She came a step closer. “I am a Catholic.”

“Does not that prove my love? You know what I have had to suffer from your church.”

“Yes, you have told me a little,” she answered. “But—”

I would have no buts. I caught both her hands in mine and gazed into her eyes wondering what she would say if she knew who I really was. For a moment she held away from me. Then I felt her sway gently forward.

“Do you love me, Miriam?”

“Yes.”

For a moment I held her in my arms. Her face lay close upon my shoulder. I could feel her heart beating quickly, and there was a sweet smell about her hair like fresh flowers. Then she whispered softly:

“Call me Miriam again.”

“My sweet Miriam.”

“Ah, Henrie—why do you start?”

She lifted her face to mine. I kissed her forehead before I answered.

“I started because you did not call me by my name. My name is Michael Le Bourse.”

She looked at me with growing wonder in her eyes. “Michael Le Bourse? Ruth’s brother? He is dead.”

“No, he is not dead. You did not see his body at Marmaduke’s. You were deceived. He is alive and well, and I am he.”

As she gazed confusedly at me the wonder faded from her face. Then in a flash she seemed to comprehend it all. She broke from me and stood in the center of the room, burning with shame and anger.

“If you are Michael Le Bourse, what are you doing here?”

Oh, the sight was pitiful, both for her and for me. She stamped her foot madly.

“What are you doing here? Are you a spy in my father’s house? You wretch, I see it now. You came here to avenge your sister. You tricked me into loving you. I hate you. I thought you were an honest man. The shame, oh the shame to have touched you. Is this your just religion? Where is your justice? In lying, in deceit, in being false to women? All, all to gain your own selfish ends. The dogs in my father’s kennels would hold better faith than that. Yet you judge others. You say we Catholics are untrue. God shield us, we are not ashamed to own our names.”

I tried to interrupt her. She only drew her skirts about her and edged off as if I were diseased.

“Don’t speak to me. Your poor sister! If she were alive it would break her heart to hear of this. She used to talk about you. I have heard her speak so often of your honor. This would break her heart. Stand by and let me go.”

She moved towards the door, going by the edge of the room, so as to keep as far away from me as possible.

“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I said when she was near the threshold, “there is much justice in what you say.”

“Of course there is much justice in what I say.”

“But you are not right in all. I cannot explain everything now, but let me tell you my resolution. I am willing to make amends.”

“Amends! You cannot. You are false to perdition.”

“I can confess myself and give myself up to justice.”

“Yes, your justice. Go to your sweet Earl and say, ‘Faith, I’ve been a naughty boy, forgive me.’ And he will say, ‘Yes.’ I know him. My father would not stand his evil practice and that is why he left the council. So your horseback-riding governor is your amends, is it? I see you are a coward as well as a villain. O God, can such men live and look like other men?”

“No, mistress, this is not what I intended to do. I intended to go to your father.”

“You dare not.”

“That will be seen.”

She opened the door and was on the point of going out when she turned back.

“I believe you dare,” she muttered.

Then she came quickly to my side.

“Do not do it. It will do no good. It will throw him into a passion and he might—might—oh, fly, fly before it is too late.”

She spoke beseechingly and the anger in her voice was fading like the twilight.

“But what interest,” I asked, “can you have in a villain and a coward?”

“None, none,” she replied, “but that such a worm should linger in our house.”

She swept haughtily from the room without so much as a glance behind her. Indeed I was rightly punished. My ungenerous answer had but trampled on her sweet good will. When she went out I felt as if all the light in my life went with her. Bitterly I reproached myself for my folly—nay, worse than folly. But it was now too late to mend. I could, however, carry out my resolution. I could prove that I was not a coward. It was the more easy to do because I had already considered the question of making myself known to the patroon, be the consequences what they might. So, in this state of mind, fresh from the sting of her contempt and full of despair at my own foolishness, I sought the master of the house.