I MEET THE PATROON AGAIN
It is pleasant to indulge the habit of speculation, and to this day I
never weary of wondering how it is that a person can perform acts in a
moment of excitement that he could do at no other time; or why it is
that one often collapses with fear the moment all cause for anxiety is
gone.
The latter was my case when the patroon left me to rejoin his
companions. Ever since my arrival at the manor-house, I had known myself
in great danger. The alertness required, the readiness to defend my life
at a moment’s notice had caused an almost continuous strain upon my
nerves that was well nigh unendurable. But, in spite of the two bold
attempts on my life, I had borne up bravely and had not flinched.
The moment the patroon left me, however, I felt my courage slipping
after him. As I counted his footsteps, as they became fainter and
fainter in the distance, I began to fear that he would return. Instead
of joy at my narrow escape, I feared lest it should not prove an escape
at all. Suppose Louis should tell him who I was. I had every reason in
the world to believe in the dwarf’s honesty; the very fact that I began
to suspect him at the moment he had delivered me from such imminent
danger shows the power of the reaction that had taken hold of me.
My one idea was to get away. But at the first step my knees doubled
under me and I stumbled on the ground, weak and exhausted. The grass was
wet with dew and when my face and hands touched it I felt somewhat
refreshed. I rolled over on my back and lay for some time looking up at
the stars. There was one cold star just overhead which I kept watching
as it crept across a narrow gap in the foliage above me. The stars move
so slowly, and I thought afterwards what a long time I must have lain
there noting nothing but that slow-paced point of light.
After a while I began to feel ashamed of my feebleness of mind and body.
I recalled how I had once berated a man for cowardice who was in much
the same plight on that flight from Paris years before when my sister
was a child and in my care. I began to apply the same words to myself
that I had applied to him then, and presently my spirit was returning to
me. With the change came, fiercer than ever, my hatred for my enemy.
This slaying a man in the dark and by traps was more than I could stand.
What infuriated me most was the presence of Annetje in the fray. Of
course the patroon thought that it was his daughter who had ridden out
with me, yet he led the attack in spite of her presence. Though he knew
she would sustain no bodily harm, he should have remembered the terrible
shock it must have given her. This brutality to her was the match that
kindled me into countenance again. With the thought of it I was on my
feet, with my hand upon my sword hilt, ready to keep my promise to
Annetje Dorn.
But as yet I had no plan. I set out, however, towards the tannery,
resolved to get back my own clothes. I had no difficulty in finding the
way, but I had no light and it was slow work unloading the debris we had
piled upon the grave. It was done at last, however, and when I reached
the coffin I pried off the cover with the blade of my sword.
It made me shudder to put on the clothes that the dead man had worn for
so many hours, but I forced myself to do it and felt the better when it
was done. It was about dawn by this time, and after I had hidden
Barker’s clothes—for I might need them as a disguise—I occupied an hour,
restoring the corner to its former appearance of undisturbed disorder.
As it was now broad daylight I set out for the manor-house, minded to
stay about till shortly before nine o’clock, for at that time I knew the
patroon intended to set out with Louis for the Hanging Rock. I sat down
to wait, but soon an incident occurred that spoiled all the plans I had
been forming in the last hour.
I had taken a seat at the foot of a tree in the park, merely to wait
till later. Soon I heard footsteps, and then saw the young mistress
coming with a basket in her hand. I rose to my feet.
“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I said.
She gave a scream and dropped her basket. I was by her side instantly.
“What is the matter?” I asked, excitedly, never thinking that it was the
sight of me which had caused her to cry out and drop her basket.
“Matter! We thought you were dead. The utmost search, my father says,
revealed no trace of the ruffians who attacked you. How did you escape?”
For a moment I was in doubt as to whether to tell her the truth or not.
Then we sat down on the grass and I related the whole adventure to her
from the beginning to the end, keeping back only the names of the
persons who had been involved. Of the fact that her father had been
privy to it, I gave not the least hint.
How truly Shakespeare knew the innermost heart of woman when he wrote:
“She thank’d me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should
but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her.” As I told
my tale her eyes opened wider and wider. I seemed to stand in her simple
imagination like one of the heroes of old time. She did not realize that
I had done nothing to help myself, that my escape had all been arranged
for me. Her cheeks glowed with interest and sympathy. I think it must
have been at that moment that the feeling for me was born which led her
to so many kind acts in the next few days.
“Oh,” she cried with a little gasp of breath. “I am so glad. You are so
brave. Let me tell my father all about it.”
“Mistress Van Volkenberg,” I replied, “will you grant me a favor?”
“Anything, Monsieur St. Vincent.”
“It is this. Do not tell your father. Do not tell anyone. Your father is
often ill, and if I told him all it might excite him. Will you leave
this to me?”
“Yes, if you wish it.”
“I do. You are very kind. Where were you going when I alarmed you so?”
“I was going to the woods with a basket of flowers. Will you carry them
for me?”
We picked up the basket she had dropped and rearranged the flowers that
had fallen upon the ground. Then we set out, taking a footpath through
the woods, which brought us quickly to a little summer house perched
high upon a jutting cliff.
“This is the Hanging Rock, Monsieur St. Vincent. It is what gives the
name to our estate. It was called so even before my father got
possession of the rock itself. This is one of the last grants we
received from Governor Fletcher. Governor Bellamont shows small favor to
us.”
Her sweet voice and innocent manner took my breath away. The relations
between her father and the government were what I should hardly expect
her to speak to me about; yet she did speak of them without the least
hesitation or embarrassment. Could it be that she was innocent of all
knowledge of what went on within the boundary of her father’s manor? It
was an impossible thought at first, yet I could not associate a
knowledge of such things with the expression of her face at that moment.
Her features were lit up with a gentle sadness, such as one sees in the
pictures of the saints. I could believe no wrong of her, yet how could I
explain it? Did she not know that her sire had been expelled in disgrace
from the governor’s council? Was her only knowledge of her father’s
faults drawn from his unkindness to herself? She cut my meditations
short by an abrupt question:
“Will you carry my basket for me? I cut all the flowers in my garden
yesterday and brought them here.”
She pointed to a large basket and asked me again to take it up and
follow her. I soon knew where we were going. The vaguely familiar scene
grew more and more distinct as I trudged silently at her back. I knew
instinctively that we were passing through the same wood where I had
wandered in my trance, where I had met her when she gave me the
miniature of my dead sister. We were going to my sister’s grave. Yes, I
knew the place instantly. I saw her lift the piece of loose sod which
covered the stone marked with Ruth’s name.
Mistress Miriam sat on the grass by the side of the grave, binding the
flowers into wreaths and bunches which she laid about. When she placed
the last she knelt and clasped her hands in prayer. Her lips murmured
and the tears followed one another down her cheeks and fell among the
flowers.
I turned away, a great pain in my heart. Here was I by my sister’s
grave, yet I could not throw myself upon it and weep out my sorrow. Her
only mourner was a Roman Catholic. O God, it is not for me to question
the mystery of Thy ways! Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
On our way home I found it necessary to exert my full power of
self-control lest I betray my secret.
“You are affected,” she said. “It shows that you have a warm heart.”
“Will you tell me more about her?” I asked.
Mistress Van Volkenberg related how Ruth had come to New York, and how
she had suffered longing and sorrowful suspense for the brother who did
not come to her. Then she took service. The young mistress of the
manor-house fell in love with Ruth, as everyone did who knew her. Even
the hard patroon at times seemed to feel her sweetness.
“But he should be forgiven. My father has strange seizures. He is good
to me when his infirmity is not upon him.” She stopped suddenly. “I
ought not to be talking like this to you who are a stranger.”
I did not feel that we were strangers, but I could not tell her so. On
the way back to the manor-house a chance word recalled to me her
innocence of her father’s crimes. I followed this clew and directed the
conversation towards a revelation of herself.
Mistress Van Volkenberg was a woman of high spirit. Had I not seen her
stand out against her angry parent in defense of Ruth? Yet she was
gentle withal. In our conversation, she showed no bitterness against her
father, who had so little claim to the honor which she bore him. He must
have been dull indeed not to see his daughter’s worth; yet I wondered
how she could be so blind to his defects. She soon told me more of his
dealings with her.
“Father does not like to have me go to the city,” she said. “I wish he
did not care, for I love to go. Yesterday morning was the first time for
so long, and he bade me not to tarry. The merry scenes on market day
before the fort, and the ships coming and going with all the strange new
faces of their crews—one loves to watch such things. Ah, you should have
been here in the old days when the pirates came freely into the port. I
have seen old Blackbeard and the Painted Dwarf strutting along the
Battery in silk and cloth of gold like any king. But the Earl has
stopped all that.”
Her face had lighted up with innocent enthusiasm as she recalled the
sights of the gorgeously appareled buccaneers; but the lightness died
away with her last words, and she ended with a sigh.
We had nearly reached the manor when Mistress Van Volkenberg darted from
my side. Almost in a moment she was some distance away, and kneeling in
the grass.
“Poor little thing,” I heard her croon gently.
When I came to her she was stroking an unfortunate bird that had broken
its wing and lay helpless on the ground. The kind-hearted girl nursed it
tenderly till its little heart ceased to beat with fear, and it snuggled
safely in her hand. As she carried it into the house, I could not help
but think how little fit such a place was for the scenes I had witnessed
in the last hour. The house where Ronald Guy had died, where they had
stolen upon me in the dead of night to take my life, the house which
sheltered the man who was responsible for my adventure at the tannery
seemed no place for an innocent girl like Miriam, whose tender heart was
all alive with sympathy at the sufferings of the poor bird she had found
in the grass.
“Yes, yes,” she said, stroking it and talking gently as we walked along.
“I shall take it home and nurse it till it can fly away. I cannot fly
away either, so we shall play together.”
By this time we had nearly reached the house. For some moments I had
been afraid lest this trip should occupy so much time that I should
arrive at the manor-house after nine o’clock, the hour at which the
patroon and Louis were to set out for the rock. As we neared the house,
I espied a man who was leading their two saddle horses.
“Your father is about to ride,” I said.
“Yes,” answered Miriam. “He and Louis are going to the Hanging Rock. At
least they intended to last night; I set out too early this morning to
see anyone before I left.”
“Remember what you promised me,” I said. “My adventure is to be secret.
Now, if you will let me, I shall go ahead and meet your father before he
leaves the house.”
A few minutes later when I stood by the door of the patroon’s private
room, I heard the voices of him and his curious henchman.
“That Barker is a good fellow,” Van Volkenberg was saying. “I have a
notion to promote him to some trust.”
“He may be worth it,” answered Louis. “But no one has seen him since
last night. Perhaps he has run away and will not return.”
“One thing is sure,” replied his master. “St. Vincent will not return.”
Instantly I drew aside the curtain and stood in the doorway.
“Patroon Van Volkenberg.”
He started violently at the sound of my voice, and turned towards me.
Then his hands flew up before his eyes and he uttered a scream.
“My God, my God, it is his ghost. Go back, go back! Louis, try if it be
real. Get your sword. Give me mine. Stop it. Hold, hold; stop it. For
God’s sake, Louis, get between.”
I had come two steps forward, and my approach seemed to drive him crazy.
He backed off, holding one hand over his eyes, and waving his sword with
the other.
“Can you speak? Why are you so silent? Who are you? What is your name?”
“Henrie St. Vincent.”
“You are dead. Have you come to call me hence? Begone. I am not ready
yet. I have accounts still to settle. Away, Sir Evelin. Help me, help;
call my daughter, call Miriam.”
He caught himself up at the last word and stopped. He was gasping for
breath, clutching his hands tight together in the vain attempt to force
upon himself the mastery of his passion. Suddenly he called out again.
“Bring my daughter; fetch Miriam or I shall die.”
While Louis went in search of her I remained at his side. He was moaning
pitifully and calling upon his daughter. Now and then he uttered
disjointed sentences. “I must not let her know—the Marmadukes—do not
look at me with those fearful eyes—I did not kill you—the pretty
Ruth—she knew my secret.”
And so he raved. Remorse—ah, I too know its bitter taste—remorse was
conquering where no other foe could conquer. I bowed my head in silence
and departed; this was no place for me. I left him with his daughter.
With this sudden visitation all my plans had vanished. I had sought his
room intending to defy him to the utmost and to make him fight, and thus
it had all ended. Yet I have not told you half, nor half of half. I
cannot till this day forget the look of fear and horror on his face when
he saw me, whom he thought dead, standing before him like a spirit from
another world. No, I could not wish even my worst enemy the anguish he
felt at that moment.
Then, as Miriam bent over him, with her sweet pleading face I realized
that it was her father I was hounding to his death. That was a deeper
cut than all. I knew that a man cannot serve two masters. Could I serve
two mistresses—or three? Could I avenge Ruth, serve Lady Marmaduke, and
protect Miriam all at the same time? How had I kept my promise to
Annetje? I was in this sullen humor when I met the dwarf in the hall.
“What did you come back for?” he cried angrily. “I saved your life and
now you have lost me mine. Do you think life is sweet only to you? Does
my ill-shaped figure, think you, have no love of the green earth?
Ungrateful!”
“What do you mean?”
“I chose the men who were to kill you. I prepared the weapons that were
to shoot you. I watched by your dead body all the time—at least, so I
swore. Now he has seen you alive and well. Do you suppose the little
dwarf will live long after that? You know his practices on yourself, and
I am not half your size. God’s curse upon you.”
“Louis,” I said, “I had forgot—”
“Forgot what I did for you?”
“No, I shall never forget that. You have a right to be angry with me.
But I have done it; it cannot be helped. Is there no way I can undo my
mistake?”
“None.”
“Think. There must be.”
“There is none.”
“Does the patroon remember what happens during his attacks?”
“No, it is all a blank.”
“Then let me disappear. You can easily make him believe that this
meeting existed only in his fevered imagination. I shall go away and not
come back.”
All this while Louis had been sitting a limp heap at the bottom of the
great staircase. Now he rose and stood on the second step, which brought
his face almost on a level with mine.
“Do you mean that?” he asked, putting both his hands firmly on my
shoulders. “Can you really do that?”
“I can and I will do it.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“Why?”
“Ah, no, ’twill never do. You could never, never keep yourself away.
Besides, I need you here. We have more in common than you think. I need
you here. Sit down by me on the step. We must form some other plan.”
And another plan we did form, and that most quickly. I proposed it and
Louis confirmed my suggestion though, for the moment, I was myself the
more doubtful of its success. When the patroon regained consciousness,
Louis was to relate my story just as I had told it to Miriam. The
patroon’s own recollection of the events was to be attributed to some
hallucination during his attack.
I had hardly suggested the plan before an objection occurred to me.
Could he ever be made to believe all this? Louis, however, combated my
fears. He had a bit of information that he had not yet communicated to
me. He had chosen the men who were to take part in the attack. They had
all come to the meeting place masked, and the patroon had not stopped to
ask who his henchman had selected for the task. So, except in the case
of Barker, whom he had brought himself, the patroon was ignorant of the
men who had helped him. It was impossible, therefore, for him to make
inquiries among his men in case he suspected the truth of Louis’s tale.
There was still another point in our favor. Miriam had not forgot her
promise to me, but her father asked her such shrewd questions as to what
had happened that she fully believed I had already told him my
adventure. Upon that, with no intention but to emphasize what she
supposed I had already said, she talked over all she knew about me.
Louis’s account, coming after this, seemed mere corroboration. The dwarf
had a cunning tongue, and at last succeeded in allaying all his master’s
suspicions. Then I was sent for.
“Ah, Vincent,” said the patroon when I entered, “I have been ill since
yesterday, and Louis tells me that you have been hard used yourself.
Tell me all about it.”
He made me go through with every detail from the beginning to the end. I
could see the nervous anxiety in his face, and I could guess the drift
of his thoughts when he questioned me concerning the appearance of my
assailants.
He was utterly confused by the discrepancy between what he remembered
and what he had been told. Yet he often recovered from these attacks
with wild memories in his mind, and he could not tell whether this was
one of them or not. To tell his suspicions truly, would be to say that
he had meditated my murder. Patroon Van Volkenberg was too wary a man to
disclose his inmost thoughts.
I knew all this was passing in his mind, and that in my replies about
the appearance of my assailants, he hoped to recognize himself or Louis.
But I took care of that and managed to allay his suspicions for the
moment, though what his future plans were I never knew.
“We must complain of this treatment to the Earl,” he said. “Now, tell me
what happened before, when you rode to the city with my daughter. How
did you fare? What did you hear? Did she learn anything of what is said
of me in Yorke?”
I told him many of the details of our ride, especially about the meeting
with the Earl, but he was not satisfied.
“Did you hear nothing as you rode along? Nothing of what is said of me?”
“Yes, something,” I answered slowly. “But it was not about you. I heard
rumors, but they seemed to have slight significance. While we were
standing on the Slip, two of the gray coated soldiers—”
“Ay, the governor’s guard; what did they say?”
“There is a fear in the city that something is going to happen. Omens
have been observed. A wall fell towards the north against a high wind. A
bright light was seen in the northern sky three nights ago. These things
are causing much excitement.”
“Excitement at what? What conclusions do they draw?”
“I could not hear; someone spoke of an invasion.”
“Fools! It will not come from the north. Pardon my heat. The County
Frontenac is no such fool. He has tried the wilderness before and
failed. No, it will not come from the north.”
“Yet,” said I, “if the French count has tried the wilderness before, why
may he not try it again? If I were the Earl of Bellamont, I should look
to the defense of Albany.”
“Albany! Why yes, Albany to be sure; Albany is the thing. I should
defend Albany at all hazards. By my faith, that is an idea, my Vincent.
I should advise the Earl myself, but I am not in the council now. God’s
curse upon that man Le Bourse.”
I wished to change the subject, now that it drew so near myself, and I
wished also to say a word for Miriam. So I spoke of the Red Band.
“Your instructions to guard your daughter’s ears make me wonder that you
do not see that she must learn all this some day.”
“All this? What do you mean by that?”
“Your expulsion from the council, the liberties of the Red Band, the
ruin of your house.”
I expected an outbreak of anger in return for these plain words, but
none came. Instead, the patroon looked at me with eyes brimful of tears.
“You are right. The ruin of my house. If only I could put it off, but I
cannot. Miriam, my Miriam, it will fall like death upon you; it is
coming, it is coming like a storm.”
“But you can stop it. It is not too late.”
“It is too late. How can I stop it? I expected the support of my class.
They have drawn back. I stand alone. I cannot go back. Where will my
honor be if I desert my men? I have led them on in defiance of the law.
Can I give them up to justice now? Would you have me play the coward to
save myself? The die is cast. The Red Band cannot draw back. I must lead
them on. I have no more the power to stop this that I have set my hand
to than you have to stop the sun. Can I not see the end? I and the Earl!
Who am I? And he has the whole power of England at his back; but I’ll
play the bull-dog till I die. I’ll set the horseback rider by the ears.
The Red Band is not asleep. Beware, Earl Bellamont, beware. No maid is
playing with you now. Do I not see the end? Do you think a man stares
ruin in the face and strikes a feeble blow?”
His excitement had led him on; but he was showing me a deal more of
confidence than he thought wise. He became suddenly more reserved, and
then dismissed me abruptly, as if he repented what he had said, and did
not know how to get rid of me in any more delicate manner. He gave me a
command to wait upon him later in the day. With that I left the room.
And so this chapter of my adventure ended; I had been in deadly peril,
and I had escaped; but I was in the same uncertain state as before. What
would yet come of it? That was my thought, and only time could tell.