"I dunno, suh; hit dess look dat-a-way to me, suh."
"You're a fool," I said, sharply.
"No, suh, I ain' no fool, Mars' George. I done see de sign! Yaas, suh, I
done see de sign."
"What sign?"
The old man chuckled, looked slyly at my left hand, then chuckled again.
"Mars' George, yo' is wearin' yo' weddin'-ring now!"
"A ring! There is no ring on my hand, you rascal!" I said.
"Yaas, suh; dey sho' is, Mars' George," he insisted, still chuckling.
"I tell you I never wear a ring," I said, impatiently.
"'Scuse me, Mars' George, suh," he said, humbly. And, lifting my left
hand, laid it in his wrinkled, black palm, peering closely. I also
looked, and saw at the base of my third finger a circle like the mark
left by a wedding-ring.
"That is strange," I said; "I never wore a ring in all my life!"
"Das de sign, suh," muttered the old man; "das de Ormond sign, suh. Yo'
pap wore de ghos'-ring, an' his pap wore it too, suh. All de Ormonds
done wore de ghos'-ring fore dey wus wedded. Hit am dess dat-a-way.
Mars' George--"
He hesitated, looking up at me with gentle, dim eyes.
"Miss Dorry, suh--"
He stopped short, then dropped his voice to a whisper.
"'Fore Miss Dorry git up outen de baid, suh, I done tote de bre'kfus in
de mawnin'. An' de fustest word dat li'l Miss Dorry say, 'Cato,' she
say, 'whar Mars' George?' she say. 'He 'roun' de yahd, Miss Dorry,' I
say. ''Pears lak he gettin' mo' res'less an' mis'ble, Miss Dorry.'
"'Cato,' she 'low, 'I spec' ma' haid gwine ache if I lie hyah in
dishyere baid mo'n two free day. Whar ma' milk an' co'n pone, Cato?'
"So I des sot de salver down side de baid, suh, an' li'l Miss Dorry she
done set up in de baid, suh, an' hole out one li'l bare arm--"
He laid a wrinkled finger on his lips; his dark face quivered with
mystery and emotion.
"One li'l bare arm," he repeated, "an' I see de sign!"
"What sign?" I stammered.
"De bride-sign on de ring-finger! Yaas, suh. An' I say, 'Whar yo' ring,
Miss Dorry?' An' she 'low ain' nebber wore no ring. An' I say, 'Whar dat
ring, Miss Dorry?'
"Den Miss Dorry look kinder queer, and rub de ghos'-ring on de
bridal-finger.
"'What dat?' she 'low.
"'Dasser ghos'-ring, honey.'
"Den she rub an' rub, but, bless yo' heart, Mars' George! she dess
natch'ly gwine wear dat pink ghos'-ring twill yo' slip de bride-ring
on.... Mars' George! Honey! What de matter, chile?... Is you a-weepin',
Mars' George?"
"Oh, Cato, Cato!" I choked, dropping my head on his shoulder.
"What dey do to mah l'il Mars' George?" he said, soothingly. "'Spec'
some one done git saucy! Huh! Who care? Dar de sign! Dar de ghos'-ring!
Mars' George, yo' is dess boun' to wed, suh! Miss Dorry, she dess boun'
to wed, too--"
"But not with me, Cato, not with me. There's another man coming for Miss
Dorry, Cato. She has promised him."
"Who dat?" he cried. "How come dishyere ghost-ring roun' yo'
weddin'-finger?"
"I don't know," I said; "the chance pressure of a riding-glove, perhaps.
It will fade away, Cato, this ghost-ring, as you call it.... Give me
that rag o' lace; ... dust the powder away, Cato.... There, I'm smiling;
can't you see, you rascal?... And tell Tulip she is right."
"What dat foolish wench done tole you?" he exclaimed, wrathfully.
But I only shook my head impatiently and walked out. Down the hallway I
halted in the light of the sconces and looked at the strange mark on my
finger. It was plainly visible. "A tight glove," I muttered, and walked
on towards the stairs.
From the floor below came a breezy buzz of voices, laughter, the snap of
ivory fans spreading, the whisk and rustle of petticoats. I leaned a
moment over the rail which circled the stair-gallery and looked down.
Unaccustomed cleanliness and wax and candle-light made a pretty
background for all this powdered and silken company swarming below. The
servants and children had gathered ground-pine to festoon the walls;
stair-rail, bronze cannon, pictures, trophies, and windows were all
bright with the aromatic green foliage; enormous bunches of peonies
perfumed the house, and everywhere masses of yellow and white
elder-bloom and swamp-marigold brightened the corners.
Sir Lupus, standing in the hallway with a tall gentleman who wore the
epaulets and the buff-and-blue uniform of a major-general, beckoned me,
and I descended the stairs to make the acquaintance of that noblest and
most generous of soldiers, Philip Schuyler. He held my hand a moment,
scrutinizing me with kindly eyes, and, turning to Sir Lupus, said,
"There are few men to whom my heart surrenders at sight, but your young
kinsman is one of the few, Sir Lupus."
"He's a good boy, General, a brave lad," mumbled Sir Lupus, frowning to
hide his pride. "A bit quick at conclusions, perhaps--eh, George?"
"Too quick, sir," I said, coloring.
"A fault you have already repaired by confession," said the General,
with his kindly smile. "Mr. Ormond, I had the pleasure of receiving Sir
George Covert the day he left for Stanwix, and Sir George mentioned your
desire for a commission."
"I do desire it, sir," I said, quickly.
"Have you served, Mr. Ormond?" he asked, gravely.
"I have seen some trifling service against the Florida savages, sir."
"As officer, of course."
"As officer of our rangers, General."
"You were never wounded?"
"No, sir; ... not severely."
"Oh!... not severely."
"No, sir."
"There are some gentlemen of my acquaintance," said Schuyler, turning to
Sir Lupus, "who might take a lesson in modesty from Mr. Ormond."
"Yes," broke out Sir Lupus--"that pompous ass, Gates."
"General Gates is a loyal soldier," said Schuyler, gravely.
"Who the devil cares?" fumed Sir Lupus. "I call a spade a spade! And I
say he is at the head of that infamous cabal which seeks to disgrace
you. Don't tell me, sir! I'm an older man than you, sir! I've a right to
say it, and I do. Gates is an envious ass, and unfit to hold
your stirrup!"
"This is a painful matter," said Schuyler, in a low voice. "Indiscreet
friendship may make it worse. I regard General Gates as a patriot and a
brother soldier.... Pray let us choose a gayer topic ... friends."
His manner was so noble, his courtesy so charming, that there was no
sting in his snub to Sir Lupus. Even I had heard of the amazing
jealousies and intrigues which had made Schuyler's life
miserable--charges of incompetency, of indifference, of corruption--nay,
some wretched creatures who sought to push Gates into Schuyler's command
even hinted at cowardice and treason. And none could doubt that Gates
knew it and encouraged it, for he had publicly spoken of Schuyler in
slighting and contemptuous terms.
Yet the gentleman whose honor had been the target for these slanderers
never uttered one word against his traducers: and, when a friend asked
him whether he was too proud to defend himself, replied, serenely, "Not
too proud, but too sensible to spread discord in my country's army."
"Lady Schuyler desires to know you," said the General, "for I see her
fan-signal, which I always obey." And he laid his arm on mine as a
father might, and led me across the room to where Dorothy stood with
Lady Schuyler on her right, surrounded by a bevy of bright-eyed girls
and gay young officers.
Dorothy presented me in a quiet voice, and I bowed very low to Lady
Schuyler, who made me an old-time reverence, gave me her fingers to
kiss, and spoke most kindly to me, inquiring about my journey, and how I
liked this Northern climate.
Then Dorothy made me known to those near her, to the pretty Carmichael
twins, whose black eyes brimmed purest mischief; to Miss Haldimand,
whose cold beauty had set the Canadas aflame; and to others of whom I
have little recollection save their names. Christie McDonald and Lysbet
Dirck, two fashionable New York belles, kin to the Schuylers.
As for the men, there was young Paltz Clavarack, ensign in the Half-moon
Regiment, very fine in his orange-faced uniform; and there was Major
Harrow, of the New York line; and a jolly, handsome dare-devil, Captain
Tully O'Neil, of the escort of horse, who hung to Dorothy's skirts and
whispered things that made her laugh. There were others, too, aides in
new uniforms, a medical officer, who bustled about in the rôle of
everybody's friend; and a parcel of young subalterns, very serious, very
red, and very grave, as though the destiny of empires reposed in their
blue-and-gold despatch pouches.
"I wonder," murmured Dorothy, leaning towards me and speaking behind her
rose-plumed fan--"I wonder why I answered you so."
"Because I deserved it," I muttered,
"Cousin I Cousin!" she said, softly, "you deserve all I can give--all
that I dare not give. You break my heart with kindness."
I stepped to her side; all around us rose the hum of voices, laughter,
the click of spurs, the soft sounds of silken gowns on a polished floor.
"It is you who are kind to me, Dorothy," I whispered, "I know I can
never have you, but you must never doubt my constancy. Say you
will not?"
"Hush!" she whispered; "come to the dining-hall; I must look at the
table to see that all is well done, and there is nobody there.... We can
talk there."
She slipped off through the throng, and I sauntered into the gun-room,
from whence I crossed the hallway and entered the dining-hall. Dorothy
stood inspecting the silver and linen, and giving orders to Cato in a
low voice. Then she dismissed the row of servants and sat down in a
leather chair, resting her forehead in her hands.
"Deary me! Deary me!" she murmured, "how my brain whirls!... I would I
were abed!... I would I were dead!... What was it you said concerning
constancy? Oh, I remember; I am never to doubt your constancy." She
raised her fair head from between her hands.
"Promise you will never doubt it," I whispered.
"I--I never will," she said. "Ask me again for the minuet, dear. I--I
refused everybody--for you."
"Will you walk it with me, Dorothy?"
"Yes--yes, indeed! I told them all I must wait till you asked me."
"Good heavens!" I said, laughing nervously, "you didn't tell them that,
did you?"
She bent her lovely face, and I saw the smile in her eyes glimmering
through unshed tears.
"Yes; I told them that. Captain O'Neil protests he means to call you out
and run you through. And I said you would probably cut off his queue and
tie him up by his spurs if he presumed to any levity. Then he said he'd
tell Sir George Covert, and I said I'd tell him myself and everybody
else that I loved my cousin Ormond better than anybody in the world and
meant to wed him--"
"Dorothy!" I gasped.
"Wed him to the most, beautiful and lovely and desirable maid in
America!"
"And who is that, if it be not yourself?" I asked, amazed.
"It's Maddaleen Dirck, the New York heiress, Lysbet's sister; and you
are to take her to table."
"Dorothy," I said, angrily, "you told me that you desired me to be
faithful to my love for you!"
"I do! Oh, I do!" she said, passionately. "But it is wrong; it is
dreadfully wrong. To be safe we must both wed, and then--God knows!--we
cannot in honor think of one another."
"It will make no difference," I said, savagely.
"Why, of course, it will!" she insisted, in astonishment. "We shall be
married."
"Do you suppose love can be crushed by marriage?" I asked.
"The hope of it can."
"It cannot, Dorothy."
"It must be crushed!" she exclaimed, flushing scarlet. "If we both are
tied by honor, how can we hope? Cousin, I think I must be mad to say it,
but I never see you that I do not hope. We are not safe, I tell you,
spite of all our vows and promises.... You do not need to woo me, you do
not need to persuade me! Ere you could speak I should be yours, now,
this very moment, for a look, a smile--were it not for that pale spectre
of my own self which rises ever before me, stern, inexorable, blocking
every path which leads to you, and leaving only that one path free where
the sign reads 'honor.' ... And I--I am sometimes frightened lest, in an
overwhelming flood of love, that sign be torn away and no spectre of
myself rise to confront me, barring those paths that lead to you....
Don't touch me; Cato is looking at us.... He's gone.... Wait, do not
leave me.... I have been so wretched and unhappy.... I could scarce find
strength and heart to let them dress me, thinking on your face when I
answered you so cruelly.... Oh, cousin! where are our vows now? Where
are the solemn promises we made never to speak of love?... Lovers make
promises like that in story-books--and keep them, too, and die
sanctified, blessing one another and mounting on radiant wings to
heaven.... Where I should find no heaven save in you! Ah, God! that is
the most terrible. That takes my heart away--to die and wake to find
myself still his wife--to live through all eternity without you--and no
hope of you--no hope!... For I could be patient through this earthly
life, losing my youth and yours forever, ... but not after death! No,
no! I cannot.... Better hell with you than endless heaven with him!...
Don't speak to me.... Take your hand from my hand.... Can you not see
that I mean nothing of what I say--that I do not know what I am
saying?... I must go back; I am hostess--a happy one, as you perceive....
Will I never learn to curb my tongue? You must forget every word I
uttered--do you hear me?"
She sprang up in her rustling silks and took a dozen steps towards the
door, then turned.
"Do you hear me?" she said. "I bid you remember every word I
uttered--every word!"
She was gone, leaving me staring at the flowers and silver and the
clustered lights. But I saw them not; for before my eyes floated the
vision of a slender hand, and on the wedding-finger I saw a faint, rosy
circle, as I had seen it there a moment since, when Dorothy dropped her
bare arms on the cloth and laid her head between them.
So it was true; whether for good or ill my cousin wore the ghost-ring
which for ages, Cato says, we Ormonds have worn before the
marriage-ring. There was Ormond blood in Dorothy. Did she wear the sign
as prophecy for that ring Sir George should wed her with? I dared not
doubt it--and yet, why did I also wear the sign?
Then in a flash the forgotten legend of the Maid-at-Arms came back to
me, ringing through my ears in clamorous words:
"Serene, 'mid love's alarms,
For all time shall the Maids-at-Arms,
Wearing the ghost-ring, triumph with their constancy!"
I sprang to the door in my excitement and stared at the picture of the
Maid-at-Arms.
Sweetly the violet eyes of the maid looked back at me, her armor
glittered, her soft throat seemed to swell with the breath of life.
Then I crept nearer, eyes fixed on her wedding-finger. And I saw there a
faint rosy circle as though a golden ring had pressed the snowy flesh.