Governor, your Uncle, trusting to make his way with the Gentlemen
of the Colony, and, incidentally, to make as much Money off them
as they will permit--which, I Dare say, will not be Excessive, for
a more Unattractive little Rogue it would be hard to find outside
a jail. He is small, and fat, and bald, and is scarcely ever
Sober, when he has some one to pay for the Liquor; and, naturally,
he is a Vile little Beast in other ways--Comprenez vous? A
thoroughly disreputable fellow, Catherwood says, and one whom
Baltimore ought to be Ashamed to send his Colony; but Baltimore is
not Ashamed of anything, save leading a decent life._
"_I give you this, for your own Information--not because I think
there is any likelihood of your falling a Victim to Sir Edward's
wiles--but to warn you, and also Colonel Sharpe, if you think well
to meddle in his business. The name of this wretch is Sir Edward
Parkington----_"
Martha Stirling read the last line thrice, to make sure she saw aright.
"Sir Edward Parkington!" she reflected--"is small, and fat, and
bald, and scarcely ever sober! and a vile little beast in other
ways--_Comprenez vous?_ Yes, my dear, I comprehend. And what is more,
I comprehend that he is not _our_ Sir Edward. Between the leaving
London and the arrival at Annapolis, there was a change of men.--But
the letters of introduction are the same--how did they happen to change
hands?"
She sat a while, thinking deeply. Should she tell the Governor?
Should she preserve the secret, tell no one? Should she demand the
truth of Parkington himself, and let his story determine her future
action? She heard him and Brandon descend the stairs, and go out on
the esplanade. Brandon! he knew the secret--he knew that Parkington
was an impostor--he knew _all_. She had heard Constable's story of
the meeting at the Coffee-house--the surprise shown. Bah! it was
prearranged, determined upon beforehand; a play, acted for the express
benefit of the onlookers.--Should she block it, now, walk out and,
before the whole company, read Lady Catherwood's letter? It would be
effective--far more so than his play at the Coffee-house. In fact, it
would be conclusive.--Yet, he had always been very gallant to her, very
devoted, very sympathetic. (She looked out through the window.) Yes,
and he was a gentleman, too. No man had such manners, such grace, such
ease of bearing, otherwise.
The longer she looked, the more her heart misgave her. She could not do
it. She would wait until after supper, take him for a walk, down to the
water, and get him to confess the masquerade and the reason for it. She
refused to think that there was any wrong intended. He was better than
the real Sir Edward, a thousand times better. And she liked him--liked
him more than any man she had ever met, save only Richard Maynadier;
and Richard Maynadier (she had known it since the night he kissed her,
at Hedgely Hall) was not for her. There was no love in his lips, though
there had been plenty of ardor.
A little twinge of bitterness took possession of her. Why was she born
poor?--why could she not have had rank and riches instead of beauty?
Presently, she saw the butler go out and announce supper; she arose and
joined the party as they came trooping in.
She had Parkington and Brandon on either hand, and she watched them,
covertly, all through the meal, trying to pick some flaw in their
bearing, something that would not be quite right in their behaviour.
But she failed--as she had felt sure she would. They had only to be
natural, to be themselves, to ring true. Parkington he was not, and
Brandon might be false, also, but, assuredly, they came of the stock
they professed--and, may be, of better.
"I have got something to say to you, when you join us," she whispered
to Sir Edward, as the ladies arose to retire. "Don't be overlong."
"I will come at once," he said, as he drew back her chair.
"No--in a half hour. I will be down in the rose-walk, you may join me
there."
"On the instant!" he exclaimed--and watched her as she went slowly down
the table, flinging a bantering word, here and there, the men bowing,
and smiling, and flinging it back again.
"Yes, you may well look at her," said Brandon. "She has the beauty and
grace of the best of them at Court. She is the Governor's niece, I take
it?"
Parkington nodded. "But she is poor--and, I think, has a little too
much morals to get on at Court."
"She will not let her face and figure purchase her place, you mean? I
see.--You have decided to go home?" he asked suddenly.
"I am strongly tempted, Brandon, strongly tempted."
"And do you want to be sure of the old Earl's forgiveness?"
"I should not refuse it," said Parkington, smiling.
"Then, marry Miss Stirling--she can wheedle him, I warrant; and,
besides, he will be forced to admit that you have given some evidence
of reform by doing it."
"And Miss Stirling, shall I carry her off by force and marry her, or
simply drug her!" laughed Parkington.
"Neither--tell her the truth. I will be much surprised, if she does not
jump at the chance to get the son of the Earl of Doncaster, even though
he is not the heir. Moreover, man, she is fond of you; one did not need
to do more than see her at table, this evening, to appreciate it."
"You are fertile of schemes," was the answer.
"I am--and they are usually good schemes; it is an indispensable
requisite of the pirate business."
Parkington drew over the port, and replenished his glass.
"But it risks everything on the Earl," he objected. "If he refuse to be
lenient--if he prosecutes?"
"He will not."
"I must think over it--and, then, marriage is a serious question, my
friend, a serious question!"
"Is it any more serious to marry Miss Stirling, than it is to marry
Miss Marbury?" asked Brandon.
"Well, in the one case, my mind was made up."
"How about the lady's mind?"
"I admit I do not know."
"Was it she in blue and pink, at the other end of the table?"
"The same--she sat next to Constable."
Brandon laughed lightly, "I am a stranger, here," he said, "but there
is only one, in this company, who has any attraction for her:--the
tall, grave, exceedingly good-looking man of middle age across the
table. Maynadier, I think the Governor called him."
"He is only a friend of the family--the best friend, likely--nothing
more."
"I am not answering as to him," said Brandon. "You are not thinking of
marrying Mr. Maynadier, I take it." He pushed back his chair with the
others, and arose. "Consider it--sound Miss Stirling--see if she be
likely to accept. At any rate, I tell you, again, Miss Marbury is not
for you--and neither is residence in Maryland."
"Very good--I shall sound her, and tell you how it appears. I have an
appointment with her, now," said Parkington.
On the way out, Miss Marbury hailed him.
"Come here!" she said, with pretty peremptoriness. "Come here, and tell
me how you are--I have not seen you for a long, long time."
"And my days have been dreary as winter in consequence, full of rain
and melancholy," replied Parkington.
"Then, cheer up, Sir Mournful--the sun is shining; you may bask in its
rays a while."
He offered her his arm.
"To the Bay and back again?" he asked.
"Why, back again?" she laughed.
"Because I thought it the only way to get you. But, if you will,"
(bending down) "it shall be to Annapolis and St. Anne's Rector, ere we
come back again."
She looked up at him with merry eyes--a charming picture in the
moonlight.
"Let us first go to the Bay," she said; "perhaps, we shall not care to
go farther."
And Martha Stirling, from the rose-walk, saw them go. And surprise grew
slowly to amazement, and then--as the minutes fled, and they returned
not--the surprise changed into anger, sharp and sudden. And she left
the rose-walk, and hastened to the Governor.
She found him in his apartment, in converse with Richard Maynadier.
Both men arose, when she entered, and the latter made a move to retire.
She stopped him.
"Just a moment, Mr. Maynadier," she said--"I want only to give this
letter to Colonel Sharpe. It contains some information which it seems
well he should have at once.--It is from Lady Catherwood, sir," she
added; "it came this evening, and, though only a woman's letter, this
part," (indicating) "will prove very interesting reading."
She handed the letter to him, shot Maynadier a bewitching smile,
dropped them both a curtsy, and was gone.
"Your pardon, a moment!" said the Governor.... At the end, he passed
the letter across to Maynadier, and his face was troubled.
"Miss Stirling was right," he said. "But it is more than
interesting--unfortunate, I should term it."
Maynadier read it carefully before answering--then, he put it slowly
down.
"What course will you pursue?" he asked. "The evidence is all but
conclusive, now."
The Governor sent cloud after cloud of smoke ceiling-ward.
"I shall demand an explanation," he replied; "lay down the proofs, and
give him a chance to disprove; and do it quietly--there is no need to
proclaim my error."
"You are not at fault--the letters were authentic," said Maynadier.
"Possibly not--but I shall bear the blame, nevertheless, of having made
the imposition possible. I do not like it! Maynadier, I do not like it!
If I thought he would depart with Brandon, I would----" he broke off
and shook his head in indecision. "He has done no one, so far as we
know, an injury--other than to enter their houses under a false name.
He has, even then, compensated for his entertainment by his genialness
and his courtesy. It will raise a nasty scandal, and accomplish no real
good. If there were any crime, for which he was responsible, it would
be quite different. I grant you, he played cards for a high stake, and
usually with success, but no one accuses him of cheating--and there
were those who were willing to play."
"And, in addition, you like him!" laughed Maynadier.
"Yes, I like him--I reckon that does influence my judgment."
"But the fact remains, that he is _not_ Sir Edward Parkington. How will
you answer, if it ever become known--even after he has departed? 'I
knew it,' or, 'I did not know'?"
"I knew it."
"Then, how explain your failure to unmask him?"
"I should decline to explain," said the Governor.
"Such would be your privilege. I admit the matter (as it appears now)
is purely one of ethics, and expediency--and there are things to be
said on both sides."
"How would you decide it, Maynadier?"
"I do not know--I am glad it is not necessary that I decide it."
Colonel Sharpe flung his pipe on the table, scattering the hot ashes
broadcast.
"Damn it! Maynadier, I do not know what to do!" he exclaimed. "I shall
put it off until morning; sleep, sometimes, solves problems."
Maynadier arose. "And Miss Stirling," he said--"she will not disclose
what is in the letter?"
"No--but to make sure, I will caution her, at once," and, seizing his
cane, he hurried out.
"Where have you been, sir?" Miss Marbury inquired, as Maynadier came
face to face with her in the drawing-room doorway.
"Not where I wanted to be," he said.
"And where is that?"
"Where I am, now."
"A very pretty place," she answered, with a glance around; "but I
should think one, out of doors on such a night, were vastly preferable."
"With you in it?" he asked.
She seemed to hesitate, watching him, the while, through half-closed
eyes.
"If you wish, sir--wait until I get a fan.... Now, I am ready."
"I may select the place?" he said.
"You may," laughing; "will it be in the centre of the party, or just to
one side?"
"A little to one side," he answered--"by as far as the Bay is from the
house."
"Goodness, Dick, you are growing very venturesome--next you will be
inviting me to go where Sir Edward----"
"Yes," he said--"where Sir Edward?"
"No--no, that would be telling."
"You used to tell me everything," he said.
"Yes--before I grew up and put on the ways of society."
"And how long _has_ that been?"
"Since the last night of the party at Hedgely Hall," she answered.
"You mean, since you saw me kiss Miss Stirling?"
"Perhaps."
"It was a mistake, I admit it!"
"A mistake to be caught?" she laughed. "I grant it."
"Yes--a mistake to be caught--and a mistake to kiss her."
"Only when you have been caught! No! no! Dick, you cannot make me think
it ever a mistake to kiss a pretty girl--and the girl be willing."
"You have learned the ways of society very thoroughly."
"I have had excellent teachers."
"Teachers?" he inflected--"there have been more than myself?"
"Monsieur! am I a pretty girl? Think you that I have never been--that
no one has ever wanted to kiss me?"
"You cannot do it, Judith!" he laughed.
"Cannot do what?"
"Make me believe that any one ever----"
"Wanted to kiss me? Thank you, Mr. Maynadier!" with a toss of her head.
"No, that any one ever kissed you--until this moment."
And straightway he took her in his arms.
She pushed him from her, at last, and sprang back.
"Just what do you mean, sir?" she demanded--"just what do you mean?"
She was making a desperate effort to appear indignant.
"Mean?" he exclaimed, "you know what it means! Judith, you love me,
don't you, sweetheart?"
"Am I to take that as a proposal?" she asked.
"Surely, dear----"
"Then, do you not think, sir, it would be a trifle more appropriate to
confess your own feelings, rather than to inquire as to mine?"
"But you know _I_ love you!"
"You have never taken the trouble to tell me."
"My lips told you?"
"I did not hear them."
"When I kissed you?"
"I am not familiar with the language, sir," retreating.
He stopped.
"I love you, Judith--will you marry me?" he said, humbly.
"That is better, sir," she replied; "more according to custom. Have
you spoken to my father?"
"I have his permission--if you are willing?"
She laughed--a joyous, happy laugh.
"Why, Dick, I think I have been always willing," she said, and went to
him. "It is you--who--have--not--known."
The last words were whispered and broken.
* * * * * * * * *
"You are frightfully hard on one's coiffure, dear," she said,
presently, putting him aside, and stepping back. "Did you disarrange
Miss Stirling's so completely?"
He surveyed her critically.
"Rather more so, I think," he answered.
She made a little grimace.
"You wretch!" she exclaimed. "You need not have confessed it!"
"But you wanted the truth," with a sly smile.
"No, I did not want the truth!--No, sir! go away--I will not! Not
another one until we say good night. Is it a bargain?"
"I suppose so--yes, it is a bargain," he replied.
"Very well, sir--now, because you are so good, I shall tell you a
secret."
"A sugar plum for the child!" he laughed.
"A man always wants a sugar plum for being good," she reflected.
"And the secret?" he said.
"It has to do with Sir Edward Parkington," she answered.--"We walked
down to the water, after supper, and he was--very devoted," (with a
sidelong glance at Maynadier).
"I should hope so," he remarked.
"He took my hand----"
"Huh!" said Maynadier.
"And commented on the contour of my cheek----"
"Huh!" said Maynadier, again.
"And the beauty of my hair----"
No response!
"And the flawlessness of my complexion----"
A savage cut at the grass, with his walking stick!
"And he was good enough to say my mouth was a perfect bow----"
Another cut with the walking stick, more savage!
"Just made for kisses----"
"Yes!" said Maynadier, and stopped.
"And then,----" she went on.
"I suppose he kissed you!" Maynadier exclaimed.
"No!" she said--"No, he only proposed--Oh! he did it much nicer than
you, Dick! No man could ever have done it better."
"And what did you do?" said Maynadier, frowning.
"What do you think I did?"
He made a gesture, signifying that she might have done anything.
She laughed softly, and slipped her hand through his arm.
"You are a little, just a little jealous, dear,--confess it?" she said.
"No--I am not exactly jealous--but, oh hang it! Judith, what _did_ you
do?"
"You remember the evening at Hedgely Hall, when you told me that Sir
Edward was not Sir Edward?" she asked. "Well, it happened he had been
growing a little ardent about that time, and I thought I would try
an experiment. (It was not, I reckon, an altogether nice thing to
do--but I did it; and I am telling it only to you, Dick, remember!)
I drew him on--rather, I let him draw himself on; he needed very
little encouragement. And I did it, because, it seemed to me, when
he proposed, he also would have to disclose his real name, and the
reason for the masquerade. Nothing would kill a prospect of marriage so
effectively as concealment."
"That can be true only if he intended to remain in America," observed
Maynadier.
"And he had already sounded me, tentatively, on that very idea," she
answered. "I thought it was all fol-de-rol, at first; but I concluded
differently, when he deliberately referred to it several times, and
insisted that he was considering it very seriously. At all events, we
played the game. We made fair progress at Hedgely Hall----"
"Yes, I rather think you did----"
"Particularly, when I saw how rapidly you had progressed with Miss
Stirling," she retorted.--"And we did better at Montpelier,"--she
went on--"and still better at Sotterly. But he never quite reached
the point--he came up almost to it, many times, then veered off, as
gracefully as ship before the wind. I could see, or thought I could,
what was in his mind. He was not quite sure, whether it was safe, yet,
to doff his borrowed identity, either because he was not quite certain
of himself, or because he was not quite sure of me. Such was the
situation, when I left Sotterly, being called suddenly to Hedgely Hall.
"I did not see him, again, until this evening--and, at once, when we
started on our walk after supper, I noticed the change. He was going to
declare himself; indeed, we had not got to the rose-walk, until he had
suggested, in a laughing way, that we continue on to Annapolis and St.
Anne's Rectory on Hanover Street.... When we came back, half an hour or
so later, I had the story. He did not bind me to secrecy. He was the
high-bred gentleman in that, as he always has been with me--he even
told me I should tell you, if I cared to do so. He assumed that you
were--the one, Dick. And this is his story:--
"He is the son of the Earl of Doncaster--a second son. He disgraced
himself, somehow, and, to avoid prosecution, fled to this country. On
the voyage, he became acquainted with Sir Edward Parkington--their ship
went down, near St. Mary's, during a storm, and all the rest on board
were lost. He and Parkington's dead body were cast up on the sands,
together. He took Parkington's letters, presented them to Governor
Sharpe as his own,--and that is all.--He is going back to England with
his friend, Sir Charles Brandon."
"And how did Sir Charles----" Maynadier began; then, he stopped. (He
was about to ask, how Brandon, knowing his rightful name, yet called
him Parkington at the Coffee-house, when, according to report, it was a
genuine surprise)--"how do you know," he amended, "that the confession
is not false--how do you know that he is the son of the Earl of
Doncaster, or that Brandon is Brandon?"
"I do not know," she answered--"more than this: he is a gentleman--and
I believe his story."
"The tenderness which a woman always feels for the man who has proposed
to her," thought Maynadier, looking down at her with steady eyes.
"You are not angry, Dick?" she said.
He laughed joyously.
"Angry, sweetheart!" he said. "No! no! but let us forget Parkington,
and Brandon, and all else, and talk of you, and Rose Hill, and the
Mistress Richard Maynadier that is to be."
XVIII
THE BROKEN RENDEZVOUS
The idea, of testing the matter out with Miss Marbury, had presented
itself so suddenly, that Parkington had--he must confess it to
himself--forgotten for the moment, his engagement to meet Miss Stirling.
In truth, it did not recur to him until they had returned from the
water-front, after his proposal was rejected.
Instantly, he retraced his steps, hoping against hope that she was
still waiting, or, better still, that she had not kept the rendezvous.
The first contingency failed--the rose-walk was deserted; if Miss
Stirling had been there, she was gone, and he would have to pay the
penalty. The other contingency was what he prayed for, most fervently.
When one is about to ask a woman to be his wife, it is unfortunate if
he has to start the interview explaining away his short-comings.
He strolled through the other walks--the peony, the mock-orange, and
the golden-rose, but without success. She was not in any of them.
He turned back to the house, a little discouraged. Now, that he had
decided to go home, he had also decided that he wanted Miss Stirling to
go back with him--and this was not a propitious beginning.
He met Brandon coming down the steps.
"What success?" he said.
"You mean, with Miss Stirling?" Parkington asked.
The other nodded.
"Poor," was the answer. "I forgot the rendezvous."
"Have you made your peace?"
"I have not found her."
"You are a careless fellow, De Lysle--I saw you go off with Miss
Marbury. Why did you do it?"
"To determine whether I wanted to remain in Maryland."
"And you determined?"
"Yes!" with a faint laugh. "I determined to go back."
Brandon slipped an arm through his, and led him down to the esplanade.
"You proposed to Miss Marbury, I assume?" he said.
"I did."
"And she refused you!"
"She did."
"And you told her, in your infatuated ignorance, that you are not
Parkington--that you are an impostor?"
"I did."
Brandon smiled, mockingly.
"She will not repeat it," Parkington averred.
"Think you so?" said Brandon. "Well, I have not the trust in womankind
which you seem to have suddenly acquired. The sooner our ship sails,
now, the better."
"Wherefore?"
"For several wherefores--where was your head, man, that you should have
been guilty of this folly? She will not keep your secret--the woman
is not born who could keep a secret so interesting. She will babble.
And, then, trouble. Think you, they will believe your present story?
Having once confessed to living a lie, you are a liar always--they will
suspect whatever you tell. You might prove you are a De Lysle by the
best of legal evidence, and they would doubt you, still. And it will
not stop with _you_. They will question my identity as well: I will
not be Sir Charles Brandon because you sponsored me. I am a suspicious
character. I must account for myself. And that may lead to the Jolly
Roger and the scaffold. For this knowledge and suspicion will be not
among the people, in general, but with the greatest power in the
Province: the Governor himself. And, though he is an easygoing, kindly
gentleman, he can, I doubt not, be stern as death, if the occasion
requires. You have violated his hospitality and his vouchment; I have
accepted his hospitality, and must now prove my right to it or be
kicked out--I must hang like a dog, if discovered."
"All of which," said Parkington, "is predicated upon Miss Marbury
telling--in addition, you will have to be identified. And the
identification will be due solely to the fact that you and Long-Sword
are the same individual--a condition for which _you_ alone are
responsible. And I might further remind you, that I had nothing to do
with your coming to Annapolis--you rather complicated my affairs by
appearing, as I told you at the time."
"Well, do not let us quarrel," said Brandon.
"Lord! man, I have no idea of quarreling!" laughed Parkington.--"It
may have been a serious indiscretion to tell Miss Marbury, doubtless
it was--but the fat is in the fire, now, and we must make the best of
it. I may have weakened the authority of my identification of you, but
nothing more. The Governor may be suspicious, but he cannot possibly
connect you with Long-Sword. Marbury and Jamison are the only ones who
might do it, and they are not likely to encounter you."
"We will forget it," said Brandon--"borrowing trouble only makes it the
bigger when it comes. Nevertheless, I wish there were a ship sailing
for home, to-morrow. Well, a man can die but once, thank God!--Do you
intend to see Miss Stirling to-night?"
"Yes--I am searching for her, now."
"And you will tell her the truth?"
"Only part of it--enough to test her. One woman is like another,
according to your estimate, so, she shall know who I am, but not what
I am--that I am a son of the Earl of Doncaster, but not that I am in
disgrace and disowned."