Englishwoman--she would likely keep an Earl's son's secret."
"Why should I not wait until your ship has sailed, before I tell
her--then, if she babbles, it will not affect you?"
"No," said Brandon; "since you have told it to Miss Marbury you
must tell it to the other. I supposed you would test Miss Stirling
first--see what your chances were--work up to it, gradually. Then, if
all seemed propitious, confess just before we sailed. If she accepted
you, all's well; if she refused you, we should be gone ere she could
babble. I never dreamed that you would confide in _Miss Marbury_.--It
is a beautiful scene, Parkington, a beautiful scene!" he exclaimed,
suddenly, as a step sounded behind them. "Ah, Captain Herford!"
"I am looking for Miss Stirling," the Captain explained. "The Governor
wants her."
"I have not seen her," Brandon replied.
"Nor I, since supper," said Parkington.
Half an hour later, when Miss Stirling came downstairs from the
Governor's apartments, it was to find Sir Edward Parkington sitting on
the lowest step. He arose and bowed.
"I have been waiting," he said.
"For what?" she asked.
"For you."
"You give yourself unnecessary trouble, sir."
"I give myself a pleasure."
She stepped by him, and proceeded on her way.
He followed, through the drawing-room, and the room beyond, and out to
the rear piazza. Here, he sprang forward, and offered her his arm.
"I thank you," she scorned; "I do not need your assistance."
At the second step, the high heel of her slipper caught, she stumbled,
and would have fallen, had not Parkington interposed.
He held her a moment, then released her.
"I thank you!" she said stiffly, and went slowly down.
"May I go along?" he asked, all the while, keeping step with her.
She did not answer.
"Miss Stirling, I addressed you," he said.
Still no answer.
"Thank you!" he replied. "You are very kind."
She stopped and looked him over, disdainfully.
"You have misinterpreted, sir," she said. "I have no intention to be
kind--silence, in, this instance, does not give consent."
"What have I done?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I went to the rose-walk--I waited--you did not come."
"When?" she inquired.
"At the time appointed--before it, indeed."
"And I was not there?"
"I could not find you."
"You waited for me?"
"At least half an hour."
"And I did not come?"
"Alas! no."
She laughed derisively. "Why do you tell me such nonsense?"
"Nonsense!" he said. "Nonsense!"
"_Lies_ would be the more fitting term."
"I do not understand."
"No--there is your trouble; you do not know if I kept the rendezvous,
so you play it as if _you_ did!"
"As if I did!" he repeated.
She laughed again. "I suppose you will be averring that you do not
understand me."
He bowed. "Pray explain," he said.
"It is for you to explain. I kept the rendezvous; you _did not_."
He tried to look his surprise. "You kept the rendezvous?"
"Yes, I kept the rendezvous; while you, sir, went strolling to the Bay
with Miss Marbury--nor ever thought to cast even one look toward the
rose-walk."
There could be no profit in prevaricating further. He was caught, and
the quickest way out was to admit it.
"I did," he said humbly. "I did."
"Why did you not acknowledge it, at first?" she questioned.
"I thought, perhaps, you also had forgotten."
She looked at him, searchingly.
"Did you really _forget_?" she asked.
"As God is my witness!--until we were returning, I never thought of
it. Then, as soon as I could leave Miss Marbury, I hastened to the
rose-walk, and found it--deserted."
"It is a fine gentleman," she exclaimed, "who forgets one appointment,
when another, more to his taste, intervenes!"
"I protest that you are unjust," he said. "I forgot, I admit, but I did
it unwittingly and not of intention."
"Even that is unforgettable."
"But it is not unforgiveable," he pleaded.
She shook her head, and moved on, slowly.
"But it is not unforgiveable," he repeated.
"No, it is not unforgiveable," she said; "but--we will say no more
about it, for the present. Whether I can forgive you, will depend
on the future--there is still another matter which will require
explanation," and she looked at him, thoughtfully.
"Another matter?" he interrogated--"that requires explanation, from me?"
"I think so."
"And will it call for your forgiveness, too?"
"I cannot answer," she said.
A puzzled frown appeared between his eyes. "Does that mean, you cannot
or you will not."
"It means, I cannot--it depends upon your explanation; and whether it
be asked for."
"Then the explanation is not to be made to you?"
"No!"
"To whom is it to be made?" he asked.
She shook her head. "That will be disclosed, presently."
"To-night?" he persisted.
"It will not be to-night."
"Then, we will forget it!" he said, gayly. "The morrow may care for
itself--it will be soon enough when it comes. We will fancy these trees
the rose-garden--I am keeping a belated rendezvous with you." He swept
the turf with his hat. "What do you wish of me, my lady?"
"It is too late," she answered. "What I wished of you, I wish no more.
It has passed from my hands--it is beyond me."
He was sobered, instantly. She could mean only that it had passed into
the Governor's hands--but what?--Suddenly, he understood a part.
"I see," said he, "you wanted to give me a chance to explain; you
appointed the rendezvous, and I failed you. Then, in your reasonable
and just anger, you told the Governor."
She did not reply, but he knew that, thus far, he was right. His
mind ran quickly back over the months that had passed since he came
to Annapolis: he had cheated but rarely at cards--and not at all at
the house-parties--he had led a thoroughly respectable life, trifled
with no woman, victimized no man. There was only one thing that met
him, insistently and always: the theft of the gold at Hedgely Hall;
and it, he had returned.--Unless--unless, by some queer misadventure,
she had received a letter from home, which aroused her suspicion of
his identity. And there _had_ come letters to her, before supper--the
pinnace brought them down.--It was not Marbury's gold, Marbury was not
at Whitehall denouncing him. No, it _must_ be a letter!
"I had a letter from home, to-day," he said.
She started; and he knew he had guessed it.
"From home--did it contain much gossip?" she asked.
"Enough to hurry me back--I shall return with Sir Charles Brandon."
"Bad news?" she inquired.
He smiled. "That depends on the way one looks at it."
He drew a little closer. It were best to lose no time, now; if
his imposture had been detected, the best way to meet it, was by
confession, before the Governor could act. It would go far to
sustain his story, if he should tell it, voluntarily, before he knew
(apparently) that any one suspected him.
"Miss Stirling," he said, looking off into the distance, "we do queer
things in this world, and we travel queer paths, sometimes--but we
usually, once in our lives, at least, come back to the simple truth and
the plain path. I have come to them, now."
He fell to drawing diagrams in the grass with his walking-stick,
tracing them over and over, while he let her wonder what was in his
mind. Presently he spoke again, seemingly with much feeling, his eyes
now hard upon her face.
"I am going to make a confession," he said--"whether it is a good one
or a bad must rest with you; but for _you_ it would not be made.--I am
_not_ Sir Edward Parkington."
"So I am aware," she answered.
"What! you knew?" he cried, with well feigned amazement.
"Since this evening."
"But how?" he protested. "How did you know?"
"I had a letter from Lady Catherwood, in London. She mentioned Sir
Edward Parkington's coming to Annapolis--and described him. The
description does not tally, in the least, with you."
("It is this letter which she has given to the Governor," he thought.
"Why, the devil! did I forget the rendezvous?")
He laughed. "As far apart as the poles." Then he sobered. "My rightful
name, Miss Stirling, is Roger de Lysle. I am the second son of the
ninth Earl of Doncaster."
"Is this identity any more stable than the other?" she asked, after a
pause.
"It is--though I cannot blame you for doubting."
"How did you come by the letters of introduction?"
"Parkington's dead body was cast up on the sands beside me. I took
his letters, and, in a fit of foolishness, presented them to Governor
Sharpe--my own having been lost in the sea."
"And why do you tell this story to _me_?" she inquired.
"To set myself right with _you_. I shall go back to England, and no one
else will ever know that it was not Sir Edward Parkington who sojourned
among them."
"And why should I concern you--why wish me to know it and the others
not."
"Because I love you," he answered. "From the first day I met you, I
have loved you."
"And why, sir, has it taken you so long to tell it?" she asked, after a
pause.
"I would not admit it, even to myself, until the time for separation
drove me to it."--He slipped his arm around her, and drew her to him.
"Martha!--sweetheart!--come home with me?" he whispered.
A moment she yielded, then abruptly released herself. May be he loved
her, and she loved him as well as she could any man, but that was
neither here nor there. If he were a De Lysle--she would marry him;
love was not essential. But was he a De Lysle?
"You must realize," she said, "that whether I love or whether I do not,
I can not marry you without further proof of your real identity."
"Sir Charles Brandon will vouch for me," he answered.
"You forget, that it was you vouched for him."
"True--but he has documents which will prove him Sir Charles Brandon."
"And you had the best sort of documents to prove you Sir Edward
Parkington."
"I do not know what to say. Take me on faith, sweetheart."
"It would be a dangerous experiment!" she laughed; "to marry on faith,
and find you a common rogue, when we got to London."
"Do I look a common rogue?" he smiled.
She turned and let her eyes move slowly over him. He was a brave
figure, certainly, in his white silk coat and breeches--his cloth
of silver waistcoat--his slender, well-shaped legs--his dark hair
powdered--his handsome, aristocratic face.
"No--I admit you appear of the rank you claim; and you act it, too. But
I must have more than appearances and acts."
He made a gesture of resignation and defeat.
"I have done my best," he said; "I am helpless to do more--unless you
will come to London, and marry me there, after I have satisfied you of
my identity."
"You mean it?" she demanded. Here was good faith.
"Unreservedly," he answered. "Anything to take you back with me. Though
I would rather you went as wife."
He was doing his utmost to impress her--to have her intervene with the
Governor, and keep the scandal hid.
She hesitated--then the truth came with a rush.
"The letter I spoke of," she said--"Lady Catherwood's--I gave it to his
Excellency to act on as he saw fit."
"My God!" he cried. "It will ruin me--he will not excuse."
"You may thank the broken rendezvous, if it does," she replied.
"That was what you wished with me!"--he exclaimed--"and when I did not
come you were angry!--oh! I see, sweetheart--you _do_ care, for you
were jealous." He was playing the part well.
"I do not know why I did it. I was hasty. I repent." She sprang up. "I
will go to the Governor--I will try to undo it. Wait here!" and she
sped away.
Scarcely was she gone, when he saw her returning.
"I cannot see him, to-night," she said--"he has retired, it would only
harm our chances. In the morning, I shall try again."
He took her hand, and kissed it--with wise forbearance, he did not try
for her lips.
"Go!--we will hope for the best," he said. "And you may pray, as well,
dear. The prayers of one's beloved are not without avail."
XIX
ARRAIGNED
Before breakfast, the following morning, Colonel Sharpe sent for
Maynadier.
"Sleep did it!" said the Governor. "I have made up my mind. I shall
give him a chance to explain, and upon his explanation will depend my
future course. Whether or not I shall take up the matter of the Marbury
money, we will determine later."
"It is a wise decision," Maynadier agreed.
"I dare not do less out of consideration for my position. He has
presented another man's letters, has taken that other man's name,
has entered this house, and the houses of our friends under false
pretenses. In short, he has acted the rogue, and he must bear the
consequences."
"How can he possibly explain?" asked Maynadier. "What justification can
there be for his conduct?"
"None that I can apprehend--but we must not prejudge him; we must give
him a chance. I believe the law has a maxim, that every one is presumed
innocent until proven guilty. You said, I think, that Marbury was not
leaving Annapolis until to-night?"
"So he told me," said Maynadier.
The Governor nodded. "I have sent for him. When he arrives, we will
proceed with the matter--the quicker it is settled the better. It is
a nasty business, Maynadier. I like the fellow, too, damn well!--Come
in!" he called, as a knock sounded on the door.--"Ah, my dear!" as Miss
Stirling's face appeared, "what got you up so early?"
"I am up so early because--Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Maynadier. I
thought the Governor was alone. I will withdraw----"
"By no means!" said Maynadier; "our business is over, for the
time.--Permit me!" and he stepped to the door.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Colonel. "She is not going to talk
secrets--what is it, Martha--permission to take some of the horses?"
"No," she replied, and glanced, meaningly, at Maynadier--who at once
retired.
She waited until the door was shut.
"It is this," she said. "That letter, which I gave you last evening--I
want it back again."
The Governor looked his surprise.
"You want it back again?" he asked.
"Yes--and your promise not to use it. There is nothing to be gained by
exposing him, except a scandal, which must, necessarily, drag me in."
"You have changed your mind since last night," he commented.
"I have," she answered. "In less than two weeks he will have
sailed.--So, let it rest--it will profit nothing."
He unlocked a drawer, took out Lady Catherwood's letter, and handed it
to her.
A glad smile came to her face.
"Thank you, sir! oh, thank you!" and she bent, and brushed his cheek,
lightly, with her lips.
He reached up, and drew her down on the arm of his chair.
"And have you no other reason, my dear?" he asked.
"No!" with a shake of her pretty head.--"No other reason."
He looked at her thoughtfully.
"What were you and Sir Edward--I call him that for want of a better
name--talking about last night--out yonder in the moonlight?" he asked.
[Illustration: "WHAT WERE YOU AND SIR EDWARD TALKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT?"
HE ASKED.]
She laughed, a little guiltily--watching his face the while.
"He was making love to me," she replied--"he does it very well, indeed,
sir."
"So it would seem," said the Governor--"so well, indeed, that you
sought at once to regain the Catherwood letter, but, thinking that I
had retired, came back the first thing, this morning."
She flushed, and her eyes went toward the window.
"Just so!" he said. "I was sitting there, and saw it all--saw you
leave, heard you come to my door and listen, saw you return, a moment,
to him--and, now, you come again--and it is for the letter. You know
that he is not Parkington, that he is an impostor--consequently, he
must have told you something which explains. What was it?"
"He acknowledged that he was not Parkington; that he----"
"I told you, specifically, not to mention the letter to him!" said the
Governor.
"And I obeyed you," she answered. "Not until he had, voluntarily and of
his own free will, confessed, did I refer to the letter."
The Governor beat a tattoo on the table with his finger-tips.
"Who does he say he is?" he asked, presently.
She told him.
"Huh! Doncaster's son, is he! How does he explain the letters, and the
impersonation?"
She told him.
When she had finished, he sat silent, pulling at his chin.
"Do you think him serious in his love-making?" he asked.
"He did me the honor to propose," she said.
"Hum!--And do you--care for him?"
"As much as I shall ever care for any man," she answered (thinking of
Maynadier). "Furthermore, it would be an excellent match for me."
"An excellent match, if he speaks truly. There are none better, in all
England, than the De Lysles."
"He offered to wait, until we got to England, for the wedding."
"Hum--that makes something for sincerity, at least.--So, you wish to
marry him, my dear?"
"I think I do," she said--"that is, if he is a De Lysle."
He shook his head, sadly. "I am sorry, Martha, to have to injure your
prospects, but I must act as the Governor, and it is his duty to call
him to account. He has misused the proprietor's letters, and our
hospitality."
"But you gave me the letter," she expostulated. "What other proof have
you that he is an impostor?"
"I gave you the letter to relieve you of all participation," the
Colonel said. "I do not need it. I have abundant evidence without it,
and there may be more, besides."
She gave a little gasp, and sat up.
"Then I can do nothing?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said, his hand stroking tenderly the dark tresses--"the
matter must go on to its finish. The people of the Province shall not
say that I knew he was an impostor, yet did not expose him. I regret
it, my dear, but when one takes another's name, he commits a crime
against society which cannot be tolerated."
"What shall I tell him?" she asked.
"Tell him you have the letter, and that the Governor will not use the
information it contained."
"That will be the truth," she reflected.
"It will," he said; "and, further, you need not go."
And she, knowing it was useless to argue or implore, kissed him, and
went, slowly, the letter of Lady Catherwood clutched tightly in her
fingers.
She had no opportunity to communicate with Parkington until after
breakfast, other than a significant nod, as his eyes sought hers,
inquiringly. When the meal was finished, he joined her, and, presently,
they sauntered out together.
"I have the letter," she said.
"You are a dear!" he exclaimed.
"And I have, also, the Governor's promise not to use either it, or the
information it contains."
"You are a darling!" bending down, and whispering in her ear.
It was a caress, though he touched her not at all.
And her heart warmed to him, with a sympathy she had never felt before.
Surely, he was handsome, with the handsomeness which a woman loved, a
debonairness that was fascinating.
"You have done everything--you have saved me!" he exclaimed.
She plucked a rose; he took it, and drew it through his buttonhole.
"I have done what I can," she replied; "but I have not saved you."
"What? the letter!--the information----"
"Will not be used against you," she broke in; "but, I fear that the
Governor has other evidence, quite as strong and much more convincing."
His thoughts turned, instantly, to Miss Marbury. She had told--and lost
no time in the telling, either, it would seem. He smiled, derisively.
Brandon was right. No woman could keep a secret, unless she were
vitally concerned in it.
"Well," he said, "I shall stay and face it. At least, they shall not
say I ran away. Moreover, they cannot do more than unmask me--and, when
the mask is off, they show a De Lysle--and between a De Lysle and a
Parkington, even if the former is somewhat scar-marked, there is vast
difference. I may not accompany Brandon home; but, when I go, you go
with me."
She put her hand on his arm.
"Prove it, and I will go," she said.
He took her hand, regardless of who saw, and kissed it with inimitable
grace, bowing low over it, the while.
"It is a bargain, my lady!" he said. "I accept your own terms. Now,
with your permission, I will to Sir Charles Brandon, and take counsel
with him."
As they were returning, a man came rapidly up the esplanade, from the
landing, and passed them, at some little distance.
"Is not that Mr. Marbury?" Miss Stirling asked.
Parkington nodded, but did not speak.--Marbury! The one man who could
prove the theft! The man who could identify Long-Sword! Why should he
have come to Whitehall--and at this particular time?
"Was he not expected?" he asked, with assumed carelessness.
"No," she replied. "He likely comes to see the Governor, on business
which requires his personal approval."
"I think I will hasten to Sir Charles," he said, now thoroughly alarmed.
Meanwhile, Marbury had been met, as he neared the house, by Maynadier,
who had noted his approach.
"What does his Excellency want with me?" he asked. "Has it to do with
the theft?"
"It has--with the theft, and something more. We will go in--the
Governor awaits you in the drawing-room; he will relate the exact
facts."
"Mr. Marbury," said Colonel Sharpe, laying aside the Gazette he was
reading, and offering his guest a chair, "I have sent for you because I
want your aid."
"I appreciate the honor, sir," replied Marbury, "but, as I am the only
person concerned, I request your Excellency to let the matter rest.
Moreover, the money was returned; why should it not be let rest?"
"I think you do not quite understand the situation," returned the
Governor. "Let me, briefly, outline the facts...."
Marbury listened, in impassive silence. The change of name did not
affect him; he knew of another such, much closer home. But the stealing
of another's identity, and the presentation of his letters, were
serious matters to the Colonists, and, he admitted, any one who was
guilty ought to be exposed.
"I was sure you would see it as we do, Mr. Marbury, when you knew
everything!" said the Governor.
"Yes--the theft from me--if he _were_ the thief--was solely, my
affair," was the reply; "this, however, concerns us all. If the one fit
into the other, I shall bear my part."
The Governor struck a bell; the orderly, on duty, entered.
"My compliments to Captain Herford," said the Colonel, "and say, I wish
to see him."
The man saluted and withdrew. In a moment, Captain Herford entered.
"Captain Herford, you will say, to Sir Edward Parkington and to Sir
Charles Brandon, that the Governor desires their attendance in the
drawing-room. Then, station the guard outside the windows, with two
just without the doors. You understand?"
Herford's heels came together, and his hand rose to his forehead.
"Yes, your Excellency!" he replied, with a surprised lift of the
eye-brows toward Maynadier.
He found Parkington and Brandon together, pacing back and forth on the
esplanade. He delivered his message curtly, faced about, and tramped
off. These men were not to his liking, and in his official capacity, as
his Excellency's aide-de-camp, it did his small soul good to treat them
with scant courtesy.
"Well, it has come!" said Parkington.
Brandon was looking after Herford, with a frown.
"That fellow," he observed, "needs to be taught some civility with a
club--a walking stick is not stout enough to be effective."
"Never mind Herford," smiled Parkington. "Come and help his Excellency
hold court, for my particular benefit."
Brandon was wearing his sword, and, now, he gave it a hitch forward, so
that it lay close to his hand.
"You do not anticipate using it?" his friend asked.
"I do not know," said he, with an ominous shake of the head. "One can
never tell how suddenly the occasion may arise. That is why I am never
without it--it has saved my life, a score of times, in the last four
years."
"We are not flying the Jolly Roger, now," Parkington commented.
The other shrugged his shoulders. "I am not so sure."
"You are not in danger."
"You forget that Marbury is with the Governor."
"He will not recognize you--you, yourself, said so."
"That was before you were suspected--I counted on your word to prove my
name."
"Then do not come with me--do not run the risk!" urged Parkington.
"No, I must brave it out. To decamp, now, would be useless. I was
summoned, I presume, because you vouched for me--but, if I do not
respond, that instant they will understand I had good cause for going,
and I should be caught ere I had gone a mile. Come on--it is a good
game and we will play it out.... You see!" he said, as they entered the
house, pointing to the opposite doorway, through which could be seen
the guard parading. "It were folly to do otherwise."