THE ONE CHANCE.
Peyton staggered back to the settle and sank down on it, exhausted.
Elizabeth, hearing black Sam moving about in the dining-room, which
was directly north of the hall, bade Molly summon him. When he
appeared, she ordered him and Cuff to carry the settle, with the
wounded man on it, into the east parlor, and to place the man on the
sofa there. She then told Molly to hasten the supper, and to send
Williams to her up-stairs, and thereupon rejoined her excited aunt
above. When Williams attended her, she gave him commands regarding the
prisoner.
Peyton was thus carried through the deep doorway in the south side of
the hall into the east parlor, which was now exceedingly habitable
with fire roaring and candles lighted. In the east and south sides of
this richly ornamented room were deeply embrasured windows, with low
seats. In the west side was a mahogany door opening from the old or
south hall. In the north side, which was adorned with wooden pillars
and other carved woodwork, was the door through which Peyton had been
carried; west of that, the decorated chimney-breast with its English
mantel and fireplace, and further west a pair of doors opening from a
closet, whence a winding staircase descended cellarward. The ceiling
was rich with fanciful arabesque woodwork. Set in the chimney-breast,
over the mantel, was an oblong mirror. The wainscoting, pillars, and
other woodwork were of a creamy white. But Peyton had no eye for
details at the moment. He noticed only that his entrance disturbed the
slumbers of the old gentleman--Matthias Valentine--who had been
sleeping in a great armchair by the fire, and who now blinked in
wonderment.
The negroes put down the settle and lifted Peyton to a sofa that stood
against the western side of the room, between a spinet and the
northern wall. At Peyton's pantomimic request they then moved the sofa
to a place near the fire, and then, taking the settle along, marched
out of the room, back to the hall, closing the door as they went.
Peyton, too pain-racked and exhausted to speak, lay back on the sofa,
with closed eyes. Old Valentine stared at him a few moments; then,
curious both as to this unexpected advent and as to the proximity of
supper, rose and hobbled from the parlor and across the hall to the
dining-room. For some time Peyton was left alone. He opened his eyes,
studied the flying figures on the ceiling, the portraits on the
walls, the carpet,--Philipse Manor-house, like the best English houses
of the time, had carpet on its floors,--the carving of the mantel, the
clock and candelabrum thereupon, the crossed rapiers thereabove, the
curves of the imported furniture. His twinges and aches were so many
and so diverse that he made no attempt to locate them separately. He
could feel that the left leg of his breeches was soaked with blood.
Finally the door opened, and in came Williams and Cuff, the former
with shears and bands of linen, the latter with a basin of water.
Williams, whom Peyton had not before seen, scrutinized him critically,
and forthwith proceeded to expose, examine, wash, and bind up the
wounded leg, while Cuff stood by and played the role of surgeon's
assistant. Peyton speedily perceived on the steward's part a reliable
acquaintance with the art of dressing cuts, and therefore submitted
without a word to his operations. Williams was equally silent,
breaking his reticence only now and then to utter some monosyllabic
command to Cuff.
When the wound was dressed, Williams put the patient's disturbed
attire to rights, and adjusted his hair. Peyton, with a feeling of
some relief, made to stretch the wounded leg, but a sharp twinge cut
the movement short.
"You should make a good surgeon," Peyton said at last, "you tie so
damnably tight a bandage."
"I've bound up many a wound, sir," said Williams; "and some far worse
than yours. 'Tis not a dangerous cut, yours, though 'twill be
irritating while it lasts. You won't walk for a day or two."
"It's remarkable your mistress has so much trouble taken with me, when
she intends to deliver me to the British."
Peyton had inferred the steward's place in the house, from his
appearance and manner.
"Why, sir," said Williams, "we couldn't have you bleeding over the
floor and furniture. Besides, I suppose she wants to hand you over in
good condition."
"I see! No bedraggled remnant of a man, but a complete, clean, and
comfortable candidate for Cunningham's gallows!" Peyton here forgot
his wound and attempted to sit upright, but quickly fell back with a
grimace and a groan.
"Better lie still, sir," counselled Williams, sagely. "If you need any
one, you are to call Cuff. He will be in waiting in that hall, sir."
And the steward pointed towards the east hall. "There will be no use
trying to get away. I doubt if you could walk half across the room
without fainting. And if you could get out of the house, you'd find
black Sam on guard, with his duck-gun,--and Sam doesn't miss once in
a hundred times with that duck-gun. Bring those things, Cuff."
Williams indicated Peyton's hat, remnant of sword, and scabbard, which
had been placed on the armchair by the fireside.
"Leave my sword!" commanded Peyton.
"Can't, sir!" said Williams, affably. "Miss Elizabeth's orders were to
take it away."
Williams thereupon went from the room, crossed the east hall, and
entered the dining-room, to report to Elizabeth, who now sat at supper
with Miss Sally and Mr. Valentine.
Cuff, with basin of water in one hand, took up the hat, sword, and
scabbard, with the other.
"Miss Elizabeth!" mused Peyton. "Queen Elizabeth, I should say, in
this house. Gad, to be a girl's prisoner, tied down to a sofa by so
small a cut!" Hereupon he addressed Cuff, who was about to depart:
"Where is your mistress?"
"In the dining-room, eating supper."
"And Mr. Colden, whom I saw in that hall about an hour ago, when I
bought the horse?"
"Major Colden rode back to New York."
"_Major_ Colden! Major of what?"
"New Juzzey Vollingteers, sir."
"What? Then he is in the King's service, after all? And when I was
here with my troops he said he was neutral. I'll never take a Tory's
word again."
"Am you like to hab de chance, sir?" queried Cuff, with a grin.
"What! You taunt me with my situation?" And Harry's head shot up from
the sofa as he made to rise and chastise the boy; but he could not
stand on his leg, and so remained sitting, propped on his right arm,
panting and glaring at the negro.
Cuff, whose whiteness of teeth had shown in his moment of mirth, now
displayed much whiteness of eye in his alarm at Peyton's movement, and
glided to the door. As he went out to the hall, he passed Molly, who
was coming into the parlor with a bowl of broth.
"Hah!" ejaculated Peyton as she came towards him. "They would feed the
animal for the slaughter, eh?"
Molly curtseyed.
"Please, sir, it wa'n't they sent this. I brought it of my own accord,
sir, though with Miss Elizabeth's permission."
"Oh! so Miss Elizabeth _did_ give her permission, then?"
"Yes, sir. At least, she said it didn't matter, if I wished to."
"And you did wish to? Well, you're a good girl, and I thank you."
Whereupon Peyton took the bowl and sipped of the broth with relish.
"Thank you, sir," said Molly, who then moved a small light chair from
its place by the wall to a spot beside the sofa and within Peyton's
reach. "You can set the bowl on this," she added. "I must go back to
the kitchen." And, after another curtsey, she was gone.
The broth revived Peyton, and with all his pain and fatigue he had
some sense of comfort. The handsome, well warmed, well lighted parlor,
so richly furnished, so well protected from the wind and weather by
the solid shutters outside its four small-paned windows, was certainly
a snug corner of the world. So far seemed all this from stress and
war, that Peyton lost his strong realization of the fate that
Elizabeth's threat promised him. Appreciation of his surroundings
drove away other thoughts and feelings. That he should be taken and
hanged was an idea so remote from his present situation, it seemed
rather like a dream than an imminent reality. There surely would be a
way of his getting hence in safety. And he imbibed mouthful after
mouthful of the warm broth.
Presently old Mr. Valentine reappeared, from the east hall, looking
none the less comfortable for the supper he had eaten. A long pipe was
in his hand, and, that he might absorb smoke and liquor at the same
time, he had brought with him from the table, where the two ladies
remained, a vast mug of hot rum punch of Williams's brewing. He now
set the mug on the mantel, lighted his pipe with a brand from the
fire, repossessed himself of the mug, and sat down in the armchair,
with a sigh of huge satisfaction. It mattered not that this was the
parlor of Philipse Manor-house,--for Mr. Valentine, in his innocent
way, indulged himself freely in the privileges and presumptions of old
age.
Peyton, after staring for some time with curiosity at the smoky old
gentleman, who rapidly grew smokier, at last raised the bowl of broth
for a last gulp, saying, cheerily:
"To your very good health, sir!"
"Thank you, sir!" said the old man, complacently, not making any
movement to reciprocate.
"What! won't you drink to mine?"
"'Twould be a waste of words to drink the health of a man that's going
to be hanged," replied Valentine, who at supper had heard the ladies
discuss Peyton's intended fate. He thereupon sent a cloud of smoke
ceiling-ward for the flying cherubs to rest on.
"The devil! You _are_ economical!"
"Of words, maybe, not of liquor." The octogenarian quaffed deeply from
the mug. "They say hanging is an easy death," he went on, being in
loquacious mood. "I never saw but one man hanged. He didn't seem to
enjoy it." Mr. Valentine puffed slowly, inwardly dwelling on the
recollection.
"Oh, didn't he?" said Peyton.
"No, he took it most unpleasant like."
"Did you come in here to cheer me up in my last hours?" queried Harry,
putting the empty bowl on the chair by the sofa.
"No," replied the other, ingenuously. "I came in for a smoke while the
ladies stayed at the table." He then went back to a subject that
seemed to have attractions for him. "I don't know how hanging will go
with you. Cunningham will do the work.[5] They say he makes it as
disagreeable as may be. I'd come and see you hanged, but it won't be
possible."
"Then I suppose I shall have to excuse you," said Peyton, with
resignation.
"Yes." The old man had finished his punch and set down his mug, and he
now yawned with a completeness that revealed vastly more of red
toothless mouth than one might have calculated his face could contain.
"Some take it easier than others," he went on. "It's harder with young
men like you." Again he opened his jaws in a gape as whole-souled as
that of a house-dog before a kitchen fire. "It must be disagreeable to
have a rope tightened around your neck. I don't know." He thrust his
pipe-stem absently between his lips, closed his eyes, mumbled
absently, "I don't know," and in a few moments was asleep, his pipe
hanging from his mouth, his hands folded in his lap.
"A cheerful companion for a man in my situation," thought Peyton. His
mind had been brought back to the future. When would this resolute and
vengeful Miss Elizabeth fulfil her threat? How would she proceed about
it? Had she already taken measures towards his conveyance to the
British lines? Should she delay until he should be able to walk, there
would be two words about the matter. Meanwhile, he must wait for
developments. It was useless to rack his brain with conjectures. His
sense of present comfort gradually resumed sway, and he placed his
head again on the sofa pillow and closed his eyes.
He was conscious for a time of nothing but his deadened pain, his
inward comfort, the breathing of old Mr. Valentine, the intermittent
raging of the wind without, and the steady ticking of the clock on the
mantel,--which delicately framed timepiece had been started within the
hour by Sam, who knew Miss Elizabeth's will for having all things in
running order. Peyton's drowsiness wrapped him closer and closer.
Presently he was remotely aware of the opening of the door, the tread
of light feet on the floor, the swish of skirts. But he had now
reached that lethargic point which involves total indifference to
outer things, and he did not even open his eyes.
"Asleep," said Elizabeth, for it was she who had entered with her
aunt.
Harry recognized the voice, and knew that he was the subject of her
remark; but his feeling towards his contemptuous captor was not such
as to make him take the trouble of setting her right. Therefore, he
kept his eyes closed, having a kind of satisfaction in her being
mistaken.
"How handsome!" whispered Miss Sally, who beamed more bigly and
benignly after supper than before.
"Which one, aunty?" said Elizabeth, looking from Peyton to old
Valentine.
Her aunt deigned to this levity only a look of hopeless reproof.
Elizabeth sat down on the music-seat before the spinet, and became
serious,--or, more accurately, businesslike.
"On second thought," said she, "it won't do to keep him here waiting
for one of our patrols to pass this way. In the meantime some of the
rebels might come into the neighborhood and stop here. He must be
delivered to the British this very night!"
Peyton gave no outward sign of the momentary heart stoppage he felt
within.
"Why," said the aunt, speaking low, and in some alarm, "'twould
require Williams and both the blacks to take him, and we should be
left alone in the house."
"I sha'n't send him to the troops," said Elizabeth, in her usual
tone, not caring whether or not the prisoner should be disturbed,--for
in his powerlessness he could not oppose her plans if he did know
them, and in her disdain she had no consideration for his feelings.
"The troops shall come for him. Black Sam shall go to the watch-house
at King's Bridge with word that there's an important rebel prisoner
held here, to be had for the taking."
"Will the troops at King's Bridge heed the story of a black man?" Aunt
Sally seemed desirous of interposing objections to immediate action.
"Their officer will heed a written message from me," said the niece.
"Most of the officers know me, and those at King's Bridge are aware I
came here to-day."
Thereupon she called in Cuff, and sent him off for Williams, with
orders that the steward should bring her pen, ink, paper, and wax.
"Oh, Elizabeth!" cried Miss Sally, looking at the floor. "Here's some
of the poor fellow's blood on the carpet."
"Never mind. The blood of an enemy is a sight easily tolerated," said
the girl, probably unaware how nearly she had duplicated a famous
utterance of a certain King of France, whose remark had borne
reference to another sense than that of sight.[6]
Williams soon came in with the writing materials, and placed them, at
Elizabeth's direction, on a table that stood between the two eastern
windows, and on which was a lighted candelabrum. Elizabeth sat down at
the table, her back towards the fireplace and Peyton.
"I wish you to send black Sam to me," said she to the steward, "and to
take his place on guard with the gun till he returns from an errand."
Williams departed, and Elizabeth began to make the quill fly over the
paper, her aunt looking on from beside the table. Peyton opened his
eyes and looked at them.
"It does seem a pity," said Miss Sally at last. "Such a pretty
gentleman,--such a gallant soldier!"
"Gentleman?" echoed Elizabeth, writing on. "The fellow is not a
gentleman! Nor a gallant soldier!"
Peyton rose to a sitting posture as if stung by a hornet, but was
instantly reminded of his wound. But neither Elizabeth nor her aunt
saw or heard his movement. The girl, unaware that he was awake,
continued:
"Does a gentleman or a gallant soldier desert the army of his king to
join that of his king's enemies?"
Quick came the answer,--not from aunt Sally, but from Peyton on the
sofa.
"A gallant soldier has the right to choose his side, and a gentleman
need not fight against his country!"
Elizabeth did not suffer herself to appear startled at this sudden
breaking in. Having finished her note, she quietly folded it, and
addressed it, while she said:
"A gallant soldier, having once chosen his side, will be loyal to it;
and a gentleman never bore the odious title of deserter."
"A gentleman can afford to wear any title that is redeemed by a
glorious cause and an extraordinary danger. When I took service
with the King's army in England, I never dreamt that army would be
sent against the King's own colonies; and not till I arrived in
Boston did I know the true character of this revolt. We thought we
were coming over merely to quell a lawless Boston rabble. I gave in
my resignation--"
"But did not wait for it to be accepted," interrupted Elizabeth,
quietly, as she applied to the folded paper the wax softened by the
flame of a candle.
"I _was_ a little hasty," said Harry.
"The rebel army was the proper place for such fellows," said
Elizabeth. "No true British officer would be guilty of such a deed!"
"Probably not! It required exceptional courage!"
Peyton knew, as well as any, that the British were brave enough; but
he was in mood for sharp retort.
"That is not the reason," said Elizabeth, coldly, refusing to show
wrath. "Your enemies hold such acts as yours in detestation."
"I am not serving in this war for the approbation of my enemies."
At this moment black Sam came in. Elizabeth handed him the letter, and
said:
"You are to take my horse Cato, and ride with this message to the
British barrier at King's Bridge. It is for the officer in command
there. When the sentries challenge you, show this, and say it is of
the greatest consequence and must be delivered at once."
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth."
"The commander," she went on, "will probably send here a body of
troops at once, to convey this prisoner within the lines. You are to
return with them. If no time is lost, and they send mounted troops,
you should be back in an hour."
Peyton could hardly repress a start.
"An hour at most, miss, if nothing stops," said the negro.
"If any officer of my acquaintance is in command," said Elizabeth,
"there will be no delay. Cuff shall let the troops in, through that
hall, as soon as they arrive."
Whereupon the black man, a stalwart and courageous specimen of his
race, went rapidly from the room.
"One hour!" murmured Peyton, looking at the clock.
Molly, the maid, now reappeared, carrying carefully in one hand a cup,
from which a thin steam ascended.
"What is't now, Molly?" inquired Elizabeth, rising from her chair.
Molly blushed and was much confused. "Tea, ma'am, if you please! I
thought, maybe, you'd allow the gentleman--"
"Very well," said Elizabeth. "Be the good Samaritan if you like,
child. His tea-drinking days will soon be over. Come, aunt Sally, we
shall be in better company elsewhere." And she returned to the
dining-room, not deigning her prisoner another look.
Miss Sally followed, but her feelings required confiding in some one,
and before she went she whispered to the embarrassed maid, "Oh, Molly,
to think so sweet a young gentleman should be completely wasted!"
Molly heaved a sigh, and then approached the young gentleman himself,
with whom she was now alone, saving the presence of the slumbering
Valentine.
"So your name is Molly? And you've brought me tea this time?"
"Yes, sir,--if you please, sir." She took up the bowl from the chair
and placed the cup in its stead. "I put sugar in this, sir, but if
you'd rather--"
"I'd rather have it just as you've made it, Molly," he said, in a
singularly gentle, unsteady tone. He raised the cup, and sipped.
"Delicious, Molly!--Hah! Your mistress thinks my tea-drinking days
will soon be over."
"I'm very sorry, sir."
"So am I." He held the cup in his left hand, supporting his upright
body with his right arm, and looked rather at vacancy than at the
maid. "Never to drink tea again," he said, "or wine or spirits, for
that matter! To close your eyes on this fine world! Never again to
ride after the hounds, or sing, or laugh, or chuck a pretty girl under
the chin!"
And here, having set down the cup, he chucked Molly herself under the
chin, pretending a gaiety he did not feel.
"Never again," he went on, "to lead a charge against the enemies of
our liberty; not to live to see this fight out, the King's regiments
driven from the land, the States take their place among the free
nations of the world! _By God, Molly, I don't want to die yet!_"
It was not the fear of death, it was the love of life, and what life
might have in reserve, that moved him; and it now asserted itself in
him with a force tenfold greater than ever before. Death,--or, rather,
the ceasing of life,--as he viewed it now, when he was like to meet it
without company, with prescribed preliminaries, in an ignominious
mode, was a far other thing than as viewed in the exaltation of
battle, when a man chances it hot-headed, uplifted, thrilled, in
gallant comradeship, to his own fate rendered careless by a sense of
his nothingness in comparison with the whole vast drama. Moreover, in
going blithely to possible death in open fight, one accomplishes
something for his cause; not so, going unwillingly to certain death on
an enemy's gallows. It was, too, an exasperating thought that he
should die to gratify the vengeful whim of an insolent Tory girl.
"Will it really come to that?" asked Molly, in a frightened tone.
"As surely as I fall into British hands!"
Peyton remembered the case of General Charles Lee, whose resignation
of half-pay had not been acknowledged; who was, when captured by the
British, long in danger of hanging, and who was finally rated as an
ordinary war prisoner only for Washington's threat to retaliate on
five Hessian field officers. If a major-general, whose desertion, even
if admitted, was from half-pay only, would have been hanged without
ceremony but for General Howe's fear of a "law scrape," and had been
saved from shipment to England for trial, only by the King's fear that
Washington's retaliation would disaffect the Hessian allies, for what
could a mere captain look, who had come over from the enemy in action,
and whose punishment would entail no official retaliation?
"And your mistress expects a troop of British soldiers here in an hour
to take me! Damn it, if I could only walk!" And he looked rapidly
around the room, in a kind of distraction, as if seeking some means of
escape. Realizing the futility of this, he sighed dismally, and drank
the remainder of the tea.
"You couldn't get away from the house, sir," said Molly. "Williams is
watching outside."
"I'd take a chance if I could only run!" Peyton muttered. He had no
fear that Molly would betray him. "If there were some hiding-place I
might crawl to! But the troops would search every cranny about the
house." He turned to Molly suddenly, seeing, in his desperate state
and his lack of time, but one hope. "I wonder, could Williams be
bribed to spirit me away?"
Molly's manner underwent a slight chill.
"Oh, no," said she. "He'd die before he'd disobey Miss Elizabeth. We
all would, sir. I'm very sorry, indeed, sir." Whereupon, taking up the
empty bowl and teacup, she hastened from the room.
Peyton sat listening to the clock-ticks. He moved his right leg so
that the foot rested on the floor, then tried to move the left one
after it, using his hand to guide it. With great pains and greater
pain, he finally got the left foot beside the right. He then undertook
to stand, but the effort cost him such physical agony as could not be
borne for any length of time. He fell back with a groan to the sofa,
convinced that the wounded leg was not only, for the time, useless
itself, but also an impediment to whatever service the other leg might
have rendered alone. But he remained sitting up, his right foot on the
floor.
Suddenly there was a raucous sound from old Mr. Valentine. He had at
last begun to snore. But this infliction brought its own remedy, for
when his jaws opened wider his tobacco pipe fell from his mouth and
struck his folded hands. He awoke with a start, and blinked
wonderingly at Peyton, whose face, turned towards the old man, still
wore the look of disapproval evoked by the momentary snoring.
"Still here, eh?" piped Mr. Valentine. "I dreamt you were being hanged
to the fireplace, like a pig to be smoked. I was quite upset over it!
Such a fine young gentleman, and one of Harry Lee's officers, too!"
And the old man shook his head deploringly.
"Then why don't you help me out of this?" demanded Peyton, whose
impulse was for grasping at straws, for he thought of black Sam urging
Cato through the wind towards King's Bridge at a gallop.
"It ain't possible," said Valentine, phlegmatically.
"If it were, would you?" asked Harry, a spark of hope igniting from
the appearance that the old man was, at least, not antagonistic to
him.
"Why, yes," began the octogenarian, placidly.
Harry's heart bounded.
"If," the old man went on, "I could without lending aid to the King's
enemies. But you see I couldn't. I won't lend aid to neither side's
enemies.[7] I don't want to die afore my time." And he gazed
complacently at the fire.
Peyton knew the hopeless immovability of selfish old age.
"God!" he muttered, in despair. "Is there no one I can turn to?"
"There's none within hearing would dare go against the orders of Miss
Elizabeth," said Mr. Valentine.
"Miss Elizabeth evidently rules with a firm hand," said Peyton,
bitterly. "Her word--" He stopped suddenly, as if struck by a new
thought. "If I could but move _her_! If I could make her change her
mind!"
"You couldn't. No one ever could, and as for a rebel soldier--"
"She has a heart of iron, that girl!" broke in Peyton. "The cruelty of
a savage!"
Mr. Valentine took on a sincerely deprecating look. "Oh, you mustn't
abuse Miss Elizabeth," said he. "It ain't cruelty, it's only proper
pride. And she isn't hard. She has the kindest heart,--to those she's
fond of."
"To those she's fond of," repeated Harry, mechanically.
"Yes," said the old man; "her people, her horses, her dogs and cats,
and even her servants and slaves."
"Tender creature, who has a heart for a dog and not for a man!"
The old man's loyalty to three generations of Philipses made him a
stubborn defender, and he answered:
"She'd have no less a heart for a man if she loved him."
"If she loved him!" echoed Peyton, and began to think.
"Ay, and a thousand times more heart, loving him as a woman loves a
man." Mr. Valentine spoke knowingly, as one acquainted by enviable
experience with the measure of such love.
"As a woman loves a man!" repeated Peyton. Suddenly he turned to
Valentine. "Tell me, does she love any man so, now?" Peyton did not
know the relation in which Elizabeth and Major Colden stood to each
other.
"I can't say she _loves_ one," replied Valentine, judicially,
"though--"
But Peyton had heard enough.
"By heaven, I'll try it!" he cried. "Such miracles have happened! And
I have almost an hour!"
Old Valentine blinked at him, with stupid lack of perception. "What is
it, sir?"
"I shall try it!" was Peyton's unenlightening answer. "There's one
chance. And you can help me!"
"The devil I can!" replied Valentine, rising from his chair in some
annoyance. "I won't lend aid, I tell you!"
"It won't be 'lending aid.' All I beg is that you ask Miss Elizabeth
to see me alone at once,--and that you'll forget all I've said to you.
Don't stand staring! For Christ's sake, go and ask her to come in!
Don't you know? Only an hour,--less than that, now!"
"But she mayn't come here for the asking," objected the old man,
somewhat dazed by Peyton's petulance.
"She _must_ come here!" cried Harry. "Induce her, beg her, entice
her! Tell her I have a last request to make of my jailer,--no,
excite her curiosity; tell her I have a confession to make, a plot
to disclose,--anything! In heaven's name, go and send her here!"
It was easier to comply with so light a request than to remain
recipient of such torrent-like importunity. "I'll try, sir," said
the peace-loving old man, "but I have no hope," and he hobbled
from the room. He left the door open as he went, and Harry, tortured
by impatience, heard him shuffling over the hall floor to the
dining-room.
Peyton's mind was in a whirl. He glanced at the clock. These were his
thoughts:
"Fifty minutes! To make a woman love me! A proud woman, vain and
wilful, who hates our cause, who detests me! To make her love me! How
shall I begin? Keep your wits now, Harry, my son,--'tis for your life!
How to begin? Why doesn't she come? Damn the clock, how loud it ticks!
I feel each tick. No, 'tis my heart I feel. My God, _will_ she not
come? And the time is going--"
"Well, sir, what is it?"
He looked from the clock to the doorway, where stood Elizabeth.