CHAPTER XX
Long before Sir John returned, or, indeed, long before we had any wordfrom him, I was dressed and making hourly essays at walking, first inthe house, then through the door-yard to the guard-house, where Iwould sit in the hot sun and breathe the full-throated October winds.Keen and sweet as apple-wine, the air I drank warmed and excited me;my eyes grew clear and strong, my lean cheeks filled, my wasted limbsonce more began to bear me with the old-time lightness and delight.
Too, I found myself at times nosing the wind with half-closed eyes,like a young hound too long kennelled, or sometimes listening, yetlost in reverie, as hounds listen on winter nights, drowsing by thedull fire.
A hundred little zephyrs that knew me whispered to me through openwindows. At night I caught the faint echo of the breezes' laughterunder the eaves; sometimes I heard the big wind stirring the darkpines, so far away that none but I could hear it playing with the babybreezes.
They were little friendly breezes, the spirits of spirits, withdainty, familiar voices, too delicate to frighten the birds theysometimes gossiped with. Even the slate-gray deer-mouse, with hiswhite belly, feared not my little friends, the winds; for oft I heardhim, in the creamy October moonlight, tuning his tiny elfin song tothe night wind's fluting.
On warm, spicy days Mr. Duncan and I would seek the stone church,sitting silent for hours in the purple and crimson rays of the stainedwindow, watching the golden dust-bands slanting on the tomb.
The resentment of bitter grief had died out in my heart; sorrow hadbeen purged of selfishness; I felt the calm presence of the dead at myelbow where'er I went. Strength and quiet came to me in voicelesscommunion; high resolve, patience, and hope were bred within me underthe serene glow of those jewelled panes. On the gray-stone slab at myfeet, dreaming, I read the story of a noble life, "Keep faith with allmen," and here, in silence, I sought to read and understand thechangeless laws which shelter souls and mark the mile-stones of ablameless life.
When the southwest sun hung gilding the clover, over miles of upland Ipassed, as I had roamed with him, twisting the bronzing sweet-fernfrom its woody stem, touching the silken milk-weed to set free itsfloss, halting, breast-deep in crimsoning sumach, to mark theheadlong, whirling covey drive through the thorns into the purpledusk.
His hounds bayed from their kennels; there was no one to cast themfree; and the red fox throttled the fowls by moonlight; and the lynxsqualled in the swamp. His horses trampled the stables till the oakfloors, reverberating, hummed thunder; there was no one to bit andbridle them; the moorland clover swayed untrodden in the wind, and thedun stag stamped the crag.
Night and day the river rushed to the sea; night and day the brooksprattled to their pebbles, the slim salmon lay in the pools, the lithetrout stemmed the gravel-rifts; but never a line whistled in thesilence, and never a scarlet feather-fly sailed on the waters amongthe autumn leaves.
Yet, though land and water were lonely without him, I was not lonely,for he walked with me always over the land he had known, and his voicewas in the soft, mild winds he loved so well.
With the memory of Silver Heels it was different. Every scented stemof sweet-fern was redolent of her; every grass-blade quivered for her;the winds called her all day long; the brooks whispered, "Where isSilver Heels?"
Through our old play-grounds, in the orchard, on the stairs, throughthe darkened school-room I followed, haunting the vanishedfootsteps--gay, light, flying feet of the child I had loved so long,unknowing.
Her stocks stood outside the nursery door; the brass key was on thenail. In her dim chamber hung the scent of lavender, while through thehalf-closed shutters a faint freshness crept, stirring the ghostlycurtains of her bed.
Wistfulness, doubt, tenderness, and sadness came and went likesun-spots on an April day. I waited with delicious dread for herreturn; I fretted, doubted, hoped, all in the same quick heart-beat,which was not all pain. Only that ghost of happiness which men callhope I knew in those long autumn days alone among the haunts of variedyesterdays.
When the golden month drew near its end, amid the dropping glory ofthe maple-leaves, one sun-drenched morning I awoke to hear the drumsand pipes skirling the march of "Tryon County Men":
"Hark to the horn in the dawn o' the morn! Rally, whoever ye be; For it's down Derry Down, and it's over the lea, And it's saddle and bridle as sure as you're born! Scattered and trampled and torn is the corn As we ride to the war in the morning; Down Derry Down! Down Derry Down! For we ride to the war in the morning!"
"Officer o' the guard! Turn out the guard!" bawled the sentry under mywindow. As I looked out the drums came crashing past, and behind themtramped the Highlanders, kilts and sporrans swinging, firelocks aslantand claymore blades shining in the sun.
It was the new regiment organized by Sir John, picked men all, andfierce partisans of the King, weeded from the militia regiment latelydisbanded at Johnstown by order of Governor Tryon.
Behind them, fifes squealing the "Huron," came the reorganizedbattalion of yeomanry, now stripped clean of rebel suspects, andrechristened "Johnson's Greens;" stout, brawny yokels with hats askewand the green cockade veiled in crape, their hunting-shirts capedtriple and fringed deep in green wool, their powder-horns tasselledand chased in silver gilt.
I watched them swinging north into the purple hills for their month'straining, the new order having arrived some eight days since fromGovernor Tryon.
Leaning there in the casement, wrapped in my dressing-gown, I sawColonel Guy Johnson ride up to the block-house, dismount, and callout Mr. Duncan. Then began a great bustle among the soldiers, for whatreason I did not understand, until a knocking at my door brought agillie with Colonel Guy Johnson's compliments, and would I dress in myuniform to receive Sir John, who was expected for breakfast.
My heart began to beat madly; could it be possible that Sir John hadbrought Silver Heels, after all? Doctor Pierson had said that shewould remain for the present in Boston; but perhaps Doctor Pierson didnot know everything that went on in the world.
To crush back hope from sheer dread of disappointment was a thanklesstask and too much for me. I dressed in my red uniform, tied my silvergorget, hung my sword, and drew on my spurred boots. Standing by themirror, pensive, I thought of my delight in these same clothes whenfirst I wore them for Sir William. Alas! alas! The gilt lace dulledunder my eyes as I looked; the gorget tarnished; the spurs rang sadlyin the silence. I twisted a strip of crape in my hilt, shook out theblack badge on my sleeve, and went down-stairs, very soberly, in thelivery of the King I must one day desert. Perhaps I was now wearing itfor the last time. Well, such things matter nothing now; true heartscan beat as freely under a buckskin shirt as beneath the jewelledsashes of the great.
As I reached the porch Mr. Duncan came hurrying past, buttoning hisgloves.
"Sir John is in the village," he said, returning my salute, "and hehas an escort of your regiment at his back. My varlets yonder needpipe-clay, but I dare not risk delay."
"Where is Colonel Guy?" I asked, but at that moment he came out of thestable in full uniform, and Mr. Duncan and I joined him at salute. Hebarely noticed me, as usual, but gave his orders to Mr. Duncan andthen looked across the fields towards the village.
"Is Felicity with Sir John?" I inquired.
"No," he answered, without turning.
My throat swelled and my mouth quivered. Where was she, then? What didall this mean?
"By-the-by," observed Colonel Guy, carelessly, "Sir John has chosenanother aide-de-camp in your place. You, of course, will join yourregiment at Albany."
I looked at him calmly, but he was again gazing out across the fields.So Sir John, who had never cared about me, had rid himself of me. Thisbrought matters to a climax. Truly enough, I was now wearing my reduniform for the last time.
I looked across the yellowing fields where, on the highway, a troop ofhorse had come up over the hill and were now galloping hither in aveil of sparkling dust. I w
atched them indifferently; the drums at theguard-house were sounding, beating the major-general's salute of tworuffles; the horsemen swept up past the ranks of presented firelocksand halted before the Hall.
And now I saw Sir John in full uniform of his rank, badged withmourning, yet all a-glitter with medals and orders, slowly dismount,while gillie Bareshanks held his stirrup. Alas! alas! that he must beknown by men as the son of his great father!--this cold, slow man,with distrustful eyes and a mouth which to see was to watch. His veryvoice seemed to sound a warning in its emotionless monotony; his lipssaid, "On guard, lest we trick you unawares."
Sir John greeted Colonel Guy, holding his hand and dropping into lowconversation for a few moments. Then, as I gave him the officers'salute, he rendered it and offered his hand, asking me how I did.
I had the honour to report myself quite recovered, and in turninquired concerning his own health, the health of Aunt Molly, and ofSilver Heels; to which he replied that Mistress Molly with Esk andPeter was in Quebec; that Felicity was well; that he himself sufferedsomewhat from indigestion, but was otherwise in possession of perfecthealth.
He then presented me to several officers of my own regiment, amongthem a very young cornet, who smiled at me in such friendly fashionthat my lonely heart was warm towards him. His name was RodmanGirdwood, and he swaggered when he walked; but so frankly did heruffle it that I could not choose but like him and smile indulgence onhis guileless self-satisfaction.
"They don't like me," he said, confidentially, as I took him to my ownchamber so that he might remove the stains of travel. "They don'tlike me because I talk too much at mess. I say what I think, and I sayit loud, sir."
"What do you say--loud?" I asked, smiling.
"Oh, everything. I say it's a damned shame to send British troops intoBoston; I say it's a doubly damned shame to close the port and starvethe poor; I say that Tommy Gage is in a dirty business, and I, forone, hope the Boston people will hold on until the British Parliamentfind their senses. Oh, I don't care who hears me!" he said, throwingoff his coat and sword and plunging into the water-basin.
His servant came to the door for orders, but Girdwood bade him let himalone and seek a pot o' beer in the kitchen.
"I trust I have not shocked your loyalty, Mr. Cardigan," he said,using a towel vigorously.
"Oh no," I laughed.
"I don't mean to be discourteous," he added, smoothing his ruffledlace; "but sometimes I feel as though I must stand up on a hill andshout across the ocean to Parliament, 'Don't make fools ofyourselves'!"
I was laughing so heartily that he turned around in humorous surprise.
"I'm afraid you are one of those disrespectful patriots," he said. "Inever heard a Tory laugh at anything I said. Come, sir, pray repeat'God save the King'!"
"God save"--we began together, then ended--"our country!"
I looked at him gravely. He, too, had grown serious. Presently he heldout his hand. I took it in silence.
"Well, well," he said, "I had little thought of finding a comrade inour new cornet."
"Nor I in the Border Horse," said I, quietly.
He turned to the mirror and began retying his queue ribbon. After atwist or two the smile came back to his lips and the jauntiness to hiscarriage.
"It's all in a lifetime," he said. "Lord, but I'm hungry, Cardigan!Honest Abraham, I haven't broken a crust since we left Schenectady!"
"Come on, then," I said; "we subalterns must not keep our superiors,you know."
"They wouldn't wait for us, anyway," he said, following medown-stairs to the breakfast-room, into which already Sir John and hissuite were crowding.
The breakfast was short and dreary. Sir John's unsympathetic presencehad never yet warmed even his familiars to gayety. Those who wereunder his orders found him severe and unbending; his equals, I think,distrusted him; but his superiors saw in him a latent energy whichthey believed might be worth their control some day, and so studiedhim carefully, prepared for anything from fidelity to indifference,and even, perhaps, treachery.
Benning, major in the Border Horse, strove indeed to liven thebreakfast with liberal libations and jests, neither of which wereparticularly encouraged by Sir John. As for Colonel Guy Johnson, hebrooded in his dish, a strange, dark, silent man who had never, to myknowledge, shown a single human impulse for either good or evil. Hewas a faultless executor of duty intrusted, obeying to the letter, yetnever offering suggestions; a scrupulously clean man in speech andhabit; a blameless husband, and an inoffensive neighbour. But that wasall, and I had sooner had a stone idol as neighbour than Colonel GuyJohnson.
The living Johnsons seemed to be alike in nature. I do not even nowunderstand why I thought so, but I sometimes believed that they had,deep in them, something of that sombre ferocity which burned in theButlers. Yet to me they had exhibited nothing but the most passionlessreserve.
When the gloomy breakfast was ended, Colonel Guy Johnson conducted hisguests to the porch, where they made ready for the inspection of ourtwo stone block-houses and the new artillery in the barracks, sentrecently by Governor Tryon at Sir John's request.
Supposing I was to follow, as I no longer remained aide-de-camp to themajor-general, I started off with Rodman Girdwood, but was recalled bya soldier, who reported that Sir John awaited me in the library.
Sir John was sitting at the great oak table as I entered, and hemotioned me to a seat opposite. He held in his hands a bundle ofpapers, which he slowly turned over and over in his fingers.
He first informed me that he had selected another aide-de camp, notbecause he expected to find me unsatisfactory, but because it was mostdesirable that young, inexperienced officers should join the coloursas soon as possible. He said that the times were troublous anduncertain; that sedition was abroad in the land; that young men neededthe counsel of loyal authority, and the example and discipline ofmilitary life. He expected me, he said, to return to Albany with thesquadron which had served him as escort.
To which I made no reply.
He then spoke of the death of his father, of the responsibilities ofhis own position, and of his claim on me for obedience. He spoke of mymission to Cresap and the Cayugas as a mistake in policy; and I burnedto hear him criticise Sir William's acts. He asked me for my report,and I gave it to him, relating every circumstance of my meeting withthe Cayugas, my peril, my rescue, the fight at Cresap's fort, thetreachery of Dunmore, Greathouse, Connolly, and the others.
He frowned, listening with lowered eyes.
I told him of the insult offered our family by Dunmore; I told howSilver Heels escaped. Then I related every circumstance in myrelations with Walter Butler, from my first open quarrel with him hereat the Hall to his deadly assault on me while in discharge of mymission, and finally how he had fallen under my fury in Dunmore'spresence.
Sir John's face was expressionless. He deplored the matters mentioned,saying that loyal men must stand together and not exterminate eachother. He pointed out that Dunmore was the royal Governor of Virginia;that an alliance with Felicity was an honour we were most unwise torefuse; he regretted the quarrel between such a zealous loyalist asWalter Butler and myself, but coolly informed me that he had heardfrom Butler, and that he was recovering slowly from the breaking of anarm, collar-bone, and many ribs.
This calm acknowledgment that Sir John and my deadly enemy were insuch intimacy set my blood boiling. His amazing complacency towardsthese men after the insults offered his own kin took my breath.
He said that his policy in regard to the Cayuga rising was not thepolicy of Sir William. His efforts were directed towards the solidassembling of all men, so that the loyal might in the hour of dangerpresent an unbroken front to rebellion and discontent. It was, hesaid, my duty to lay aside all rancour against Lord Dunmore andCaptain Butler. This was not the time to settle personal differences.Later, he could see no objection to my calling out Walter Butler ordemanding reparation from Lord Dunmore, if I found it necessary.
I was slowly beginning to hate Sir
John.
I therefore told him how we had done to death the wretch Greathouse;how I had shot the driver of the coach, who was the unknown man whohad tasted his own hatchet in the forest.
Sir John informed me that I and my party had also slain Wraxall andToby Tice, and that Captain Murdy alone had escaped our fury.
I was contented to hear it; contented to hear, too, that Walter Butlerlived; for, though no man on earth deserved death more than he, I hadnot wished to slay any man in such a manner. I could wait, for I neverdoubted that he must one day die by my hand, though not the kind ofdeath that he had escaped so narrowly.
Sir John now spoke of the will left by Sir William. He held a copy inhis hand and opened it.
"You know," he said, "that your fortune is not considerable, though myfather has invested it most fortunately. The income is ample for ayoung man, and on the decease of your uncle, Sir Terence, you willcome into his title and estate in Ireland. This should make youwealthy. However, Sir William saw fit to provide for you further."
He turned the pages of the document slowly, frowning.
"Where is my own money?" I asked.
Sir John passed me a letter, sealed, which he said would recommend meto the lawyer in Albany who administered my fortune until I became oflegal age. Then he resumed his study of the will.
"Read from the beginning," I said. I had a curious feeling that it wasindecent to ignore anything Sir William had written, in order to hurryto that clause relating only to my own selfish profit.
Sir John glanced at me across the table, then read aloud, in his cold,passionless voice:
"In the name of God, Amen! I, Sir William Johnson, of Johnson Hall, in the County of Tryon and Province of New York, Bart., being of sound and disposing mind, memory, and understanding, do make, publish, and declare this to be my last Will and Testament in manner and form following:
"First and principally, I resign my soul to the great and merciful God who made it, in hopes, through the merits alone of my blessed Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, to have a joyful resurrection to life eternal--"
He stopped abruptly, saying that he saw no necessity for reading allthat, and turned directly to the clause concerning me. Then he read:
"And as to the worldly and temporal estate which God was pleased to endow me with, I devise, bequeath, and dispose of in the following manner: Imprimis. I will, order and direct that all such just debts as I may owe, at the time of my decease, to be paid by my son Sir John Johnson, Baronet....
"Item. To my dearly beloved kinsman and ward, Michael Cardigan, I give and bequeath the sum of three thousand pounds, York currency, to him or the survivor of him. Also my own horse Warlock."
Sir John turned several pages, found another clause, and read:
"To the aforesaid Michael Cardigan I devise and bequeath that lot of land which I purchased from Jelles Fonda, in the Kennyetto Patent; also two hundred acres of land adjoining thereto, being part of the Perth Patent, to be laid out in a compact body between the sugar bush and the Kennyetto Creek; also four thousand acres in the Royal Grant, now called Kingsland, next to the Mohawk River, where is the best place for salmon fishing; also that strip of land from the falls or carrying-place to Lot No. 1, opposite to the hunting-lodge of Colonel John Butler, where woodcocks, snipes, and wild ducks are accustomed to be shot by me, within the limits and including all the game-land I bought from Peter Weaver."
Sir John folded the paper and handed it to me, saying, "It is strangethat Sir William thought fit to bequeath you such a vast property."
"What provision was made for Felicity?" I asked, quietly.
"She might have had three thousand pounds and a thousand acresadjoining yours in the Kennyetto Patent," replied Sir John, coldly."But under present circumstances--ahem--she receives nothing."
I thought a moment. In the hallway I heard the officers returning withColonel Guy Johnson from their inspection.
"Where is Felicity?" I asked, suddenly.
He looked up in displeasure at my brusqueness, but did not reply. Irepeated the question.
"She is near Boston," he said, with a frown of annoyance. "Her lawyeris Thomas Foxcroft in Queen Street."
"When will she return here?"
"She will not return."
"What!" I cried, springing to my feet.
Sir John eyed me sullenly.
"I beg you will conduct in moderation," he said.
"Then tell me what you have done with my cousin Felicity!"
"She is not your cousin, or any kin to you or to us," he said, coldly."I have had some correspondence with Sir Peter Warren, which, I maysay, does not concern you. Enough that Felicity is not his niece, northe daughter of his dead brother, nor any kin whatever to him, to us,or to you. Further than that I have nothing to say, except that theyoung woman is now with her own kin, and will remain there, because itis her proper legal residence. Better for you," he added, grimly, "andbetter for us if you had not meddled with what did not concern you,and had allowed Lord Dunmore to take her--"
"Dunmore! Wed Felicity!" I burst out.
"Wed? Who said he meant to wed her? He did not; he knew from Sir PeterWarren who Felicity is; he knew it before we did, and informed SirPeter. Wed her? Ay, with the left hand, perhaps."
I rose, trembling in every limb.
"The damned scoundrel!" I stammered. "The damned, foul-fleshedscoundrel! God! Had I known--had I dreamed--"
"You will control your temper here at least," he said, pointing to thecard-room, where Colonel Guy Johnson and the Border officers werestaring at us through the open doors.
"No, I will not!" I cried. "I care not who hears me! And I say shameon you for your indecency! Shame on you for your callous, mercilessjudgment, when you, God knows, require the mercy you refuse to others,you damned hypocrite!"
"Silence!" he said, turning livid. "You leave this house to-night foryour regiment."
"I leave it in no service which tolerates such blackguards as Dunmoreor such bloodless criminals as you!" I retorted, tearing my sword frommy belt. Then I stepped forward, and, looking him straight in theeyes, slammed my sheathed sword down on the table before him.
"You, your Governors, and your King are too poor to buy the sword Iwould wear," I said, between my teeth.
"Are you mad?" he muttered, staring.
I laughed.
"Not I," I said, gayly, "but the pack o' fools who curse my countrywith their folly, like that withered, half-witted Governor ofVirginia, like that pompous ass in Boston, like you yourself, sir,though God knows it chokes to say it of your father's son!"
"Major Benning," cried Sir John, "you will place that lunatic underarrest!"
My major started, then took a step towards me.
"Try it!" said I, all the evil in me on fire. "Go to the devil,sir!--where your own business is doubtless stewing. Hands off,sir!--or I throw you through the window!"
"Good Gad!" muttered Benning. "The lad's gone stark!"
"But I still shoot straight," I said, picking up Sir William'sfavourite rifle and handling it most carelessly.
"Mind what you are about!" cried Sir John, furiously. "That piece ischarged!"
"I am happy to know it," I replied, dropping it into the hollow of myarm so he could look down the black muzzle.
And I walked out of the room and up the stairs to my own littlechamber, there to remove from my body the livery of my King, neveragain to resume it.
I spent the day in packing together all articles which were rightlymine, bought with my own money or given me by Sir William: my books,my prints, some flutes which I could not play, my rods andfowling-pieces, all my clothing, my paper and Faber pencil--all giftsfrom Sir William.
I wished also for a memento from his room, something the more valuableto me because valueless to others, and I found his ivory cane to takeand his leather book, the same bei
ng a treatise on fishing by acertain Isaac Walton, who, if he tells the truth, knew little aboutthe habits of trout and salmon, and did write much foolishness in apretty manner.
However, Sir William loved to read from Isaac Walton his book, and Ihave oft heard him singing lustily the catches and ballads which doabound in that same book--and to its detriment, in my opinion.
Laden with these, and also with a scrap of sleeve-ribbon, all I couldfind in Silver Heels's chamber, I did make two bundles of my property,done neatly in blankets. Then, to empty my purse and strong-box andfill my money-belt, placing there also my letter of recommendation tothe lawyer, Peter Weaver, Esquire, who administered my investments.
Gillie Bareshanks I hailed from the orchard, bidding him saddleWarlock with a dragoon's saddle, and place forage for three days inthe saddle-bags, dropping at the same time my riding-coat from thewindow, to be rolled and buckled across the pommel.
I dressed me once more in new buckskins, with Mohawk moccasins andleggings, this to save the wear of travel on my better clothing, ofwhich I did take but one suit, the same being my silver-gray velvet,cut with French elegance, and hat to match.
Now, as I looked from the windows, I could see Sir John, Colonel Guy,and their guests, mounting to ride to the village, doubtless in orderthat they should be shown Sir William's last resting-place. So I,being free of the house, wandered through it from cellar to attic,because it was to be my last hour in the only home I had ever known.
Mercifully, though the heart be full to breaking, youth can neverfully realize that the old order has ended forever; else why, even inbitterest sorrow, glimmers that thread of light through darkness whichwe call the last ray of hope? It never leaves us; men say it flees,but it goes out only with the life that nourished it.
Deep, deep in my heart I felt that I should look upon these familiarwalls once more, when, in happier days, my dear love and I shouldreturn to the hills we must always love for Sir William's sake.
And so I strayed through the silent, sunny rooms, touching the wallswith aching heart, and bidding each threshold adieu. Ghosts walkedwith me through the dimmed sunbeams; far in the house, faintestfamiliar sounds seemed to stir, half-heard whispers, the echo oflaughter, a dear voice calling from above. Over these floors SilverHeels's light feet had passed, brushing every plank, perhaps the veryspot I stood on. Hark! Over and over again that fading echo filled myears for an instant, as though somebody had just spoken in a distantroom.
Passing the stocks where Silver Heels had so often sat to pout andembroider, or battle with us to protect her helpless feet fromtorment, I came to the school-room once more.
Apparently nobody had entered it since I had written my verses onEurydice--so long, so long ago. There were traces of the versesstill--smeared from my struggle with Silver Heels when I had written:
"Silver Heels toes in like ducks."
Heaven save the libel!
And here on a bench was my tattered mythology, thumbed and bitten, andthe fly-leaf soaked with ink where Peter had made a scene of battle inIndian fashion, the English being scalped on all sides by himself,Esk, and Joseph Brant, all labelled.
I took the book, turning to where I had written my bequest to SilverHeels on the inside cover, and then carried it to my chamber, there toadd this last link of childhood to the others in my packets.
I do not exactly understand why, but I also carried with me the flag Ihad taken from Cresap's fort, and rolled it up in my uniform which wasgiven me by Sir William.
Neither flag nor uniform were any longer mine, yet I ever have foundit impossible to neglect that which I once loved. So I rolled thebunting and my scarlet clothes with my best silver-gray velvet, andtied all together.
When young Bareshanks came to announce that Warlock waited, I bade himcarry my two packets down, following, myself, with Sir William's longrifle, and otherwise completely equipped with hatchet, knife, powderand ball, flint and tinder, and a small stew-pan.
With these Warlock was laden like a pack-horse, leaving room in thesaddle for me. Bareshanks held my stirrup; I mounted, shook hands withhim, not daring to attempt a word, and, with tears blinding me, turnedmy horse's head south on the Albany post-road.
Mr. Duncan, standing near the stables, gazed at me in astonishment.
"Ho!" he called out. "More wood-running, Mr. Cardigan? Faith, thescalp-trade must be paying in these humming days of peace!"
I tried to smile and gave him my hand.
"It's good-bye forever," I said, choking. "I cannot use the same roofthat shelters my kinsman, Sir John Johnson."
He looked at me very gravely, asking me where I meant to go.
"To Boston," I replied. "I have affairs with one Thomas Foxcroft."
There was a silence, he still holding my hand as though to draw meback.
"Why to Boston?" he repeated, gently.
"To wed Miss Warren," I replied, looking him in the eyes.
He stared, then caught my hand in both of his.
"God bless her!" he said, again and again. "I give you joy, lad! She'sthe sweetest of them all in County Tryon!"
"And in all the world beside!" I muttered, huskily.
And so rode on.