CHAPTER VII.
THE FLIGHT OF THE MINUTES.
The silence of her entrance was from her having, a few minutesearlier, exchanged her riding-boots for satin slippers.
"I--I thank you for coming, madam," said Peyton, feeling the necessityof a prompt reply to her imperious look of inquiry, yet without apracticable idea in his head. "I had--that is--a request to make."
He was trembling violently, not from fear, but from that kind ofagitation which often precedes the undertaking of a critical task, aswhen a suppliant awaits an important interview, or an actor assumesfor the first time a new part.
"Mr. Valentine said a confession," said Elizabeth, holding him in acoldly resentful gaze.
"Why, yes, a confession," said he, hopelessly.
"A plot to disclose," she added, with sharp impatience. "What is it?"
"You shall hear," he began, in gloomy desperation, without thefaintest knowledge of how he should finish. "I--ah--it is this--" Hiswandering glance fell on the table and the writing materials she hadleft there. "I wish to write a letter--a last letter--to a friend."The vague general outline of a project arose in his mind.
Elizabeth was inclined to be as laconic as implacable. "Write it,"said she. "There are pen and ink."
"But I can't write in this position," said Peyton, quickly, lest shemight leave the room. "I fear I can't even hold a pen. Will you notwrite for me?"
"I? Secretary to a horse-thieving rebel!"
"It is a last request, madam. A last request is sacred,--even anenemy's."
"I will send in some one to write for you." And she turned to go.
"But this letter will contain secrets."
"Secrets?" The very word is a charm to a woman. Elizabeth's curiositywas touched but slightly, yet sufficiently to stay her steps for themoment.
"Ay," said Peyton, lowering his tone and speaking quickly, "secretsnot for every ear. Secrets of the heart, madam,--secrets so delicatethat, to convey them truly, I need the aid of more than common tactand understanding."
He watched her eagerly, and tried to repress the signs of hisanxiety.
Elizabeth considered for a moment, then went to the table and sat downby it.
"But," said she, regarding him with angry suspicion, "the confession,--theplot?"
"Why, madam," said he, his heart hammering forcefully, "do you think Imay communicate them to you directly? The letter shall relate them,too, and if the person who holds the pen for me pays heed to theletter's contents, is it my fault?"
"I understand," said the woman, entrapped, and she dipped the quillinto the ink.
"The letter," began Peyton, slowly, hesitating for ideas, and glancingat the clock, yet not retaining a sense of where the hands were, "isto Mr. Bryan Fairfax--"
"What?" she interrupted. "Kinsman to Lord Fairfax, of Virginia?"
"There's but one Mr. Bryan Fairfax," said Peyton, acquiring confidencefrom his preliminary expedient to overcome prejudice, "and, thoughhe's on the side of King George in feeling, yet he's my friend,--acircumstance that should convince even you I'm not scum o' the earth,rebel though you call me. He's the friend of Washington, too."
"Poh! Who is your Washington? My aunt Mary rejected him, and marriedhis rival in this very room!"
"And a good thing Washington didn't marry her!" said Peyton,gallantly. "She'd have tried to turn him Tory, and the ladies of thisfamily are not to be resisted."
"Go on with your letter," said Elizabeth, chillingly.
"'Mr. Bryan Fairfax,'" dictated Peyton, steadying his voice with aneffort, "'Towlston Hall, Fairfax County, Virginia. My dear Fairfax: Ifever these reach you, 'twill be from out a captivity destined,probably, to end soon in that which all dread, yet to which all mustcome; a captivity, nevertheless, sweetened by the divinest presencethat ever bore the name of woman--'"
Elizabeth stopped writing, and looked up, with an astonishment soall-possessing that it left no room even for indignation.
Peyton, his eyes astray in the preoccupation of composition, did notnotice her look, but, as if moved by enthusiasm, rose on his right legand stood, his hands placed on the back of the light chair by thesofa, the chair's front being turned from him. He went on, with anaffectation of repressed rapture: "''Twere worth even death to be fora short hour the prisoner of so superb--'"
"Sir, what are you saying?" And Elizabeth dropped the pen, and stoodup, regarding him with freezing resentment.
"My thoughts, madam," said he, humbly, meeting her gaze.
"How dare you jest with me?" said she.
"Jest? Does a man jest in the face of his own death?"
"'Twas a jest to bid me write such lies!"
"Lies? 'Fore gad, the mirror yonder will not call them lies!" Heindicated the oblong glass set in above the mantel. "If there islying, 'tis my eyes that lie! 'Tis only what they tell me, that mylips report."
Keeping his left foot slightly raised from the floor, he pushed thechair a little towards her, and himself followed it, resting hisweight partly on its back, while he hopped with his right foot. ButElizabeth stayed him with a gesture of much imperiousness.
"What has such rubbish to do with your confession and your plot?" shedemanded.
"Can you not see?" And he now let some of his real agitation appear,that it might serve as the lover's perturbation which it would be wellto display.
"My confession is of the instant yielding of my heart to the charms ofa goddess."
In those days lovers, real or pretended, still talked of goddesses,flames, darts, and such.
"Who desired your heart to yield to anything?" was Miss Elizabeth'ssharply spoken reply.
"Beauty _commanded_ it, madam!" said he, bowing low over hischair-back.
"So, then, there was no plot?" Her eyes flashed with indignation.
"A plot, yes!" He glanced sidewise at the clock, and drew self-reliancefrom the very situation, which began to intoxicate him. "_My_ plot, toattract you hither, by that message, that I might console myself formy fate by the joy of seeing you!"
"The joy of seeing me!" She spoke with incredulity and contempt.
A glad boldness had come over Peyton. He felt himself masterful, asone feels who is drunk with wine; yet, unlike such a one, he hadcommand of mind and body.
"Ay, joy," said he, "joy none the less that you are disdainful! Prideis the attribute of queens, and tenderness is not the only mood inwhich a woman may conquer. Heaven! You can so discomfit a man withyour frowns, _what_ might you do with your smile!"
He felt now that he could dissimulate to fool the very devil.
But Elizabeth, though interested as one may be in an oddity, seemednot otherwise impressed. 'Twas something, however, that she remainedin the room to answer:
"I do not know what I have done with my frown, nor what I might dowith my smile, but, whatever it be, _you_ are not like to see!"
"That I know," said Peyton, and added, at a reckless venture, "and amconsoled, when I consider that no other man has seen!"
"How do you know that?"
"Your smile is not for any common man, and I'll wager your heart is aswhole as your beauty."
She looked at him for a moment of silence, then:
"I cannot imagine why you say all this," quoth she, in realpuzzlement.
"'Tis an easing to the tortured heart to reveal itself," he answered,"as one would fain uncover an inner wound, though there be no hope ofcure. I can go the calmer to my doom for having at least given outletin words to the flame kindled in a moment within me. My doom! Yes, andnone so unwelcome, either, if by it I escape a lifetime of vainlonging!"
"Your talk is incomprehensible, sir. If you are serious, it must bethat your head is turned."
"My head is turned, doubtless, but by you!"
He was now assuming the low, quick, nervous utterance that is oftenassociated with intense repressed feeling; and his words wereaccompanied by his best possible counterfeit of the burning, piercing,distraught gaze of passion. Though he acted a part, it was not withth
e cold-blooded art of a mimic who simulates by rule; it was with theanimation due to imagining himself actually swayed by the feeling hewould feign. While he _knew_ his emotion to be fictitious, he _felt_it as if it were real, and his consequent actions were the same as ifreal it were.
"I'm sure the act was not intentional with me," said Elizabeth. "I'dbest leave you, lest you grow worse." And she moved towards the door.
Peyton had rapid work of it, pushing the chair before him and hoppingafter it, so as to intercept her. In the excitement of the moment, helost his mastery of himself.
"But you must not go! Hear me, I beg! Good God, only a half hourleft!"
"A half hour?" repeated Elizabeth, inquiringly.
"I mean," said Peyton, recovering his wits, "a half hour till thetroops may be here for me,--only a half hour until I must leave yourhouse forever! Do not let me be deprived of the sight of you for thoselast minutes! Tis so short a time, yet 'tis all my life!"
"The man is mad, I think!" She spoke as if to herself.
"Mad!" he echoed. "Yes, some do call it a madness--the love that'sborn of a glance, and lasts till death!"
"Love!" said she. "'Tis impossible you should come to love me, in soshort a time."
"'Tis born of a glance, I tell you!" he cried. "What is it, if notlove, that makes me forget my coming death, see only you, hear onlyyou, think of only you? Why do I not spend this time, this last hour,in pleading for my life, in begging you to hide me and send the troopsaway without me when they come? They would take your word, and you area woman, and women are moved by pleading. Why, then, do I not, in thebrief time I have left, beg for my life? Because my passion blinds meto all else, because I would use every moment in pouring out my heartto you, because my feelings must have outlet in words, because it ismore than life or death to me that you should know I love you!--God,how fast that clock goes!"
She had stood in wonderment, under the spell of his vehemence. Now, ashe leaned towards her, over the chair-back, his breath coming rapidly,his eyes luminous, she seemed for a moment abashed, softened, subdued.But she put to flight his momentary hope by starting again for thedoorway, with a low-spoken, "I must go!"
But he thrust his chair in her way.
"Nay, don't go!" he said. "You may hear my avowal with propriety. Mypeople are as good as any in Virginia."
She stood regarding him with a look of scrutiny.
"You are a rebel against your king," she said, but not harshly.
"Is not the King soon to have his revenge? And is that a reason whyyou should leave me now?"
"You deserted your first colors."
"'Twas in extraordinary circumstances, and in the right cause. And isthat a reason why you--"
"You took my horse."
"But paid you for it, and you have your horse again. Abuse me, madam,but do not go from me. Call me rebel, deserter, robber, what you will,but remain with me. Denunciation from your lips is sweeter than praisefrom others. Chastise me, strike me, trample on me,--I shall worshipyou none the less!"
He inclined his body further forward over the chair-back, and thus wasvery near her. She put out her hand to repel him. He moved back withhumility, but took her hand and kissed it, with an appearance ofpassion qualified by reverence.
"How dare you touch my hand?" And she quickly drew it from him.
"A poor wretch who loves, and is soon to die, dares much!"
"You seem resigned to dying," she remarked.
"Have I not said 'tis better than living with a hopeless passion?"
"And yet death," she said, "_that_ kind of a death is not pleasant."
"I'm not afraid of it," said he, wondering how the minutes wererunning, yet not daring the loss of time to look. "'Tis not inconsigning me to the enemy that you have your revenge on me, 'tis inmaking me vainly love you. I receive the greater hurt from yourbeauty, not from the British provost-marshal!"
"Bravado!" said she.
"Time will show," said he.
"If you are so strong a man that you can endure the one hurt socalmly, why are you not a little stronger,--strong enough to ignorethis other hurt,--this _love_-wound, as you call it?"
She blushed furiously, and much against her will, at the mere word,"love-wound." Her mood now seemed to be one of pretended incredulity,and yet of a vague unwillingness that the man should be so weak to hercharms.
Peyton conceived that a change of play might aid his game.
"By heaven," he cried, "I will! 'Tis a weakness, as you imply! I shallclose my heart, vanquish my feelings! No word more of love! I defyyour beauty, your proud face, your splendid eyes! I shall die free ofyour image. Go where you will, madam. It sha'n't be a puling loverthat the British hang. A snap o' the finger for your all-conqueringcharms!--why do you not leave me?"
"What! Do you order me from my own parlor?"
Hope accelerated Peyton's heart at this, but he feigned indifference.
"Go or stay," he said; "'tis nothing to me!"
"You rebel, you speak like that to me!"
Her speech rang with genuine anger, and of a little hotter qualitythan he had thought to raise.
He was about to answer, when suddenly a sound, far and faint, reachedhis ear. "Isn't that--do you hear--" he said, huskily, and turningcold.
"Horses?" said Elizabeth. "Yes,--on the road from King's Bridge."
She went to one of the eastern windows, opened the sash, unfastenedthe shutter without, and let in a rush of cold air. Then she closedthe sash and looked out through the small panes.
"Is it--" said Peyton, quietly, with as much steadiness as he couldcommand, "I wonder--can it be--"
"A troop of rangers!" said Elizabeth. "And Sam is with them!" Sheclosed the shutter, and turned to Peyton, her face still glowing withthe resentment elicited by the cavalier attitude he had assumed beforethis alarm. "Go or stay, 'tis nothing to you, you said! The lastinsult, Sir Rebel Captain!" and she made for the door.
"You mustn't go! You mustn't go!" was the only speech he could summon.But she was already passing him. He snatched a kerchief from herdress, and dropped it on the floor. She did not observe his act."Pardon me!" he cried. "Your kerchief! You've dropped it, don't yousee?"
She turned and saw it on the floor.
Peyton quickly stepped from behind his chair, stooped and picked upthe kerchief, kissed it, and handed it to her, then staggered to hisformer support, showing in his face and by a groan the pain caused himby his movement.
"Your wound!" said Elizabeth, standing still. "You shouldn't havestooped!"
Harry's pain and consequent weakness, added to his consciousness ofthe rapidly approaching enemy, who had already turned in from the mainroad, gave him a pallor that would have claimed the attention of aless compassionate woman even than Elizabeth.
"No matter!" he murmured, feebly. Then, as if about to swoon, he threwhis head back, lost his hold of the chair-back, and staggered to thespinet. Leaning on this, he gasped, "My cravat! I feel as if I werechoking!" and made some futile effort with his hand to unfasten theneck-cloth. "Would you," he panted, "may I beg--loosen it?"
She went to his side, undid the cravat, and otherwise relieved hisneck of its confinement. She could not but meet his gaze as she didso. It was a gaze of eager, adoring eyes. He feebly smiled histhanks, and spoke, between short breaths, the words, "The hour--Ilove you--yes, the troops!"
The horses were clattering up towards the house.
A voice of command was heard through the window.
"Halt! Guard the windows and the rear, you four!"
"Colden's voice!" exclaimed Peyton.
Elizabeth was somewhat startled. "He must have been still at King'sBridge when Sam arrived," said she.
"He must be a close friend," said Peyton.
"He is my affianced husband."
Peyton staggered, as if shot, around the projection of the spinet, andcame to a rest in the small space between that projection and the westwall of the room. "Her affianced! Then it's all up with me!"
&nbs
p; The outside door was heard to open. Elizabeth turned her back towardsthe spinet and Peyton, and faced the door to the hall. That, too, wasflung wide. Peyton dropped on his right knee, behind the spinet,leaning forward and stretching his wounded leg out behind him, just asColden rushed in at the head of six of the Queen's Rangers, who werearmed with short muskets. The major stopped short at sight ofElizabeth, and the rangers stood behind him, just within the door.Peyton was hidden by the spinet.
"Where is the rebel, Elizabeth?" cried Colden.
She met his gaze straight, and spoke calmly, with a barely perceptibletremor.
"You are too late, Jack! The prisoner has eluded me. Look for him onthe road to Tarrytown,--and be quick about it, for God's sake!"
Colden drew back aghast, thrown from the height of triumph to thedepth of chagrin. Peyton, fearing lest the one joyous bound of hisheart might have betrayed him, remained perfectly still, knowing thatif any movement should take Elizabeth from between the soldiers andthe projection of the spinet, or if the soldiers should enter furtherand chance to look under the spinet, he would be seen.
"Don't you understand?" said Elizabeth, assuming one impatience toconceal another. "There's no time to lose! 'Twas the rebel Peyton!He's afoot!"
"The road to Tarrytown, you say?" replied Colden, gathering back hisfaculties.
"Yes, to Tarrytown! Why do you wait?" Her vehemence of tone sufficedto cover the growing insupportability of her situation.
"To the road again, men!" Colden ordered. "Till we meet, Elizabeth!"And he hastened, with the rangers, from the place.
"'YOU ARE TOO LATE, JACK!'"]
Peyton and Elizabeth remained motionless till the sound of the horseswas afar. Then Elizabeth called Williams, who, as she had supposed,had come into the hall with the rangers. He now entered the parlor.Elizabeth, whose back was still towards Peyton, who had risen and wasleaning on the spinet, addressed the steward in a low, embarrassedtone, as if ashamed of the weakness newly come over her.
"Williams, this gentleman will remain in the house till his wound ishealed. His presence is to be a secret in the household. He willoccupy the southwestern chamber." She then turned and spoke, in aconstrained manner, to Peyton, not meeting his look. "It is the roomyour General Washington had when he was my father's guest."
With an effort, she raised her eyes to his, but shyly dropped themagain. He bowed his thanks gravely, rather shamefaced at the successof his deception. A moment later, Elizabeth, with averted glance,walked quickly from the room.