XI
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS
I remember it was the last day of May before I saw my cousin Dorothyagain.
Late that afternoon I had taken a fishing-rod and a book, The Poems ofPansard, and had set out for the grist-mill on the stream below thelog-bridge; but did not go by road, as the dust was deep, so insteadcrossed the meadow and entered the cool thicket, making a shorter routeto the stream.
Through the woodland, as I passed, I saw violets in hollows and blueinnocence starring moist glades with its heavenly color, and in thedrier woods those slender-stemmed blue bell-flowers which some call theVenus's looking-glass.
In my saddened and rebellious heart a more innocent passion stirred andawoke--the tender pleasure I have always found in seeking out those shypeople of the forest, the wild blossoms--a harmless pleasure, for it isever my habit to leave them undisturbed upon their stalks.
Deeper in the forest pink moccasin-flowers bloomed among rocks, and theair was tinctured with a honeyed smell from the spiked orchis cradled inits sheltering leaf under the hemlock shade.
Once, as I crossed a marshy place, about me floated a violet perfume,and I was at a loss to find its source until I espied a single purpleblossom of the Arethusa bedded in sturdy thickets of rose-azalea,faintly spicy, and all humming with the wings of plundering bees.
Underfoot my shoes brushed through spikenard, and fell silently oncarpets of moss-pinks, and once I saw a matted bed of late Mayflower,and the forest dusk grew sweeter and sweeter, saturating all thewoodland, until each breath I drew seemed to intoxicate.
Spring languor was in earth and sky, and in my bones, too; yet, throughthis Northern forest ever and anon came faint reminders of recedingsnows, melting beyond the Canadas--delicate zephyrs, tinctured with thefar scent of frost, flavoring the sun's balm at moments with asharper essence.
Now traversing a ferny space edged in with sweetbrier, a breezeaccompanied me, caressing neck and hair, stirring a sudden warmth uponmy cheek like a breathless maid close beside me, whispering.
Then through the rustle of leafy depths I heard the stream's laughter,very far away, and I turned to the left across the moss, walking moreswiftly till I came to the log-bridge where the road crosses. Below meleaped the stream, deep in its ravine of slate, roaring over the damabove the rocky gorge only to flow out again between the ledge and thestone foundations of the grist-mill opposite. Down into the ravine andunder the dam I climbed, using the mossy steps that nature had cut inthe slate, and found a rock to sit on where the spray from the dam couldnot drench me. And here I baited my hook and cast out, so that theswirling water might carry my lure under the mill's foundations, whereRuyven said big, dusky trout most often lurked.
But I am no fisherman, and it gives me no pleasure to drag a finnycreature from its element and see its poor mouth gasp and its eyes glazeand the fiery dots on its quivering sides grow dimmer. So when a slytrout snatched off my bait I was in no mood to cover my hook again, butset the rod on the rocks and let the bright current waft my line as itwould, harmless now as the dusty alder leaves dimpling yonder ripple. SoI opened my book, idly attentive, reading The Poems of Pansard, whiledappled shadows of clustered maple leaves moved on the page, and droningbees set old Pansard's lines to music.
"Like two sweet skylarks springing skyward, singing, Piercing the empyrean of blinding light, So shall our souls take flight, serenely winging, Soaring on azure heights to God's delight; While from below through sombre deeps come stealing The floating notes of earthward church-bells pealing."
My thoughts wandered and the yellow page faded to a glimmer amid palespots of sunshine waning when some slow cloud drifted across the sun.Again my eyes returned to the printed page, and again thought partedfrom its moorings, a derelict upon the tide of memory. Far in the forestI heard the white-throat's call with the endless, sad refrain,"Weep-wee-p! Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy!" Though some vow that the littlebird sings plainly, "Sweet-sw-eet! Canada, Canada, Canada!"
Then for a while I closed my eyes until, slowly, that awakening sensethat somebody was looking at me came over me, and I raised my head.
Dorothy stood on the log-bridge above the dam, elbows on the rail,gazing pensively at me.
"Well, of all idle men!" she said, steadying her voice perceptibly."Shall I come down?"
And without waiting for a reply she walked around to the south end ofthe bridge and began to descend the ravine.
I offered assistance; she ignored it and picked her own way down thecleft to the stream-side.
"It seems a thousand years since I have seen you," she said. "What haveyou been doing all this while? What are you doing now? Reading? Oh!fishing! And can you catch nothing, silly?... Give me that rod.... No,I don't want it, after all; let the trout swim in peace.... How pale youhave grown, cousin!"
"You also, Dorothy," I said.
"Oh, I know that; there's a glass in my room, thank you.... I thoughtI'd come down.... There is company at the house--some of ColonelGansevoort's officers, Third Regiment of the New York line, if youplease, and two impudent young ensigns of the Half-moon Regiment, all ontheir way to Stanwix fort."
She seated herself on the deep moss and balanced her back against asilver-birch tree.
"They're at the house, all these men," she said; "and what do you think?General Schuyler and his lady are to arrive this evening, and I'm toreceive them, dressed in my best tucker!... and there may be otherswith them, though the General comes on a tour of inspection, beinganxious lest disorder break out in this district if he is compelled toabandon Ticonderoga.... What do you think of that--George?"
My name fell so sweetly, so confidently, from her lips that I looked upin warm pleasure and found her grave eyes searching mine.
"Make it easier for me," she said, in a low voice. "How can I talk toyou if you do not answer me?"
"I--I mean to answer, Dorothy," I stammered; "I am very thankful foryour kindness to me."
"Do you think it is hard to be kind to you?" she murmured. "Whathappiness if I only might be kind!" She hid her face in her hands andbowed her head. "Pay no heed to me," she said; "I--I thought I couldsee you and control this rebel tongue of mine. And here am I with heartinsurgent beating the long roll and every nerve a-quiver with sedition!"
"What are you saying?" I protested, miserably.
She dropped her hands from her face and gazed at me quite calmly.
"Saying? I was saying that these rocks are wet, and that I was silly tocome down here in my Pompadour shoes and stockings, and I'm silly tostay here, and I'm going!"
And go she did, up over the moss and rock like a fawn, and I after herto the top of the bank, where she seemed vastly surprised to see me.
"Now I pray you choose which way you mean to stroll," she said,impatiently. "Here lie two paths, and I will take this straight andnarrow one."
She turned sharply and I with her, and for a long time we walkedswiftly, side by side, exchanging neither word nor glance until at lastshe stopped short, seated herself on a mossy log, and touched her hotface with a crumpled bit of lace and cambric.
"I tell you what, Mr. Longshanks!" she said. "I shall go no farther withyou unless you talk to me. Mercy on the lad with his seven-league boots!He has me breathless and both hat-strings flying and my shoe-pointsdragging to trip my heels! Sit down, sir, till I knot my ribbons undermy ear; and I'll thank you to tie my shoe-points! Not doubled in asailor's-knot, silly!... And, oh, cousin, I would I had a sun-mask!...Now you are laughing! Oh, I know you think me a country hoyden, carelessof sunburn and dust! But I'm not. I love a smooth, white skin as well asany London beau who praises it in verses. And I shall have one formyself, too. You may see, to-night, if the Misses Carmichael come withLady Schuyler, for we'll have a dance, perhaps, and I mean to paint andpatch and powder till you'd swear me a French marquise!... Cousin, thisnarrow forest pathway leads across the water back to the house. Shall wetake it?... You will have to carry me over the stream, for I'll not we
tmy shins for love of any man, mark that!"
She tied her pink hat-ribbons under her chin and stood up while I madeready; then I lifted her from the ground. Very gravely she dropped herarms around my neck as I stepped into the rushing current and waded out,the water curling almost to my knee-buckles. So we crossed thegrist-mill stream in silence, eyes averted from each other's faces; andin silence, too, we resumed the straight and narrow path, now deep withlast year's leaves, until we came to a hot, sandy bank covered with wildstrawberries, overlooking the stream.
In a moment she was on her knees, filling her handkerchief withstrawberries, and I sat down in the yellow sand, eyes following thestream where it sparkled deep under its leafy screen below.
"Cousin," she said, timidly, "are you displeased?"
"Why?"
"At my tyranny to make you bear me across the stream--with all yourheavier burdens, and my own--"
"I ask no sweeter burdens," I replied.
She seated herself in the sand and placed a scarlet berry between lipsthat matched it.
"I have tried very hard to talk to you," she said.
"I don't know what to say, Dorothy," I muttered. "Truly I do desire toamuse you and make you laugh--as once I did. But the heart of everythingseems dead. There! I did not mean that! Don't hide your face, Dorothy!Don't look like that! I--I cannot bear it. And listen, cousin; we are tobe quite happy. I have thought it all out, and I mean to be gay andamuse you.... Won't you look at me, Dorothy?" "Wh--why?" she asked,unsteadily.
"Just to see how happy I am--just to see that I pull no longfaces--idiot that I was!... Dorothy, will you smile just once?"
"Yes," she whispered, lifting her head and raising her wet lashes.Presently her lips parted in one of her adorable smiles. "Now that youhave made me weep till my nose is red you may pick me every strawberryin sight," she said, winking away the bright tears. "You have heard ofthe penance of the Algonquin witch?"
I knew nothing of Northern Indian lore, and I said so.
"What? You never heard of the Stonish Giants? You never heard of theFlying Head? Mercy on the boy! Sit here and we'll eat strawberries and Ishall tell you tales of the Long House.... Sit nearer, for I shall speakin a low voice lest old Atotarho awake from his long sleep and the deadpines ring hollow, like witch-drums under the yellow-hammer's doubleblows.... Are you afraid?"
"All a-shiver," I whispered, gayly.
"Then listen," she breathed, raising one pink-tipped finger. "This isthe tale of the Eight Thunders, told in the oldest tongue of theconfederacy and to all ensigns of the three clans ere the Erians suedfor peace. Therefore it is true.
"Long ago, the Holder of the Heavens made a very poisonous blue otter,and the Mohawks killed it and threw its body into the lake. And theHolder of Heaven came to the eastern door of the Long House and knocked,saying: 'Where is the very poisonous blue otter that I made, O Keepersof the Eastern Door?'
"'Who calls?' asked the Mohawks, peeping out to see.
"Then the Holder of the Heavens named himself, and the Mohawks wereafraid and hid in the Long House, listening.
"'Be afraid! O you wise men and sachems! The wisdom of a child alone cansave you!' said the Holder of the Heavens. Saying this he wrappedhimself in a bright cloud and went like a swift arrow to the sun."
My cousin's voice had fallen into a low, melodious sing-song; her rapteyes were fixed on me.
"A youth of the Mohawks loved a maid, and they sat by the lake at night,counting the Dancers in the sky--which we call stars of the Pleiades.
"'One has fallen into the lake,' said the youth.
"'It is the eye of the very poisonous blue otter,' replied the maid,beginning to cry.
"'I see the lost Dancer shining down under the water,' said the youthagain. Then he bade the maid go back and wait for him; and she went backand built a fire and sat sadly beside it. Then she heard some one comingand turned around. A young man stood there dressed in white, and withwhite feathers on his head. 'You are sad,' he said to the maid, 'but wewill help you.' Then he gave her a belt of purple wampum to show that hespoke the truth.
"'Follow,' he said; and she followed to a place in the forest wheresmoke rose. There she saw a fire, and, around it, eight chiefs sitting,with white feathers on their heads.
"'These chiefs are the Eight Thunders,' she thought; 'now they will helpme.' And she said: 'A Dancer has fallen out of the sky and a Mohawkyouth has plunged for it.'
"'The blue otter has turned into a serpent, and the Mohawk youth beheldher eye under the waters,' they said, one after the other. The maid weptand laid the wampum at her feet. Then she rubbed ashes on her lips andon her breasts and in the palms of her hands.
"'The Mohawk youth has wedded the Lake Serpent,' they said, one afterthe other. The maid wept; and she rubbed ashes on her thighs and onher feet.
"'Listen,' they said, one after another; 'take strawberries and go tothe lake. You will know what to do. When that is done we will come inthe form of a cloud on the lake, not in the sky.'
"So she found strawberries in the starlight and went to the lake,calling, 'Friend! Friend! I am going away and wish to see you!'
"Out on the lake the water began to boil, and coming out of it she sawher friend. He had a spot on his forehead and looked like a serpent, andyet like a man. Then she spread the berries on the shore and he came tothe land and ate. Then he went back to the shore and placed his lips tothe water, drinking. And the maid saw him going down through the waterlike a snake. So she cried, 'Friends! Friends! I am going away and wishto see you!'
"The lake boiled and her friend came out of it. The lake boiled oncemore; not in one spot alone, but all over, like a high sea spouting ona reef.
"Out of the water came her friend's wife, beautiful to behold andshining with silver scales. Her long hair fell all around her, andseemed like silver and gold. When she came ashore she stretched out onthe sand and took a strawberry between her lips. The young maid watchedthe lake until she saw something moving on the waters a great way off,which seemed like a cloud.
"In a moment the stars went out and it grew dark, and it thundered tillthe skies fell down, torn into rain by the terrible lightning. All wasstill at last, and it grew lighter. The maid opened her eyes to findherself in the arms of her friend. But at their feet lay the dyingsparks of a shattered star.
"Then as they went back through the woods the eight chiefs passed themin Indian file, and they saw them rising higher and higher, till theywent up to the sky like mists at sunrise."
Dorothy's voice died away; she stretched out one arm.
"THIS IS THE END, O YOU WISE MEN AND SACHEMS!".]
"This is the end, O you wise men and sachems, told since the beginningto us People of the Morning. Hiro [I have spoken]!"
Then a startling thing occurred; up from the underbrush behind us rose atall Indian warrior, naked to the waist, painted from belt to brow withterrific, nameless emblems and signs. I sprang to my feet,horror-struck; the savage folded his arms, quietly smiling; and I sawknife and hatchet resting in his belt and a long rifle on the mossat his feet.
"Koue! That was a true tale," he said, in good English. "It is a miraclethat one among you sings the truth concerning us poor Mohawks."
"Do you come in peace?" I asked, almost stunned.
He made a gesture. "Had I come otherwise, you had known it!" He lookedstraight at Dorothy. "You are the patroon's daughter. Does he speak astruthfully of the Mohawks as do you?"
"Who are you?" I asked, slowly.
He smiled again. "My name is Brant," he said.
"Joseph Brant! Thayendanegea!" murmured Dorothy, aloud.
"A cousin of his," said the savage, carelessly. Then he turned sternlyon me. "Tell that man who follows me that I could have slain him twicewithin the hour; once at the ford, once on Stoner's hill. Does he takeme for a deer? Does he believe I wear war-paint? There is no war betwixtthe Mohawks and the Boston people--yet! Tell that fool to go home!"
"What fool?" I asked, troubled.
/> "You will meet him--journeying the wrong way," said the Indian, grimly.
With a quick, guarded motion he picked up his rifle, turned short, andpassed swiftly northward straight into the forest, leaving us listeningthere together long after he had disappeared.
"That chief was Joseph Brant, ... but he wore no war-paint," whisperedmy cousin. "He was painted for the secret rites of the False-Faces."
"He could have slain us as we sat," I said, bitterly humiliated.
She looked up at me thoughtfully; there was not in her face theslightest trace of the deep emotions which had shocked me.
"A tribal fire is lighted somewhere," she mused. "Chiefs like Brant donot travel alone--unless--unless he came to consult that witch CatrineMontour, or to guide her to some national council-fire in the North."
She pondered awhile, and I stood by in silence, my heart still beatingheavily from my astonishment at the hideous apparition of amoment since.
"Do you know," she said, "that I believe Brant spoke the truth. There isno war yet, as far as concerns the Mohawks. The smoke we saw was asecret signal; that hag was scuttling around to collect the False-Facesfor a council. They may mean war; I'm sure they mean it, though Brantwore no war-paint. But war has not yet been declared; it is no scantceremony when a nation of the Iroquois decides on war. And if theconfederacy declares war the ceremonies may last a fortnight. TheFalse-Faces must be heard from first. And, Heaven help us! I believetheir fires are lighted now."
"What ghastly manner of folk are these False-Faces?" I asked.
"A secret clan, common to all Northern and Western Indians, celebratingsecret rites among the six nations of the Iroquois. Some say thespectacle is worse than the orgies of the Dream-feast--a frightfulsight, truly hellish; and yet others say the False-Faces do no harm, butmake merry in secret places. But this I know; if the False-Faces are todecide for war or peace, they will sway the entire confederacy, andperhaps every Indian in North America; for though nobody knows whobelongs to the secret sect, two-thirds of the Mohawks are said to benumbered in its ranks; and as go the Mohawks, so goes the confederacy."
"How is it you know all this?" I asked, amazed.
"My playmate was Magdalen Brant," she said. "Her playmates were pureMohawk."
"Do you mean to tell me that this painted savage is kin to that lovelygirl who came with Sir John and the Butlers?" I demanded.
"They are related. And, cousin, this 'painted savage' is no savage ifthe arts of civilization which he learned at Dr. Wheelock's school countfor anything. He was secretary to old Sir William. He is an educatedman, spite of his naked body and paint, and the more to be dreaded, itappears to me.... Hark! See those branches moving beside the trail!There is a man yonder. Follow me."
On the sandy bank our shoes made little sound, yet the unseen man heardus and threw up a glittering rifle, calling out: "Halt! or I fire."
Dorothy stopped short, and her hand fell on my arm, pressing itsignificantly. Out into the middle of the trail stepped a tall fellowclad from throat to ankle in deer-skin. On his curly head rested alittle, round cap of silvery mole-skin, light as a feather; hisleggings' fringe was dyed green; baldrick, knife-sheath, bullet-pouch,powder-horn, and hatchet-holster were deeply beaded in scarlet, white,and black, and bands of purple porcupine-quills edged shoulder-cape andmoccasins, around which were painted orange-colored flowers, eachcentred with a golden bead.
"A forest-runner," she motioned with her lips, "and, if I'm not blind,he should answer to the name of Mount--and many crimes, they say."
The forest-runner stood alert, rifle resting easily in the hollow of hisleft arm.
"Who passes?" he called out.
"White folk," replied Dorothy, laughing. Then we stepped out.
"Well, well," said the forest-runner, lifting his mole-skin cap with agrin; "if this is not the pleasantest sight that has soothed my eyessince we hung that Tory whelp last Friday--and no disrespect to MistressVarick, whose father is more patriot than many another I might name!"
"I bid you good-even, Jack Mount," said Dorothy, smiling.
"To you, Mistress Varick," he said, bowing the deeper; then glancedkeenly at me and recognized me at the same moment. "Has my prophecy cometrue, sir?" he asked, instantly.
"God save our country," I said, significantly.
"Then I was right!" he said, and flushed with pleasure when I offeredhim my hand.
"If I am not too free," he muttered, taking my hand in his great, hardpaw, almost affectionately.
"You may walk with us if you journey our way," said Dorothy; and thegreat fellow shuffled up beside her, cap in hand, and it amused me tosee him strive to shorten his strides to hers, so that he presently fellinto a strange gait, half-skip, half-toddle.
"Pray cover yourself," said Dorothy, encouragingly, and Mount did so,dumb as a Matanzas oyster and crimson as a boiled sea-crab. Then,doubtless, deeming that gentility required some polite observation, hespoke in a high-pitched voice of the balmy weather and the sweetprofusion of birds and flowers, when there was more like to be a "sweetprofusion" of Indians; and I nigh stifled with laughter to see thislumbering, free-voiced forest-runner transformed to a mincing, anxious,backwoods macaroni at the smile of a pretty woman.
"Do you bring no other news save of the birds and blossoms?" askedDorothy, mischievously. "Tell us what we all are fearful of. Have theSenecas and Cayugas risen to join the British?"
Mount stole a glance at me.
"I wish I knew," he muttered.
"We will know soon, now," I said, soberly.
"Sooner, perhaps, than you expect, sir," he said. "I am summoned to themanor to confer with General Schuyler on this very matter of theIroquois."
"Is it true that the Mohawks are in their war-paint?" asked Dorothy,maliciously.
"Stoner and Timothy Murphy say so," replied Mount. "Sir John and theButlers are busy with the Onondagas and Oneidas; Dominic Kirkland isdoing his best to keep them peaceable; and our General played his lastcards at their national council. We can only wait and see,Mistress Varick."
He hesitated, glancing at me askance.
"The fact is," he said, "I've been sniffing at moccasin tracks for thelast hour, up hill, down dale, over the ford, where I lost them, thencircled and picked them up again on the moss a mile below the bridge. IfI read them right, they were Mohawk tracks and made within the hour, andhow that skulking brute got away from me I cannot think."
He looked at us in an injured manner, for we were striving not to smile.
"I'm counted a good tracker," he muttered. "I'm as good as WalterButler or Tim Murphy, and my friend, the Weasel, now with Morgan'sriflemen, is no keener forest-runner than am I. Oh, I do not mean tobrag, or say I can match my cunning against such a human bloodhound asJoseph Brant."
He paused, in hurt surprise, for we were laughing. And then I told himof the Indian and what message he had sent by us, and Mount listened,red as a pippin, gnawing his lip.
"I am glad to know it," he said. "This will be evil news to GeneralSchuyler, I have no doubt. Lord! but it makes me mad to think how closeto Brant I stood and could not drill his painted hide!"
"He spared you," I said.
"That is his affair," muttered Mount, striding on angrily.
"There speaks the obstinate white man, who can see no good in anysavage," whispered Dorothy. "Nothing an Indian does is right orgenerous; these forest-runners hate them, distrust them, fearthem--though they may deny it--and kill all they can. And you may argueall day with an Indian-hater and have your trouble to pay you. Yet Ihave heard that this man Mount is brave and generous to enemies of hisown color."
We had now come to the road in front of the house, and Mount set his caprakishly on his head, straightened cape and baldrick, and ran hisfingers through the gorgeous thrums rippling from sleeve and thigh.
"I'd barter a month's pay for a pot o' beer," he said to me. "I learnedto drink serving with Cresap's riflemen at the siege of Boston; agodless company, sir, for an innocent man to
fall among. But Morgan'srifles are worse, Mr. Ormond; they drink no water save when it rains intheir gin toddy."
"Sir Lupus says you tried to join them," said Dorothy, to plague him.
"So I did, Mistress Varick, so I did," he stammered; "to break 'em o'their habits, ma'am. Trust me, if I had that corps I'd teach 'em to letspirits alone if I had to drink every drop in camp to keep 'em sober!"
"There's beer in the buttery," she said, laughing; "and if you smile atTulip she'll see you starve not."
"Nobody," said I, "goes thirsty or hungry at Varick Manor."
"Indeed, no," said Dorothy, much amused, as old Cato came down the path,hat in hand. "Here, Cato! do you take Captain Mount and see that he iscomfortable and that he lacks nothing."
So, standing together in the stockade gateway, we watched Catoconducting Mount towards the quarters behind the guard-house, thenwalked on to meet the children, who came dancing down the drivewayto greet us.
"Dorothy! Dorothy!" cried Cecile, "we've shaved candles and waxed thelibrary floors. Lady Schuyler is here and the General and the Carmichaelgirls we knew at school, and their cousin, Maddaleen Dirck, and ChristieMcDonald and Marguerite Haldimand--cousin to the Tory general inCanada--and--"
"I'm to walk a minuet with Madge Haldimand!" broke in Ruyven; "will youlend me your gold stock-buckle, Cousin Ormond?"
"I mean to dance, too," cried Harry, crowding up to pluck my sleeve."Please, Cousin Ormond, lend me a lace handkerchief."
"Paltz Clavarack, of the Half-moon Regiment, asked me to walk a minuet,"observed Cecile, tossing her head. "I'm sure I don't know what to say.He's so persistent."
Benny's clamor broke out: "Thammy thtole papath betht thnuff-boxth!Thammy thtole papath betht thnuff-boxth!"
"Sammy!" cried Dorothy, "what did you steal your father's best snuff-boxfor?"
"I only desired to offer snuff to General Schuyler," said Sammy,sullenly, amid a roar of laughter.
"We're to dine at eight! Everybody is dressing; come on, Dorothy!" criedCecile. "Mr. Clavarack vowed he'd perish if I kept him waiting--"
"You should see the escort!" said Ruyven to me. "Dragoons, cousin, inleather helmets and jack-boots, and all wearing new sabres taken fromthe Hessian cavalry. They're in the quarters with Tim Murphy, ofMorgan's, and, Lord! how thirsty they appear to be!"
"There's the handsomest man I ever saw," murmured Cecile to Dorothy,"Captain O'Neil, of the New York line. He's dying to see you; he said soto Mr. Clavarack, and I heard him."
Dorothy looked up with heightened color.
"Will you walk the minuet with me, Dorothy?" I whispered.
She looked down, faintly smiling:
"Perhaps," she said.
"That is no answer," I retorted, surprised and hurt.
"I know it," she said, demurely.
"Then answer me, Dorothy!"
She looked at me so gravely that I could not be certain whether it waspretence or earnest.
"I am hostess," she said; "I belong to my guests. If my duties preventmy walking the minuet with you, I shall find a suitable partner foryou, cousin."
"And no doubt for yourself," I retorted, irritated to rudeness.
Surprise and disdain were in her eyes. Her raised brows and cool smileboded me no good.
"I thought I was free to choose," she said, serenely.
"You are, and so am I," I said. "Will you have me for the minuet?"
We paused in the hallway, facing each other.
She gave me a dangerous glance, biting her lip in silence.
And, the devil possessing me, I said, "For the last time, will you takeme?"
"No!" she said, under her breath. "You have your answer now."
"I have my answer," I repeated, setting my teeth.