The Maid-At-Arms: A Novel

by Robert W. Chambers

  XII

  THE GHOST-RING

  I had bathed and dressed me in my best suit of pale-lilac silk, withflapped waistcoat of primrose stiff with gold, and Cato was powdering myhair; when Sir Lupus waddled in, magnificent in scarlet and white, andsmelling to heaven of French perfume and pomatum.

  "George!" he cried, in his brusque, explosive fashion, "I like Schuyler,and I care not who knows it! Dammy! I was cool enough with him and hislady when they arrived, but he played Valentine to my Orson till I gaveup; yes, I did, George, I capitulated. Says he, 'Sir Lupus, if a painfulmisunderstanding has kept us old neighbors from an exchange ofcivilities, I trust differences may be forgotten in this graver crisis.In our social stratum there is but one great line of cleavage now,opened by the convulsions of war, sir."

  "'Damn the convulsions of war, sir!' says I.

  "'Quite right,' says he, mildly; 'war is always damnable, Sir Lupus.'

  "'General Schuyler,' says I, 'there is no nonsense about me. You andLady Schuyler are under my roof, and you are welcome, whatever opinionyou entertain of me and my fashion of living. I understand perfectlythat this visit is not a visit of ceremony from a neighbor, but amilitary necessity.'

  "'Sir Lupus,' says Lady Schuyler, 'had it been only a militarynecessity I should scarcely have accompanied the General andhis guests.'

  "'Madam,' says I, 'it is commonly reported that I offended the entirearistocracy of Albany when I had Sir John Johnson's sweetheart to dinewith them. And for that I have been ostracized. For which ostracism,madam, I care not a brass farthing. And, madam, were I to dine allAlbany to-night, I should not ignore my old neighbors and friends, thePutnams of Tribes Hill, to suit the hypocrisy of a few strangers fromAlbany. Right is right, madam, and decency is decency! And I say nowthat to honest men Claire Putnam is Sir John's wife by every law ofhonor, decency, and chivalry; and I shall so treat her in the face of arotten world and to the undying shame of that beast, Sir John!'

  "Whereupon--would you believe it, George?--Schuyler took both my handsin his and said my conduct honored me, and more of the same sort o'thing, and Lady Schuyler gave me her hand in that sweet, statelyfashion; and, dammy! I saluted her finger-tips. Heaven knows how I foundit possible to bend my waist, but I did, George. And there's an end tothe whole matter!"

  He took snuff, blew his nose violently, snapped his gold snuff-box, andwaddled to the window, where, below, in the early dusk, torches andrush-lights burned, illuminating the cavalry horses tethered along theirpicket-rope, and the trooper on guard, pacing his beat, musket shiningin the wavering light.

  "That escort will be my undoing," he muttered. "Folk will dub me apartisan now. Dammy! a man under my roof is a guest, be he Tory orrebel. I do but desire to cultivate my land and pay my debts of honor;and I'll stick to it till they leave me in peace or hang me to mybarn door!"

  And he toddled out, muttering and fumbling with his snuff-box, biddingme hasten and not keep them waiting dinner.

  I stood before the mirror with its lighted sconces, gazing grimly at mysober face while Cato tied my queue-ribbon and dusted my silkencoat-skirts. Then I fastened the brilliant buckle under my chin, shookout the deep, soft lace at throat and wristband, and took my small-swordfrom Cato.

  "Mars' George," murmured the old man, "yo' look lak yo' is gwine wed wifmah li'l Miss Dorry."

  I stared at him angrily. "What put that into your head?" I demanded.

  "I dunno, suh; hit dess look dat-a-way to me, suh."

  "You're a fool," I said, sharply.

  "No, suh, I ain' no fool, Mars' George. I done see de sign! Yaas, suh, Idone see de sign."

  "What sign?"

  The old man chuckled, looked slyly at my left hand, then chuckled again.

  "Mars' George, yo' is wearin' yo' weddin'-ring now!"

  "A ring! There is no ring on my hand, you rascal!" I said.

  "Yaas, suh; dey sho' is, Mars' George," he insisted, still chuckling.

  "I tell you I never wear a ring," I said, impatiently.

  "'Scuse me, Mars' George, suh," he said, humbly. And, lifting my lefthand, laid it in his wrinkled, black palm, peering closely. I alsolooked, and saw at the base of my third finger a circle like the markleft by a wedding-ring.

  "That is strange," I said; "I never wore a ring in all my life!"

  "Das de sign, suh," muttered the old man; "das de Ormond sign, suh. Yo'pap wore de ghos'-ring, an' his pap wore it too, suh. All de Ormondsdone wore de ghos'-ring fore dey wus wedded. Hit am dess dat-a-way.Mars' George--"

  He hesitated, looking up at me with gentle, dim eyes.

  "Miss Dorry, suh--"

  He stopped short, then dropped his voice to a whisper.

  "'Fore Miss Dorry git up outen de baid, suh, I done tote de bre'kfus inde mawnin'. An' de fustest word dat li'l Miss Dorry say, 'Cato,' shesay, 'whar Mars' George?' she say. 'He 'roun' de yahd, Miss Dorry,' Isay. ''Pears lak he gettin' mo' res'less an' mis'ble, Miss Dorry.'

  "'Cato,' she 'low, 'I spec' ma' haid gwine ache if I lie hyah indishyere baid mo'n two free day. Whar ma' milk an' co'n pone, Cato?'

  "So I des sot de salver down side de baid, suh, an' li'l Miss Dorry shedone set up in de baid, suh, an' hole out one li'l bare arm--"

  He laid a wrinkled finger on his lips; his dark face quivered withmystery and emotion.

  "One li'l bare arm," he repeated, "an' I see de sign!"

  "What sign?" I stammered.

  "De bride-sign on de ring-finger! Yaas, suh. An' I say, 'Whar yo' ring,Miss Dorry?' An' she 'low ain' nebber wore no ring. An' I say, 'Whar datring, Miss Dorry?'

  "Den Miss Dorry look kinder queer, and rub de ghos'-ring on debridal-finger.

  "'What dat?' she 'low.

  "'Dasser ghos'-ring, honey.'

  "Den she rub an' rub, but, bless yo' heart, Mars' George! she dessnatch'ly gwine wear dat pink ghos'-ring twill yo' slip de bride-ringon.... Mars' George! Honey! What de matter, chile?... Is you a-weepin',Mars' George?"

  "Oh, Cato, Cato!" I choked, dropping my head on his shoulder.

  "What dey do to mah l'il Mars' George?" he said, soothingly. "'Spec'some one done git saucy! Huh! Who care? Dar de sign! Dar de ghos'-ring!Mars' George, yo' is dess boun' to wed, suh! Miss Dorry, she dess boun'to wed, too--"

  "But not with me, Cato, not with me. There's another man coming for MissDorry, Cato. She has promised him."

  "Who dat?" he cried. "How come dishyere ghost-ring roun' yo'weddin'-finger?"

  "I don't know," I said; "the chance pressure of a riding-glove, perhaps.It will fade away, Cato, this ghost-ring, as you call it.... Give methat rag o' lace; ... dust the powder away, Cato.... There, I'm smiling;can't you see, you rascal?... And tell Tulip she is right."

  "What dat foolish wench done tole you?" he exclaimed, wrathfully.

  But I only shook my head impatiently and walked out. Down the hallway Ihalted in the light of the sconces and looked at the strange mark on myfinger. It was plainly visible. "A tight glove," I muttered, and walkedon towards the stairs.

  From the floor below came a breezy buzz of voices, laughter, the snap ofivory fans spreading, the whisk and rustle of petticoats. I leaned amoment over the rail which circled the stair-gallery and looked down.

  Unaccustomed cleanliness and wax and candle-light made a prettybackground for all this powdered and silken company swarming below. Theservants and children had gathered ground-pine to festoon the walls;stair-rail, bronze cannon, pictures, trophies, and windows were allbright with the aromatic green foliage; enormous bunches of peoniesperfumed the house, and everywhere masses of yellow and whiteelder-bloom and swamp-marigold brightened the corners.

  Sir Lupus, standing in the hallway with a tall gentleman who wore theepaulets and the buff-and-blue uniform of a major-general, beckoned me,and I descended the stairs to make the acquaintance of that noblest andmost generous of soldiers, Philip Schuyler. He held my hand a moment,scrutinizing me with kindly eyes, and, turning to Sir Lupus, said,"There are few men to whom my heart surrenders at sight,
but your youngkinsman is one of the few, Sir Lupus."

  "He's a good boy, General, a brave lad," mumbled Sir Lupus, frowning tohide his pride. "A bit quick at conclusions, perhaps--eh, George?"

  "Too quick, sir," I said, coloring.

  "A fault you have already repaired by confession," said the General,with his kindly smile. "Mr. Ormond, I had the pleasure of receiving SirGeorge Covert the day he left for Stanwix, and Sir George mentioned yourdesire for a commission."

  "I do desire it, sir," I said, quickly.

  "Have you served, Mr. Ormond?" he asked, gravely.

  "I have seen some trifling service against the Florida savages, sir."

  "As officer, of course."

  "As officer of our rangers, General."

  "You were never wounded?"

  "No, sir; ... not severely."

  "Oh!... not severely."

  "No, sir."

  "There are some gentlemen of my acquaintance," said Schuyler, turning toSir Lupus, "who might take a lesson in modesty from Mr. Ormond."

  "Yes," broke out Sir Lupus--"that pompous ass, Gates."

  "General Gates is a loyal soldier," said Schuyler, gravely.

  "Who the devil cares?" fumed Sir Lupus. "I call a spade a spade! And Isay he is at the head of that infamous cabal which seeks to disgraceyou. Don't tell me, sir! I'm an older man than you, sir! I've a right tosay it, and I do. Gates is an envious ass, and unfit to holdyour stirrup!"

  "This is a painful matter," said Schuyler, in a low voice. "Indiscreetfriendship may make it worse. I regard General Gates as a patriot and abrother soldier.... Pray let us choose a gayer topic ... friends."

  His manner was so noble, his courtesy so charming, that there was nosting in his snub to Sir Lupus. Even I had heard of the amazingjealousies and intrigues which had made Schuyler's lifemiserable--charges of incompetency, of indifference, of corruption--nay,some wretched creatures who sought to push Gates into Schuyler's commandeven hinted at cowardice and treason. And none could doubt that Gatesknew it and encouraged it, for he had publicly spoken of Schuyler inslighting and contemptuous terms.

  Yet the gentleman whose honor had been the target for these slanderersnever uttered one word against his traducers: and, when a friend askedhim whether he was too proud to defend himself, replied, serenely, "Nottoo proud, but too sensible to spread discord in my country's army."

  "Lady Schuyler desires to know you," said the General, "for I see herfan-signal, which I always obey." And he laid his arm on mine as afather might, and led me across the room to where Dorothy stood withLady Schuyler on her right, surrounded by a bevy of bright-eyed girlsand gay young officers.

  Dorothy presented me in a quiet voice, and I bowed very low to LadySchuyler, who made me an old-time reverence, gave me her fingers tokiss, and spoke most kindly to me, inquiring about my journey, and how Iliked this Northern climate.

  Then Dorothy made me known to those near her, to the pretty Carmichaeltwins, whose black eyes brimmed purest mischief; to Miss Haldimand,whose cold beauty had set the Canadas aflame; and to others of whom Ihave little recollection save their names. Christie McDonald and LysbetDirck, two fashionable New York belles, kin to the Schuylers.

  As for the men, there was young Paltz Clavarack, ensign in the Half-moonRegiment, very fine in his orange-faced uniform; and there was MajorHarrow, of the New York line; and a jolly, handsome dare-devil, CaptainTully O'Neil, of the escort of horse, who hung to Dorothy's skirts andwhispered things that made her laugh. There were others, too, aides innew uniforms, a medical officer, who bustled about in the role ofeverybody's friend; and a parcel of young subalterns, very serious, veryred, and very grave, as though the destiny of empires reposed in theirblue-and-gold despatch pouches.

  "I wonder," murmured Dorothy, leaning towards me and speaking behind herrose-plumed fan--"I wonder why I answered you so."

  "Because I deserved it," I muttered,

  "Cousin I Cousin!" she said, softly, "you deserve all I can give--allthat I dare not give. You break my heart with kindness."

  I stepped to her side; all around us rose the hum of voices, laughter,the click of spurs, the soft sounds of silken gowns on a polished floor.

  "It is you who are kind to me, Dorothy," I whispered, "I know I cannever have you, but you must never doubt my constancy. Say youwill not?"

  "Hush!" she whispered; "come to the dining-hall; I must look at thetable to see that all is well done, and there is nobody there.... We cantalk there."

  She slipped off through the throng, and I sauntered into the gun-room,from whence I crossed the hallway and entered the dining-hall. Dorothystood inspecting the silver and linen, and giving orders to Cato in alow voice. Then she dismissed the row of servants and sat down in aleather chair, resting her forehead in her hands.

  "Deary me! Deary me!" she murmured, "how my brain whirls!... I would Iwere abed!... I would I were dead!... What was it you said concerningconstancy? Oh, I remember; I am never to doubt your constancy." Sheraised her fair head from between her hands.

  "Promise you will never doubt it," I whispered.

  "I--I never will," she said. "Ask me again for the minuet, dear. I--Irefused everybody--for you."

  "Will you walk it with me, Dorothy?"

  "Yes--yes, indeed! I told them all I must wait till you asked me."

  "Good heavens!" I said, laughing nervously, "you didn't tell them that,did you?"

  She bent her lovely face, and I saw the smile in her eyes glimmeringthrough unshed tears.

  "Yes; I told them that. Captain O'Neil protests he means to call you outand run you through. And I said you would probably cut off his queue andtie him up by his spurs if he presumed to any levity. Then he said he'dtell Sir George Covert, and I said I'd tell him myself and everybodyelse that I loved my cousin Ormond better than anybody in the world andmeant to wed him--"

  "Dorothy!" I gasped.

  "Wed him to the most, beautiful and lovely and desirable maid inAmerica!"

  "And who is that, if it be not yourself?" I asked, amazed.

  "It's Maddaleen Dirck, the New York heiress, Lysbet's sister; and youare to take her to table."

  "Dorothy," I said, angrily, "you told me that you desired me to befaithful to my love for you!"

  "I do! Oh, I do!" she said, passionately. "But it is wrong; it isdreadfully wrong. To be safe we must both wed, and then--God knows!--wecannot in honor think of one another."

  "It will make no difference," I said, savagely.

  "Why, of course, it will!" she insisted, in astonishment. "We shall bemarried."

  "Do you suppose love can be crushed by marriage?" I asked.

  "The hope of it can."

  "It cannot, Dorothy."

  "It must be crushed!" she exclaimed, flushing scarlet. "If we both aretied by honor, how can we hope? Cousin, I think I must be mad to say it,but I never see you that I do not hope. We are not safe, I tell you,spite of all our vows and promises.... You do not need to woo me, you donot need to persuade me! Ere you could speak I should be yours, now,this very moment, for a look, a smile--were it not for that pale spectreof my own self which rises ever before me, stern, inexorable, blockingevery path which leads to you, and leaving only that one path free wherethe sign reads 'honor.' ... And I--I am sometimes frightened lest, in anoverwhelming flood of love, that sign be torn away and no spectre ofmyself rise to confront me, barring those paths that lead to you....Don't touch me; Cato is looking at us.... He's gone.... Wait, do notleave me.... I have been so wretched and unhappy.... I could scarce findstrength and heart to let them dress me, thinking on your face when Ianswered you so cruelly.... Oh, cousin! where are our vows now? Whereare the solemn promises we made never to speak of love?... Lovers makepromises like that in story-books--and keep them, too, and diesanctified, blessing one another and mounting on radiant wings toheaven.... Where I should find no heaven save in you! Ah, God! that isthe most terrible. That takes my heart away--to die and wake to findmyself still his wife--to live through all eternity withou
t you--and nohope of you--no hope!... For I could be patient through this earthlylife, losing my youth and yours forever, ... but not after death! No,no! I cannot.... Better hell with you than endless heaven with him!...Don't speak to me.... Take your hand from my hand.... Can you not seethat I mean nothing of what I say--that I do not know what I amsaying?... I must go back; I am hostess--a happy one, as you perceive....Will I never learn to curb my tongue? You must forget every word Iuttered--do you hear me?"

  She sprang up in her rustling silks and took a dozen steps towards thedoor, then turned.

  "Do you hear me?" she said. "I bid you remember every word Iuttered--every word!"

  She was gone, leaving me staring at the flowers and silver and theclustered lights. But I saw them not; for before my eyes floated thevision of a slender hand, and on the wedding-finger I saw a faint, rosycircle, as I had seen it there a moment since, when Dorothy dropped herbare arms on the cloth and laid her head between them.

  So it was true; whether for good or ill my cousin wore the ghost-ringwhich for ages, Cato says, we Ormonds have worn before themarriage-ring. There was Ormond blood in Dorothy. Did she wear the signas prophecy for that ring Sir George should wed her with? I dared notdoubt it--and yet, why did I also wear the sign?

  Then in a flash the forgotten legend of the Maid-at-Arms came back tome, ringing through my ears in clamorous words:

  "Serene, 'mid love's alarms, For all time shall the Maids-at-Arms, Wearing the ghost-ring, triumph with their constancy!"

  I sprang to the door in my excitement and stared at the picture of theMaid-at-Arms.

  Sweetly the violet eyes of the maid looked back at me, her armorglittered, her soft throat seemed to swell with the breath of life.

  Then I crept nearer, eyes fixed on her wedding-finger. And I saw there afaint rosy circle as though a golden ring had pressed the snowy flesh.