CHAPTER III.
THE SOUND OF GALLOPING.
A rush of wind came in from the outer gloom and almost blew out thecandle. Williams held up his hand to protect the flame and steppedaside from before the doorway.
The wind was promptly followed by Elizabeth, who strode in withthe air that a king might show on reentering one of his palaces,still holding her whip in her gloved hand. Behind her came Colden,the picture of moody dejection. When Cuff had entered with theportmanteaus, Williams, seeing but three horses without, closedthe door, locked it, and looked with inquiry and bewilderment atElizabeth.
"Br-r-r-r!" she ejaculated. "Light up my chamber, Molly, and have afire in it; then make some hot tea, and get me something to eat."
Elizabeth's impetuosity sent the open-mouthed maid flying up-stairs toexecute the first part of the order, whereupon the mistress turned tothe wondering steward.
"I've come to spend a week at the manor-house, Williams. Cuff, takethose to my room."
The black boy, with the portmanteaus, followed in the way Molly hadtaken, but with less rapidity. By this time Williams had recoveredsomewhat from his surprise, and regained his voice and something ofhis stewardly manner.
"I scarcely expected any of the family out from New York these times,miss. There----"
"I suppose not!" Elizabeth broke in. "Have some one put away thehorses, Williams, or they'll be shivering. It's mighty cold for thetime of year."
"I'll go myself, ma'am. There's only black Sam, you know, and he isn'tback from the orchard. I sent him to get some apples." And the stewardset the candlestick on the newel post of the stairway, and started forthe door.
"No, let Cuff go," said Elizabeth, sitting down on a settle that stoodwith its back to the side of the staircase. "You start a fire in theroom next mine, for aunt Sally. She'll be over from the parsonage in afew minutes."
Williams thereupon departed in quest of the stable key, inwardlydevoured by a mighty curiosity as to the wherefore of Elizabeth'spresence here in the company of none but her affianced, and also thewherefore of that gentleman's manifest depression of spirits. Hiscuriosity was not lessened when the major called after him:
"Tell Cuff he may feed my horse, but not take the saddle off. I mustride back to New York as soon as the beast is rested."
"Why," said Elizabeth to Colden, "you may stay for a bite of supper."
"No, thank you! I am not hungry."
"A glass of wine, then," said the girl, quite heedless of his tone;"if there is any left in the house."
"No wine, I thank you!" Colden stood motionless, too far back in thehall to receive much light from the feeble candle, like a shadowystatue of the sulks.
"As you will!"
Whereupon Elizabeth, as if she had satisfied her conscience regardingwhat was due from her in the name of hospitality, rose, and opened thedoor to the east parlor.
"Ugh! How dark and lonely the house is! No wonder aunt Sally chose tolive at the parsonage." After one look into the dark apartment, sheclosed the door. "Well, I'll warm up the place a bit. Sorry you can'tstay with us, major."
"It is only you who send me away," said Colden, dismally andreproachfully. "I could have got longer leave of absence. You let meescort you here, because no gentleman of your family will lend himselfto your reckless caprice. And then, having no further present use forme, you send me about my business!"
Elizabeth, preferring to pace the hall until her chamber should beheated, and her aunt should arrive, was striking her cloak with herriding-whip at each step; not that the cloak needed dusting, but as amethod of releasing surplus energy.
"But I do have further present use for you," she said. "You are goingback to New York to inform my dear timid parents and sisters andbrothers that I've arrived here safe. They'll not sleep till you tellthem so."
"One of your slaves might bear that news as well," quoth the major.
"Well, are you not forever calling yourself my slave? Besides, mydevotion to King George won't let me weaken his forces by holding oneof his officers from duty longer than need be."
But Colden was not to be cheered by pleasantry.
"What a man you are! So cross at my sending you back that you'llneither eat nor drink before going. Pray don't pout, Colden. 'Tisfoolish!"
"I dare say! A man in love does many foolish things!"
The utterance of this great and universal truth had not time toreceive comment from Elizabeth before Cuff reappeared, with the stablekey; and at the same instant, a rather delicate, inoffensive knock washeard on the front door.
"That must be aunt Sally," said Elizabeth. "Let her in, Cuff. Then goand stable the horses. My poor Cato will freeze!"
It was indeed Miss Sarah Williams, and in a state of breathlessness.She had been running, perhaps to escape the unseemly embraces of thewind, which had taken great liberties with her skirts,--liberties noless shocking because of the darkness of the evening; for though De laRochefoucauld has settled it that man's alleged courage takes avacation when darkness deprives it of possible witnesses, no one willaccuse an elderly maiden's modesty of a like eclipse.
"My dear child, what could have induced you----" were her first wordsto Elizabeth; but her attention was at that point distracted by seeingCuff, outside the threshold, about to pull the door shut. "Don't closethe door yet, boy. Some one is coming."
Cuff thereupon started on his task of stabling the three horses,leaving the door open. The flame of the candle on the newel post wasblown this way and that by the in-rushing wind.
"It's old Mr. Valentine," explained Miss Sally to Elizabeth. "Heoffered to show me over from the parsonage, where he happened to becalling, so I didn't wait for Mrs. Babcock's boy----"
"You found Mr. Valentine pleasanter company, I suppose, aunty, dear,"put in Elizabeth, who spared neither age nor dignity. "He's a widoweragain, isn't he?"
Miss Sally blushed most becomingly. Her plump cheeks looked none theworse for this modest suffusion.
"Fie, child! He's eighty years old. Though, to be sure, the attentionsof a man of his experience and judgment aren't to be consideredlightly."
Those were the days when well-bred people could--and often did,naturally and without effort--improvise grammatical sentences of morethan twelve words, in the course of ordinary, every-day talk.
"We started from the parsonage together," went on Miss Sally, "but Iwas so impatient I got ahead. He doesn't walk as briskly as he didtwenty years ago."
Yet briskly enough for his years did the octogenarian walk in throughthe little pillared portico a moment later. Such deliberation as hismovements had might as well have been the mark of a proper self-esteemas the effect of age. He was a slender but wiry-looking old gentleman,was Matthias Valentine, of Valentine's Hill; in appearance a credit tothe better class of countrymen of his time. His white hair was tied ina cue, as if he were himself a landowner instead of only a manorialtenant. Yet no common tenant was he. His father, a dragoon in theFrench service, had come down from Canada and settled on PhilipseManor, and Matthias had been proprietor of Valentine's Hill, rentingfrom the Philipses in earlier days than any one could remember. Hisgrandsons now occupied the Hill, and the old man was in the fullenjoyment of the leisure he had won. His rather sharp countenance,lighted by honest gray eyes, was a mixture of good-humor, childlikeingenuousness, and innocent jocosity. The neatness of his hair, hiscarefully shaven face, and the whole condition of his brown cloth coatand breeches and worsted stockings, denoted a fastidiousness rarely atany time, and particularly in the good (or bad) old days, to be foundin common with rustic life and old age. Did some of the dandyism ofthe French dragoon survive in the old Philipsburgh farmer?
He carried a walking-stick in one hand, a lighted lantern in theother. After bowing to the people in the hall, he set down hislantern, closed the door and bolted it, then took up his lantern, blewout the flame thereof, and set it down again.
"Whew!" he puffed, after his exertion. "Windy night, Miss Elizabeth!Windy night, Major Colden! W
inter's going to set in airly this year.There ain't been sich a frosty November since '64, when the river wasfroze over as fur down as Spuyten Duyvel."
There was in the old man's high-pitched voice a good deal of thesqueak, but little of the quaver, of senility.
"You'll stay to supper, I hope, Mr. Valentine."
From Elizabeth this was a sufficient exhibition of graciousness. Shethen turned her back on the two men and began to tell her aunt of herarrangements.
"Thankee, ma'am," said old Valentine, whose sight did not immediatelyacquaint him, in the dim candle-light, with Elizabeth's change offront; wherefore he continued, placidly addressing her back: "Iwouldn't mind a glass and a pipe with friend Williams afore trudgingback to the Hill."
He then walked over to the disconsolate Colden, and, with a verygay-doggish expression, remarked in an undertone:
"Fine pair o' girls yonder, major?"
He had known Colden from the time of the latter's first boyhood visitsto the manor, and could venture a little familiarity.
"Girls?" blurted the major, startled out of his meditations.
The old country beau chuckled.
"We all know what's betwixt you and the niece. How about the aunt andme taking a lesson from you two, eh?"
Even the gloomy officer could not restrain a momentary smile.
"What, Mr. Valentine? Do you seriously think of marrying?"
"Why not? I've been married afore, hain't I? What's to hinder?"
"Why, there's the matter of age." Colden rather enjoyed beinginconsiderate of people's feelings.
"Oh, the lady is not so old," said the octogenarian, placidly, castinga judicial, but approving look at the commanding figure of MissSally.
Then, as he had been for a considerable time on his legs, havingwalked over from the Hill to the parsonage that afternoon, and as atbest his knees bent when he stood, he sat down on the settle by thestaircase.
Miss Sally, though she knew it useless to protest further againstElizabeth's caprice, nevertheless felt it her duty to do so,especially as Major Colden would probably carry to the family a reportof her attitude towards that caprice.
"Did you ever hear of such rashness, major? A young girl likeElizabeth coming out here in time of war, when this neutral groundbetween the lines is overridden and foraged to death, and deluged withblood by friend as well as foe? La me! I can't understand her, if she_is_ my sister's child."
"Why, aunt Sally, _you_ stay out here through it all," said Elizabeth,not as much to depreciate the dangers as to give her aunt anopportunity of posing as a very courageous person.
Miss Sally promptly accepted the opportunity. "Oh," said she, with amien of heroic self-sacrifice, "I couldn't let poor Grace Babcock stayat the parsonage with nobody but her children; besides I'm not ColonelPhilipse's daughter, and who cares whether I'm loyal to the King ornot? But a girl like you isn't made for the dangers and privationswe've had to put up with out here since the King's troops haveoccupied New York, and Washington's rebel army has held the countryabove. I'm surprised the family let her come, or that you'dcountenance it by coming with her, major."
"We all opposed it," said Colden, with a sigh. "But--you knowElizabeth!"
"Yes," said Elizabeth herself with cheerful nonchalance, "Elizabethalways has her way. I was hungry for a sight of the place, and themore the old house is in danger, the more I love it. I'm here for aweek, and that ends it. The place doesn't seem to have suffered any.They haven't even quartered troops here."
"Not since the American officers stayed here in the fall o' '76," putin old Mr. Valentine, from the settle. "I reckon you'll be safe enoughhere, Miss Elizabeth."
"Of course I shall. Why, our troops patrol all this part of thecountry, Lord Cathcart told us at King's Bridge, and _we_ have naughtto fear from them."
"No, the British foragers won't dare treat Philipse Manor-house asthey do the homes of some of their loyal friends," said Miss Sally,who was no less proud of her relationship with the Philipses, becauseit was by marriage and not by blood. "But the horrible "Skinners," whodon't spare even the farms of their fellow rebels--"
"Bah!" said Elizabeth. "The scum of the earth! Williams has weaponshere, and with him and the servants I'll defend the place against allthe rebel cut-throats in the county."
The major thought to make a last desperate attempt to dissuadeElizabeth from remaining.
"That's all well enough," said he; "but there are the rebel regulars,the dragoons. They'll be raiding down to our very lines, one of thesedays, if only in retaliation. You know how Lord Cornwallis's partyunder General Grey, over in Jersey, the other night, killed a lot ofBaylor's cavalry,--Mrs. Washington's Light Horse, they called thetroop. And the Hessians made a great foray on the rebel families thisside the river."
"Ay," chirped old Valentine; "but the American Colonel Butler, andtheir Major Lee, of Virginia, fell on the Hessian yagers 'tweenDobbs's Ferry and Tarrytown, and killed ever so many of 'em,--and Iwasn't sorry for that, neither!"
"Oho!" said Colden, "you belong to the opposition."
"Oh, I'm neither here nor there," replied the old man. "But they saythat there Major Lee, of Virginia, is the gallantest soldier inWashington's army. He'd lead his men against the powers of Satan ifWashington gave the word. Light Horse Harry, they call him,--and afine dashing troop o' light horse he commands."
"No more dashing, I'll wager, than some of ours," said Elizabeth,whose mood for the moment permitted her to talk with reason andmoderation; "not even counting the Germans. And as for leaders, whatdo you say to Simcoe, of the Queen's Rangers, or Emmerick, orTarleton, or"--turning to Colden--"your cousin James De Lancey, ofthis county, major?"
The major, notwithstanding his Toryism, did not enter with enthusiasminto Elizabeth's admiration for these brave young cavalry leaders.Staten Island and East New Jersey had not offered him as greatopportunities for distinction as they had had. It was, therefore, MissSally who next spoke.
"Well, Heaven knows there are enough on either side to devastate theland and rob us of comfort and peace. One wakes in the middle of thenight, at the clatter of horses riding by like the wind, and wonderswhether it's friend or foe, and trembles till they're out of hearing,for fear the door is to be broken in or the house fired. And the soundof shots in the night, and the distant glare of flames when some poorfarmer's home is burned over his head!"
"Ay," added Mr. Valentine, "and all the cattle and crops go to theforagers, so it's no use raising any more than you can hide away foryour own larder."
Elizabeth was beginning to be bored, and saw nothing to gain from acontinuation of these recitals. Doubtless, by this time, her room waslighted and warm. So, thoughtless of Colden, she mounted the firststep of the stairway, and said:
"I have no doubt Williams has contrived to hide away enough provisionsfor _our_ use. So _I_ sha'n't suffer from hunger, and as for Lee'sLight Horse, I defy them and all other rebels. Come, aunt Sally!"
She had ascended as far as to the fourth step of the stairway, andMiss Sally was about to follow, when there was heard, above the wind'smoaning, another sound of galloping horses. Like the previous similarsound, it came from the north.
Elizabeth stopped and stood on the fourth step. Miss Sally raised herfinger to bid silence. Colden's attitude became one of anxiousattention, while he dropped his hat on the settle and drew his cloakclose about him, so that it concealed his uniform, sword, and pistol.The galloping continued.
When time came for it to turn off eastward, as it would do should theriders take the road to Mile Square, it did not so. Instead, as thesound unmistakably indicated, it came on down the post-road.
"Hessians, perhaps!" Miss Sally whispered.
"Or De Lancey's Cowboys," said Valentine, but not in a whisper.
Elizabeth cast a sharp look at the old man, as if to show disapprovalof his use of the Whigs' nickname for De Lancey's troop. But theoctogenarian did not quail.
"They're riding towards the manor-house," he added, a moment later.
"Let us hope they're friends," said Colden, in a tone low and slightlyunsteady.
Elizabeth disdained to whisper.
"Maybe it is Lee's Light Horse," she said, in her usual voice, butironically, addressing Valentine. "In that case we should tremble forour lives, I suppose."
"Whoever they are, they've stopped before the house!" said Miss Sally,in quite a tremble.
There was a noise of horses pawing and snorting outside, of directionsbeing given rapidly, and of two or three horses leaving the main bandfor another part of the grounds. Then was heard a quick, firm step onthe porch floor, and in the same instant a sharp, loud knock on thedoor.
No one in the hall moved; all looked at Elizabeth.
"A very valiant knock!" said she, with more irony. "It certainly_must_ be Lee's Light Horse. Will you please open the door, Colden?"
"What?" ejaculated Colden.
"Certainly," said Elizabeth, turning on the stairway, so as to facethe door; "to show we're not afraid."
Jack Colden looked at her a moment demurringly, then went to the door,undid the fastenings, and threw it open, keeping his cloak close abouthim and immediately stepping back into the shadow.
A handsome young officer strode in, as if 'twere a mighty gust of windthat sent him. He wore a uniform of blue with red facings,--a uniformthat had seen service,--was booted and spurred, without greatcoat orcloak. A large pistol was in his belt, and his left hand rested on thehilt of a sword. He swept past Colden, not seeing him; came to a stopin the centre of the hall, and looked rapidly around from face toface.
"Your servant, ladies and gentlemen!" he said, with a swift bow and aflourish of his dragoon's hat. His eye rested on Elizabeth.
"Who are you?" she demanded, coldly and imperiously, from the fourthstep.
"I'm Captain Peyton, of Lee's Light Horse," said he.
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