The Continental Dragoon

by Robert Neilson Stephens

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE ONE CHANCE.

  Peyton staggered back to the settle and sank down on it, exhausted.Elizabeth, hearing black Sam moving about in the dining-room, whichwas directly north of the hall, bade Molly summon him. When heappeared, she ordered him and Cuff to carry the settle, with thewounded man on it, into the east parlor, and to place the man on thesofa there. She then told Molly to hasten the supper, and to sendWilliams to her up-stairs, and thereupon rejoined her excited auntabove. When Williams attended her, she gave him commands regarding theprisoner.

  Peyton was thus carried through the deep doorway in the south side ofthe hall into the east parlor, which was now exceedingly habitablewith fire roaring and candles lighted. In the east and south sides ofthis richly ornamented room were deeply embrasured windows, with lowseats. In the west side was a mahogany door opening from the old orsouth hall. In the north side, which was adorned with wooden pillarsand other carved woodwork, was the door through which Peyton had beencarried; west of that, the decorated chimney-breast with its Englishmantel and fireplace, and further west a pair of doors opening from acloset, whence a winding staircase descended cellarward. The ceilingwas rich with fanciful arabesque woodwork. Set in the chimney-breast,over the mantel, was an oblong mirror. The wainscoting, pillars, andother woodwork were of a creamy white. But Peyton had no eye fordetails at the moment. He noticed only that his entrance disturbed theslumbers of the old gentleman--Matthias Valentine--who had beensleeping in a great armchair by the fire, and who now blinked inwonderment.

  The negroes put down the settle and lifted Peyton to a sofa that stoodagainst the western side of the room, between a spinet and thenorthern wall. At Peyton's pantomimic request they then moved the sofato a place near the fire, and then, taking the settle along, marchedout of the room, back to the hall, closing the door as they went.

  Peyton, too pain-racked and exhausted to speak, lay back on the sofa,with closed eyes. Old Valentine stared at him a few moments; then,curious both as to this unexpected advent and as to the proximity ofsupper, rose and hobbled from the parlor and across the hall to thedining-room. For some time Peyton was left alone. He opened his eyes,studied the flying figures on the ceiling, the portraits on thewalls, the carpet,--Philipse Manor-house, like the best English housesof the time, had carpet on its floors,--the carving of the mantel, theclock and candelabrum thereupon, the crossed rapiers thereabove, thecurves of the imported furniture. His twinges and aches were so manyand so diverse that he made no attempt to locate them separately. Hecould feel that the left leg of his breeches was soaked with blood.

  Finally the door opened, and in came Williams and Cuff, the formerwith shears and bands of linen, the latter with a basin of water.Williams, whom Peyton had not before seen, scrutinized him critically,and forthwith proceeded to expose, examine, wash, and bind up thewounded leg, while Cuff stood by and played the role of surgeon'sassistant. Peyton speedily perceived on the steward's part a reliableacquaintance with the art of dressing cuts, and therefore submittedwithout a word to his operations. Williams was equally silent,breaking his reticence only now and then to utter some monosyllabiccommand to Cuff.

  When the wound was dressed, Williams put the patient's disturbedattire to rights, and adjusted his hair. Peyton, with a feeling ofsome relief, made to stretch the wounded leg, but a sharp twinge cutthe movement short.

  "You should make a good surgeon," Peyton said at last, "you tie sodamnably tight a bandage."

  "I've bound up many a wound, sir," said Williams; "and some far worsethan yours. 'Tis not a dangerous cut, yours, though 'twill beirritating while it lasts. You won't walk for a day or two."

  "It's remarkable your mistress has so much trouble taken with me, whenshe intends to deliver me to the British."

  Peyton had inferred the steward's place in the house, from hisappearance and manner.

  "Why, sir," said Williams, "we couldn't have you bleeding over thefloor and furniture. Besides, I suppose she wants to hand you over ingood condition."

  "I see! No bedraggled remnant of a man, but a complete, clean, andcomfortable candidate for Cunningham's gallows!" Peyton here forgothis wound and attempted to sit upright, but quickly fell back with agrimace and a groan.

  "Better lie still, sir," counselled Williams, sagely. "If you need anyone, you are to call Cuff. He will be in waiting in that hall, sir."And the steward pointed towards the east hall. "There will be no usetrying to get away. I doubt if you could walk half across the roomwithout fainting. And if you could get out of the house, you'd findblack Sam on guard, with his duck-gun,--and Sam doesn't miss once ina hundred times with that duck-gun. Bring those things, Cuff."Williams indicated Peyton's hat, remnant of sword, and scabbard, whichhad been placed on the armchair by the fireside.

  "Leave my sword!" commanded Peyton.

  "Can't, sir!" said Williams, affably. "Miss Elizabeth's orders were totake it away."

  Williams thereupon went from the room, crossed the east hall, andentered the dining-room, to report to Elizabeth, who now sat at supperwith Miss Sally and Mr. Valentine.

  Cuff, with basin of water in one hand, took up the hat, sword, andscabbard, with the other.

  "Miss Elizabeth!" mused Peyton. "Queen Elizabeth, I should say, inthis house. Gad, to be a girl's prisoner, tied down to a sofa by sosmall a cut!" Hereupon he addressed Cuff, who was about to depart:"Where is your mistress?"

  "In the dining-room, eating supper."

  "And Mr. Colden, whom I saw in that hall about an hour ago, when Ibought the horse?"

  "Major Colden rode back to New York."

  "_Major_ Colden! Major of what?"

  "New Juzzey Vollingteers, sir."

  "What? Then he is in the King's service, after all? And when I washere with my troops he said he was neutral. I'll never take a Tory'sword again."

  "Am you like to hab de chance, sir?" queried Cuff, with a grin.

  "What! You taunt me with my situation?" And Harry's head shot up fromthe sofa as he made to rise and chastise the boy; but he could notstand on his leg, and so remained sitting, propped on his right arm,panting and glaring at the negro.

  Cuff, whose whiteness of teeth had shown in his moment of mirth, nowdisplayed much whiteness of eye in his alarm at Peyton's movement, andglided to the door. As he went out to the hall, he passed Molly, whowas coming into the parlor with a bowl of broth.

  "Hah!" ejaculated Peyton as she came towards him. "They would feed theanimal for the slaughter, eh?"

  Molly curtseyed.

  "Please, sir, it wa'n't they sent this. I brought it of my own accord,sir, though with Miss Elizabeth's permission."

  "Oh! so Miss Elizabeth _did_ give her permission, then?"

  "Yes, sir. At least, she said it didn't matter, if I wished to."

  "And you did wish to? Well, you're a good girl, and I thank you."

  Whereupon Peyton took the bowl and sipped of the broth with relish.

  "Thank you, sir," said Molly, who then moved a small light chair fromits place by the wall to a spot beside the sofa and within Peyton'sreach. "You can set the bowl on this," she added. "I must go back tothe kitchen." And, after another curtsey, she was gone.

  The broth revived Peyton, and with all his pain and fatigue he hadsome sense of comfort. The handsome, well warmed, well lighted parlor,so richly furnished, so well protected from the wind and weather bythe solid shutters outside its four small-paned windows, was certainlya snug corner of the world. So far seemed all this from stress andwar, that Peyton lost his strong realization of the fate thatElizabeth's threat promised him. Appreciation of his surroundingsdrove away other thoughts and feelings. That he should be taken andhanged was an idea so remote from his present situation, it seemedrather like a dream than an imminent reality. There surely would be away of his getting hence in safety. And he imbibed mouthful aftermouthful of the warm broth.

  Presently old Mr. Valentine reappeared, from the east hall, lookingnone the less comfortable for the supper he had eaten. A long
pipe wasin his hand, and, that he might absorb smoke and liquor at the sametime, he had brought with him from the table, where the two ladiesremained, a vast mug of hot rum punch of Williams's brewing. He nowset the mug on the mantel, lighted his pipe with a brand from thefire, repossessed himself of the mug, and sat down in the armchair,with a sigh of huge satisfaction. It mattered not that this was theparlor of Philipse Manor-house,--for Mr. Valentine, in his innocentway, indulged himself freely in the privileges and presumptions of oldage.

  Peyton, after staring for some time with curiosity at the smoky oldgentleman, who rapidly grew smokier, at last raised the bowl of brothfor a last gulp, saying, cheerily:

  "To your very good health, sir!"

  "Thank you, sir!" said the old man, complacently, not making anymovement to reciprocate.

  "What! won't you drink to mine?"

  "'Twould be a waste of words to drink the health of a man that's goingto be hanged," replied Valentine, who at supper had heard the ladiesdiscuss Peyton's intended fate. He thereupon sent a cloud of smokeceiling-ward for the flying cherubs to rest on.

  "The devil! You _are_ economical!"

  "Of words, maybe, not of liquor." The octogenarian quaffed deeply fromthe mug. "They say hanging is an easy death," he went on, being inloquacious mood. "I never saw but one man hanged. He didn't seem toenjoy it." Mr. Valentine puffed slowly, inwardly dwelling on therecollection.

  "Oh, didn't he?" said Peyton.

  "No, he took it most unpleasant like."

  "Did you come in here to cheer me up in my last hours?" queried Harry,putting the empty bowl on the chair by the sofa.

  "No," replied the other, ingenuously. "I came in for a smoke while theladies stayed at the table." He then went back to a subject thatseemed to have attractions for him. "I don't know how hanging will gowith you. Cunningham will do the work.[5] They say he makes it asdisagreeable as may be. I'd come and see you hanged, but it won't bepossible."

  "Then I suppose I shall have to excuse you," said Peyton, withresignation.

  "Yes." The old man had finished his punch and set down his mug, and henow yawned with a completeness that revealed vastly more of redtoothless mouth than one might have calculated his face could contain."Some take it easier than others," he went on. "It's harder with youngmen like you." Again he opened his jaws in a gape as whole-souled asthat of a house-dog before a kitchen fire. "It must be disagreeable tohave a rope tightened around your neck. I don't know." He thrust hispipe-stem absently between his lips, closed his eyes, mumbledabsently, "I don't know," and in a few moments was asleep, his pipehanging from his mouth, his hands folded in his lap.

  "A cheerful companion for a man in my situation," thought Peyton. Hismind had been brought back to the future. When would this resolute andvengeful Miss Elizabeth fulfil her threat? How would she proceed aboutit? Had she already taken measures towards his conveyance to theBritish lines? Should she delay until he should be able to walk, therewould be two words about the matter. Meanwhile, he must wait fordevelopments. It was useless to rack his brain with conjectures. Hissense of present comfort gradually resumed sway, and he placed hishead again on the sofa pillow and closed his eyes.

  He was conscious for a time of nothing but his deadened pain, hisinward comfort, the breathing of old Mr. Valentine, the intermittentraging of the wind without, and the steady ticking of the clock on themantel,--which delicately framed timepiece had been started within thehour by Sam, who knew Miss Elizabeth's will for having all things inrunning order. Peyton's drowsiness wrapped him closer and closer.Presently he was remotely aware of the opening of the door, the treadof light feet on the floor, the swish of skirts. But he had nowreached that lethargic point which involves total indifference toouter things, and he did not even open his eyes.

  "Asleep," said Elizabeth, for it was she who had entered with heraunt.

  Harry recognized the voice, and knew that he was the subject of herremark; but his feeling towards his contemptuous captor was not suchas to make him take the trouble of setting her right. Therefore, hekept his eyes closed, having a kind of satisfaction in her beingmistaken.

  "How handsome!" whispered Miss Sally, who beamed more bigly andbenignly after supper than before.

  "Which one, aunty?" said Elizabeth, looking from Peyton to oldValentine.

  Her aunt deigned to this levity only a look of hopeless reproof.

  Elizabeth sat down on the music-seat before the spinet, and becameserious,--or, more accurately, businesslike.

  "On second thought," said she, "it won't do to keep him here waitingfor one of our patrols to pass this way. In the meantime some of therebels might come into the neighborhood and stop here. He must bedelivered to the British this very night!"

  Peyton gave no outward sign of the momentary heart stoppage he feltwithin.

  "Why," said the aunt, speaking low, and in some alarm, "'twouldrequire Williams and both the blacks to take him, and we should beleft alone in the house."

  "I sha'n't send him to the troops," said Elizabeth, in her usualtone, not caring whether or not the prisoner should be disturbed,--forin his powerlessness he could not oppose her plans if he did knowthem, and in her disdain she had no consideration for his feelings."The troops shall come for him. Black Sam shall go to the watch-houseat King's Bridge with word that there's an important rebel prisonerheld here, to be had for the taking."

  "Will the troops at King's Bridge heed the story of a black man?" AuntSally seemed desirous of interposing objections to immediate action.

  "Their officer will heed a written message from me," said the niece."Most of the officers know me, and those at King's Bridge are aware Icame here to-day."

  Thereupon she called in Cuff, and sent him off for Williams, withorders that the steward should bring her pen, ink, paper, and wax.

  "Oh, Elizabeth!" cried Miss Sally, looking at the floor. "Here's someof the poor fellow's blood on the carpet."

  "Never mind. The blood of an enemy is a sight easily tolerated," saidthe girl, probably unaware how nearly she had duplicated a famousutterance of a certain King of France, whose remark had bornereference to another sense than that of sight.[6]

  Williams soon came in with the writing materials, and placed them, atElizabeth's direction, on a table that stood between the two easternwindows, and on which was a lighted candelabrum. Elizabeth sat down atthe table, her back towards the fireplace and Peyton.

  "I wish you to send black Sam to me," said she to the steward, "and totake his place on guard with the gun till he returns from an errand."

  Williams departed, and Elizabeth began to make the quill fly over thepaper, her aunt looking on from beside the table. Peyton opened hiseyes and looked at them.

  "It does seem a pity," said Miss Sally at last. "Such a prettygentleman,--such a gallant soldier!"

  "Gentleman?" echoed Elizabeth, writing on. "The fellow is not agentleman! Nor a gallant soldier!"

  Peyton rose to a sitting posture as if stung by a hornet, but wasinstantly reminded of his wound. But neither Elizabeth nor her auntsaw or heard his movement. The girl, unaware that he was awake,continued:

  "Does a gentleman or a gallant soldier desert the army of his king tojoin that of his king's enemies?"

  Quick came the answer,--not from aunt Sally, but from Peyton on thesofa.

  "A gallant soldier has the right to choose his side, and a gentlemanneed not fight against his country!"

  Elizabeth did not suffer herself to appear startled at this suddenbreaking in. Having finished her note, she quietly folded it, andaddressed it, while she said:

  "A gallant soldier, having once chosen his side, will be loyal to it;and a gentleman never bore the odious title of deserter."

  "A gentleman can afford to wear any title that is redeemed by aglorious cause and an extraordinary danger. When I took servicewith the King's army in England, I never dreamt that army would besent against the King's own colonies; and not till I arrived inBoston did I know the true character of this revolt. We thought
wewere coming over merely to quell a lawless Boston rabble. I gave inmy resignation--"

  "But did not wait for it to be accepted," interrupted Elizabeth,quietly, as she applied to the folded paper the wax softened by theflame of a candle.

  "I _was_ a little hasty," said Harry.

  "The rebel army was the proper place for such fellows," saidElizabeth. "No true British officer would be guilty of such a deed!"

  "Probably not! It required exceptional courage!"

  Peyton knew, as well as any, that the British were brave enough; buthe was in mood for sharp retort.

  "That is not the reason," said Elizabeth, coldly, refusing to showwrath. "Your enemies hold such acts as yours in detestation."

  "I am not serving in this war for the approbation of my enemies."

  At this moment black Sam came in. Elizabeth handed him the letter, andsaid:

  "You are to take my horse Cato, and ride with this message to theBritish barrier at King's Bridge. It is for the officer in commandthere. When the sentries challenge you, show this, and say it is ofthe greatest consequence and must be delivered at once."

  "Yes, Miss Elizabeth."

  "The commander," she went on, "will probably send here a body oftroops at once, to convey this prisoner within the lines. You are toreturn with them. If no time is lost, and they send mounted troops,you should be back in an hour."

  Peyton could hardly repress a start.

  "An hour at most, miss, if nothing stops," said the negro.

  "If any officer of my acquaintance is in command," said Elizabeth,"there will be no delay. Cuff shall let the troops in, through thathall, as soon as they arrive."

  Whereupon the black man, a stalwart and courageous specimen of hisrace, went rapidly from the room.

  "One hour!" murmured Peyton, looking at the clock.

  Molly, the maid, now reappeared, carrying carefully in one hand a cup,from which a thin steam ascended.

  "What is't now, Molly?" inquired Elizabeth, rising from her chair.

  Molly blushed and was much confused. "Tea, ma'am, if you please! Ithought, maybe, you'd allow the gentleman--"

  "Very well," said Elizabeth. "Be the good Samaritan if you like,child. His tea-drinking days will soon be over. Come, aunt Sally, weshall be in better company elsewhere." And she returned to thedining-room, not deigning her prisoner another look.

  Miss Sally followed, but her feelings required confiding in some one,and before she went she whispered to the embarrassed maid, "Oh, Molly,to think so sweet a young gentleman should be completely wasted!"

  Molly heaved a sigh, and then approached the young gentleman himself,with whom she was now alone, saving the presence of the slumberingValentine.

  "So your name is Molly? And you've brought me tea this time?"

  "Yes, sir,--if you please, sir." She took up the bowl from the chairand placed the cup in its stead. "I put sugar in this, sir, but ifyou'd rather--"

  "I'd rather have it just as you've made it, Molly," he said, in asingularly gentle, unsteady tone. He raised the cup, and sipped."Delicious, Molly!--Hah! Your mistress thinks my tea-drinking dayswill soon be over."

  "I'm very sorry, sir."

  "So am I." He held the cup in his left hand, supporting his uprightbody with his right arm, and looked rather at vacancy than at themaid. "Never to drink tea again," he said, "or wine or spirits, forthat matter! To close your eyes on this fine world! Never again toride after the hounds, or sing, or laugh, or chuck a pretty girl underthe chin!"

  And here, having set down the cup, he chucked Molly herself under thechin, pretending a gaiety he did not feel.

  "Never again," he went on, "to lead a charge against the enemies ofour liberty; not to live to see this fight out, the King's regimentsdriven from the land, the States take their place among the freenations of the world! _By God, Molly, I don't want to die yet!_"

  It was not the fear of death, it was the love of life, and what lifemight have in reserve, that moved him; and it now asserted itself inhim with a force tenfold greater than ever before. Death,--or, rather,the ceasing of life,--as he viewed it now, when he was like to meet itwithout company, with prescribed preliminaries, in an ignominiousmode, was a far other thing than as viewed in the exaltation ofbattle, when a man chances it hot-headed, uplifted, thrilled, ingallant comradeship, to his own fate rendered careless by a sense ofhis nothingness in comparison with the whole vast drama. Moreover, ingoing blithely to possible death in open fight, one accomplishessomething for his cause; not so, going unwillingly to certain death onan enemy's gallows. It was, too, an exasperating thought that heshould die to gratify the vengeful whim of an insolent Tory girl.

  "Will it really come to that?" asked Molly, in a frightened tone.

  "As surely as I fall into British hands!"

  Peyton remembered the case of General Charles Lee, whose resignationof half-pay had not been acknowledged; who was, when captured by theBritish, long in danger of hanging, and who was finally rated as anordinary war prisoner only for Washington's threat to retaliate onfive Hessian field officers. If a major-general, whose desertion, evenif admitted, was from half-pay only, would have been hanged withoutceremony but for General Howe's fear of a "law scrape," and had beensaved from shipment to England for trial, only by the King's fear thatWashington's retaliation would disaffect the Hessian allies, for whatcould a mere captain look, who had come over from the enemy in action,and whose punishment would entail no official retaliation?

  "And your mistress expects a troop of British soldiers here in an hourto take me! Damn it, if I could only walk!" And he looked rapidlyaround the room, in a kind of distraction, as if seeking some means ofescape. Realizing the futility of this, he sighed dismally, and drankthe remainder of the tea.

  "You couldn't get away from the house, sir," said Molly. "Williams iswatching outside."

  "I'd take a chance if I could only run!" Peyton muttered. He had nofear that Molly would betray him. "If there were some hiding-place Imight crawl to! But the troops would search every cranny about thehouse." He turned to Molly suddenly, seeing, in his desperate stateand his lack of time, but one hope. "I wonder, could Williams bebribed to spirit me away?"

  Molly's manner underwent a slight chill.

  "Oh, no," said she. "He'd die before he'd disobey Miss Elizabeth. Weall would, sir. I'm very sorry, indeed, sir." Whereupon, taking up theempty bowl and teacup, she hastened from the room.

  Peyton sat listening to the clock-ticks. He moved his right leg sothat the foot rested on the floor, then tried to move the left oneafter it, using his hand to guide it. With great pains and greaterpain, he finally got the left foot beside the right. He then undertookto stand, but the effort cost him such physical agony as could not beborne for any length of time. He fell back with a groan to the sofa,convinced that the wounded leg was not only, for the time, uselessitself, but also an impediment to whatever service the other leg mighthave rendered alone. But he remained sitting up, his right foot on thefloor.

  Suddenly there was a raucous sound from old Mr. Valentine. He had atlast begun to snore. But this infliction brought its own remedy, forwhen his jaws opened wider his tobacco pipe fell from his mouth andstruck his folded hands. He awoke with a start, and blinkedwonderingly at Peyton, whose face, turned towards the old man, stillwore the look of disapproval evoked by the momentary snoring.

  "Still here, eh?" piped Mr. Valentine. "I dreamt you were being hangedto the fireplace, like a pig to be smoked. I was quite upset over it!Such a fine young gentleman, and one of Harry Lee's officers, too!"

  And the old man shook his head deploringly.

  "Then why don't you help me out of this?" demanded Peyton, whoseimpulse was for grasping at straws, for he thought of black Sam urgingCato through the wind towards King's Bridge at a gallop.

  "It ain't possible," said Valentine, phlegmatically.

  "If it were, would you?" asked Harry, a spark of hope igniting fromthe appearance that the old man was, at least, not antagonistic tohim.

/>   "Why, yes," began the octogenarian, placidly.

  Harry's heart bounded.

  "If," the old man went on, "I could without lending aid to the King'senemies. But you see I couldn't. I won't lend aid to neither side'senemies.[7] I don't want to die afore my time." And he gazedcomplacently at the fire.

  Peyton knew the hopeless immovability of selfish old age.

  "God!" he muttered, in despair. "Is there no one I can turn to?"

  "There's none within hearing would dare go against the orders of MissElizabeth," said Mr. Valentine.

  "Miss Elizabeth evidently rules with a firm hand," said Peyton,bitterly. "Her word--" He stopped suddenly, as if struck by a newthought. "If I could but move _her_! If I could make her change hermind!"

  "You couldn't. No one ever could, and as for a rebel soldier--"

  "She has a heart of iron, that girl!" broke in Peyton. "The cruelty ofa savage!"

  Mr. Valentine took on a sincerely deprecating look. "Oh, you mustn'tabuse Miss Elizabeth," said he. "It ain't cruelty, it's only properpride. And she isn't hard. She has the kindest heart,--to those she'sfond of."

  "To those she's fond of," repeated Harry, mechanically.

  "Yes," said the old man; "her people, her horses, her dogs and cats,and even her servants and slaves."

  "Tender creature, who has a heart for a dog and not for a man!"

  The old man's loyalty to three generations of Philipses made him astubborn defender, and he answered:

  "She'd have no less a heart for a man if she loved him."

  "If she loved him!" echoed Peyton, and began to think.

  "Ay, and a thousand times more heart, loving him as a woman loves aman." Mr. Valentine spoke knowingly, as one acquainted by enviableexperience with the measure of such love.

  "As a woman loves a man!" repeated Peyton. Suddenly he turned toValentine. "Tell me, does she love any man so, now?" Peyton did notknow the relation in which Elizabeth and Major Colden stood to eachother.

  "I can't say she _loves_ one," replied Valentine, judicially,"though--"

  But Peyton had heard enough.

  "By heaven, I'll try it!" he cried. "Such miracles have happened! AndI have almost an hour!"

  Old Valentine blinked at him, with stupid lack of perception. "What isit, sir?"

  "I shall try it!" was Peyton's unenlightening answer. "There's onechance. And you can help me!"

  "The devil I can!" replied Valentine, rising from his chair in someannoyance. "I won't lend aid, I tell you!"

  "It won't be 'lending aid.' All I beg is that you ask Miss Elizabethto see me alone at once,--and that you'll forget all I've said to you.Don't stand staring! For Christ's sake, go and ask her to come in!Don't you know? Only an hour,--less than that, now!"

  "But she mayn't come here for the asking," objected the old man,somewhat dazed by Peyton's petulance.

  "She _must_ come here!" cried Harry. "Induce her, beg her, enticeher! Tell her I have a last request to make of my jailer,--no,excite her curiosity; tell her I have a confession to make, a plotto disclose,--anything! In heaven's name, go and send her here!"

  It was easier to comply with so light a request than to remainrecipient of such torrent-like importunity. "I'll try, sir," saidthe peace-loving old man, "but I have no hope," and he hobbledfrom the room. He left the door open as he went, and Harry, torturedby impatience, heard him shuffling over the hall floor to thedining-room.

  Peyton's mind was in a whirl. He glanced at the clock. These were histhoughts:

  "Fifty minutes! To make a woman love me! A proud woman, vain andwilful, who hates our cause, who detests me! To make her love me! Howshall I begin? Keep your wits now, Harry, my son,--'tis for your life!How to begin? Why doesn't she come? Damn the clock, how loud it ticks!I feel each tick. No, 'tis my heart I feel. My God, _will_ she notcome? And the time is going--"

  "Well, sir, what is it?"

  He looked from the clock to the doorway, where stood Elizabeth.