CHAPTER I
I
In one of those wide indentations along the eastern shore of theSchuylkill River, there opens out in tranquil seclusion a spacious cove.The waters wander here to rest, it seems, before resuming theirvoluminous descent to the Delaware and the sea. Trees and saplingswrapped about with close-clinging vines hang far over the water's edgelike so many silent sentinels on guard before the spot, their luxuriantfoliage weighing their bending twigs almost to the surface. Greenlily-pads and long ribboned water grass border the water's curve, andtoss gently in the wind ripples as they glide inwards with just murmurenough to lull one to quiet and repose.
Into this scene, placid, clear, though of a deep and dark green underthe overhanging leaves, stole a small canoe with motion enough scarcelyto ruffle the top of the water. A paddle noiselessly dipped into theundisturbed surface and as noiselessly emerged again, leaving behindonly a series of miniature eddies where the waters had closed aftertheir penetration. A small white hand, hanging lazily over the forwardside of the tiny craft, played in the soft, limpid water, and made afurrow along the side of the boat that glistened like so many strings ofsparkling jewels.
"So you are going away again tomorrow?" Marjorie was saying as shecontinued to dabble in the water.
She lay partly reclining in the bow of the canoe, her back supported bya pillow. A meditative silence enshrouded her as she lay listless,unconcerned to all appearances, as to her whereabouts or destination.The while she thought, the more steadily she gazed at the waters as shesplashed them gently and playfully. Like a caress the silence of theplace descended upon her, and brought home to her the full import of herloneliness.
"In view of what you have disclosed to me, I think it only my duty,"Stephen replied as he lazily stroked the paddle.
Again there was silence.
"I wish you weren't going," she finally murmured.
He looked straight at her, holding his arm motionless for the space of amoment.
"It is good of you to say that," was the measured reply. "This has beena most delightful day, and I have enjoyed this glimpse of you verymuch."
Raising her eyes she thanked him with a look.
"You must remember that it has been due to no fault of mine that I haveseen so little of you," he continued.
"Nor mine," came back the whisper.
"True," he said. "Events have moved so rapidly during the past monththat I was enabled to keep abreast of them only with the greatestdifficulty."
"I daresay we all are proud of your achievement."
"God has been good to us. I must thank you, too."
"Me?" She grinned with contempt. "I am sure when the truth is knownthat I shall be found more an instrument of evil than of good."
"I wish you would not say that."
"I cannot say otherwise, for I know it to be true."
"Do not depreciate your efforts. They have been invaluable to me.Remember, it was you who greatly confirmed my suspicions of Anderson. Idid acquire some facts myself; but it was due to the information whichyou imparted to me that I was enabled to join together several ambiguousclews."
"Really?"
"And you must remember that it was through your cooperation that myattention was first drawn to General Arnold."
"You suspected him before our conversation. You, yourself, heard it fromhis own lips in the garden."
"Yes, I did. But the note!"
"What note?"
"The note you gave me to read."
"Peggy's letter which I found at her house?"
"The same. Have I never told you?"
"Never!" was the slow response. "You know you returned it to me withoutcomment."
He was puzzled. For he wondered how he had failed to acquaint her withso important an item.
"When you allowed me to take that letter you furnished me with my firstclew."
She aroused herself and looked seriously at him.
"I?... Why.... I never read it. What did it contain? I had supposed itto be a personal letter."
"And so it was,--apparently. It proved to be a letter from one ofPeggy's New York friends."
"A Mischienza friend, undoubtedly."
"Yes, Captain Cathcart. But it contained more. There was a ciphermessage."
"In cipher?" Then after a moment. "Did she know of it?"
"I am inclined to think that she did. Otherwise it would not have beendirected to her."
This was news indeed. No longer did she recline against the seat of thecanoe, but raised herself upright.
"How did you ever discover it?"
"My first reading of the note filled me with suspicion. Its tone was tooimpersonal. When I asked for it, I was impelled by the sole desire tostudy it the more carefully at my own leisure. That night I foundcertain markings over some of the letters. These I jotted down andrearranged until I had found the hidden message."
She gazed at him in wonder.
"It was directed to her, I presume, because of her friendship with theMilitary Governor; and carried the suggestion that His Excellency beinterested in the proposed formation of the Regiment. From that momentmy energies were directed to one sole end. I watched Arnold and thosewhom he was wont to entertain. Eventually the trail narrowed down toPeggy and Anderson."
She drew a deep breath, but said nothing.
"The night I played the spy in the park my theory was confirmed."
"Yes, you told me of that incident. It was not far from here."
She turned to search the distance behind her.
"No. Just down the shore behind his great house." He pointed with hisfinger in the direction of Mount Pleasant.
"And Peggy was a party to the conspiracy!" she exclaimed with an audiblesigh.
"She exercised her influence over Arnold from the start. She andAnderson were in perfect accord."
"I am sorry. She has disappointed me greatly."
"She has a very pretty manner and a most winsome expression; but she isextremely subtle and fully accomplished in all manner of artifice. Shewas far too clever for your frank simplicity."
"I never suspected her for an instant."
"It was she who set the trap for Arnold; it was she who made it possiblefor Anderson to rise to the heights of favor and influence; it was shewho encouraged her husband in his misuse of authority; and I venture tosay, it was she who rendered effective the degree of friendship whichbegan to exist between yourself and this gentleman."
Marjorie blushed at the irony.
They were drifting above the cove in the slowest manner. Onlyoccasionally did he dip the paddle into the water to change the courseof the little craft, or to push it ahead a little into the more shadedplaces. Marjorie did not assist in this, for he desired her to sit inthe bow facing him, while he, himself, essayed the task of paddler.There was little of exertion, however, for the two had no other objectin view than the company of their own selves. And so they driftedaimlessly about the stream.
"Yes, I think that I ought to leave tomorrow for White Plains to conferwith His Excellency."
"I should be the last to hinder you in the performance of duty. By allmeans, go."
"Of course it may be no more than a suspicion, but if you are sure ofwhat Anderson said, then I think that the matter should be brought tothe attention of the Commander-in-chief."
"Of course, you understand that Mr. Anderson told me nothing definite.But he did hint that General Arnold should be placed in command of amore responsible post in the American army; and that steps should betaken to have him promoted to the Second in Command."
Stephen thought for a minute.
"That sounds innocent enough. But you must remember that events havecome to light in the past fortnight which for months had lain concealedin the minds of these two men. Who knows but what this was included intheir nefarious scheme. I am uneasy about it all, and must see thechief."
"But you will come back?"
"At once unless prevented by a detail to a new field. I am subject atall t
imes to the will of my leader."
Her face fell.
II
The solemn stillness, the almost noiseless motion of the boat, the lividshades surrounding the place, all contributed to the mood of pensivenessand meditation which was rapidly stealing upon them. The very silence ofthe cove was infectious. Marjorie felt it almost immediately, andrelaxed without a murmur.
A stream of thoughts began to course in continuous procession throughher mind, awakening there whatever latent images lay buried in hermemory, and fashioning new ideas and seemingly possible situations fromher experiences of the past year. Now she suddenly discovered her formerinterest quickened to a violent degree. She was living over again thememories of the happy hours of other days.
Certainly Stephen was as constant as ever. To her discerning eye hismanner of action conveyed no other impression. But he was the sameenigma, however, as far as the communication of thought was concerned,and she knew no more of his pleasures and desires than she did of theinspirations of his soul.
It was the first time in months she had seen and taken delight in hisown old self. Never had he been so attentive quite as John Anderson, norso profuse in his protestations, nor so ready with his apologies. Andwhat was more she did not expect him to be. But he was more sincere whenit came to a question of unfolding one's own convictions, more engagingwhere will-power, propriety, performance of duty, were concerned. Healone possessed the rule to which all, in her own mind, were obliged toconform. And so she was compelled to admire him.
These fond memories suffered an interruption by a vision of the extremedisquietude produced upon Stephen by her unfortunate acquaintanceshipwith Mr. Anderson. And yet she had been profoundly sincere with herself.Never had she conveyed the impression to any man that she had given hima second sobering thought. Her home constituted for her a chief delight,her home, her devoted mother, her fond father. Peggy had been her solecompanion previous to her marriage with the Governor; and whatever menshe had met with were they who composed the gay assemblies at which herfriend was the pretty hostess and she the invited guest. As far asAnderson was concerned, and Stephen, for that matter, she doubted ifshe had been in the company of either more than a dozen times in thecourse of her life. Certainly not enough to know either of themintimately.
Of the two men who had effected the most complete entree into hersociety, Stephen had, unquestionably, impressed her the more favorably.For a time he seemed too far removed from her; and she failed toexperience that sense of proportion between them so necessary for mutualregard. Perhaps it was due to this negation, or perhaps it was owing toher modest reserve, or perhaps to both, that whatever familiarintercourse, sympathy or affinity ought to have existed was naturallyexcluded. True friendship requires a certain equality, or at least afeeling of proportion between those whom it would bind together. Andthis she felt had not prevailed.
She did not pause to consider the correctness or the incorrectness ofher inference. It was quite enough for her to know that this spirit ofinequality existed. In his presence, however, she felt at perfect ease,wholly oblivious of everything save her own happiness, as she could nowbear witness to, but alone with her thoughts the horrible imaginingforced itself upon her and served to widen perceptibly the gulf betweenthem. Reflection disconcerted her.
Happily, her enterprise respecting Anderson and his nefarious scheme hadterminated successfully. Happily, too, Stephen's misconstruction of theaffair had been corrected. No longer would he doubt her. Their fortuneshad approached the crisis. It came. Anderson had fled town; Arnold andPeggy were removed from their lives perhaps for ever. Stephen was withher now and she experienced a sense of happiness beyond all humanestimation. She would she could read his mind to learn there his ownfeelings. Was he, too, conscious of the same delights? A reciprocalfeeling was alone necessary to complete the measure of her joy. But hewas as non-communicative as ever, totally absorbed in this terriblebusiness that obsessed him. Her riddle, she feared, would remainunanswered. Patriotism, it seemed, was more pressing than love.
The canoe had drifted nearer to the shore. At Stephen's suggestion shearoused herself from her lethargy and alighted on the bank. He soonfollowed, drawing the canoe on to the shore a little to prevent itswandering away. Marjorie walked through the grass, stooping to pick hereand there a little flower which lay smiling at her feet. Stephen stoodto one side and looked after her.
III
"Stephen," she asked, as she returned to him and stood for a momentsmiling straight at him, "will you tell me something?"
"Anything you ask," he assured her. "What do you wish to know?"
But she did not inquire further. Her eyes were fixed in earnestattention upon the flowers which she began to arrange into a littlebouquet.
"Are you still vexed with me?"
There! It was out. She looked at him coquettishly.
"Marjorie!" he exclaimed. "What ever caused you to say that?"
"I scarce know," she replied. "I suppose I just thought so, that wasall."
"Would I be here now?" He tried to assure her with a tone of sincerity."One need not hear a man speak to learn his mind."
"Yes. But I thought----"
He seized hold of her hand.
"Come," he said. "Won't you sit down while I tell you?"
She accepted his offer and allowed herself to be assisted.
"You thought that I was displeased with you on account of JohnAnderson," he remarked as he took his place by her side. "Am I correct?"
She did not answer.
"And you thought, perhaps, that I scorned you?"
"Oh, no! Not that! I did not think that ... I ... I...."
"Well, then, that I lost all interest in you?"
She thought for a second. Then she smiled as if she dared not say whatwas in her mind.
"Listen. I shall tell you. I did not reprove you with so much as afault. I know well that it is next to impossible to be in the frequentpresence of an individual without experiencing at some time someemotion. He becomes continually repugnant, or else exceedinglyfascinating. The sentiments of the heart never stand still."
"Yes, I know,--but...."
"I did think that you had been fascinated. I concluded that you had beencharmed by John Anderson's manner. Because I had no desire of losingyour good will, I did ask you to avoid him, but at the same time, I didnot feel free enough to cast aspersions upon his character and sochange your good opinion of him. The outcome I never doubted, much as Iwas disturbed over the whole affair. I felt that eventually you wouldlearn for yourself."
"But why did you not believe in me? I tried to give you every assurancethat I was loyal...."
"The fault lay in my enforced absence from you, and in the nature of thecircumstances which combined against you. I knew Anderson; but I wasunaware of your own thought or purpose. My business led me on oneoccasion to your home where I found you ready to entertain him. Theseveral other times in which I found you together caused me to thinkthat you, too, had been impressed by him."
Marjorie sat silent. She was pondering deeply the while he spoke andattempted to understand the emotions that had fought in his heart. Sheknew very well that he was sincere in his confession, and that she hadbeen the victim of circumstances; still she thanked God that the truthhad been revealed to him.
"Sometimes I feel as if I had been simply a tool in his hands, and thatI had been worsted in the encounter."
"You have had no reason to think that. You perhaps unconsciously gavehim some information concerning the members of our faith, their number,their lot, their ambitions,--but you must remember, too, that he hadgiven some valuable information to you in return. The man may have beensincere with you from the beginning."
"No! I think neither of us were sincere. The memory of it all ispainful; and I regret exceedingly of having had to play the part of thecoquette."
A great silence stole upon them. He looked out over the river at thewavelets dancing gleefully in the sunlight, as they ran downstream withthe curr
ent as if anxious to outstrip it to the sea. She grew tired ofthe little flowers and looked about to gather others. Presently shebethought herself and took from her bodice what appeared to be a goldenlocket. Stephen, attracted by her emotion, saw the trinket at once, itsbright yellow frame glistening in the sun.
"Have you ever seen this?" she asked as she looked at it intently.
He extended his hand in anticipation. She gave it to him.
"Beautiful!" he exclaimed. "How long have you had this?"
"About a year," she replied nonchalantly, and clasped her hands abouther knees.
He leaned forward and continued to study it for the longest time. Heheld it near to him and then at arm's length. Then he looked at her.
"It is beautiful," he repeated. "It is a wonderful likeness, and yet Ishould say that it does not half express the winsomeness of yourcountenance." He smiled generously at her blushes as he returned it toher.
"It was given me by John Anderson," she declared.
"It is a treasure. And it is richly set."
"He painted it himself and brought it to me after that night atPeggy's."
"I always said that he possessed extraordinary talents. I should keepthat as a commemoration of your daring enterprise."
"Never. I purpose to destroy all memory of him."
"You have lost nothing, and have gained what books cannot unfold.Observation and experience are the prime educators."
"But exceedingly severe."
"Come," said Stephen. "Let us not allude to him again. It grieves you.He has passed from your life forever."
"Forever!" she repeated.
And as if by a mighty effort she drew back her arm and flung theminiature far from her in the direction of the river. On a sudden therewas a splash, a gulp of the waters, and a little commotion as theyhurriedly came together and folded over their prey.
"Marjorie!" he shouted making an attempt to restrain her. It was toolate.
"What have you done?" he asked.
She displayed her empty hands and laughed.
"Forever!" she repeated, opening her arms with a telling gesture. "Inever should have accepted it, but I was strangely fascinated by it, Isuppose."
For the moment neither spoke; he felt as if he could not speak; and shelooked like a child, her cheeks aglow with the exertion, and her eyesalight with merriment. Stephen looked intently at her and as sheperceived his look, a very curious change came across her face. He sawit at once, although he did not think of it until afterwards.
"Marjorie," he said as he moved nearer to her and slipped his arm verygently about her. "You must have known for the longest time, from myactions, from my incessant attentions, from my words, the extent of myfeeling for you. It were idle of me to attempt to give expression to it.It cannot be explained. It must be perceived; and you, undoubtedly, haveperceived it."
There was no response. She remained passive, her eyes on the ground,scarcely realizing what he was saying.
"I think you know what I am going to say. I am very fond of you. But youmust have felt more; some hidden voice must have whispered often to youthat I love you."
He drew her to him and raised both her hands to his lips.
She remonstrated.
"Stephen!" she said.
He drew back sadly. She became silent, her head lowered, her eyesdowncast, intent upon the hands in her lap. With her fingers she rubbedaway the caress. She was thinking rapidly, yet her face betrayed novisible emotion, whether of joy, or surprise, or resentment. Only hercheek danced with a ray of sunshine, a stolen reflection from the joyouswaves.
"Marjorie," he said gently, "please forgive me. I meant no harm."
She made a little movement as if to speak.
"I had to tell you," he continued. "I thought you understood."
She buried her face in her hands; her frame shook violently. Stephen wasconfused a little; for he thought that she had taken offense. Heattempted to reassure her.
"Marjorie. Please.... I give you my word I shall never mention thissubject again. I am sorry, very sorry."
She dried her eyes and looked at her handkerchief. Then she stood up.
"Come, let us go," he said after he had assisted her.
They walked together towards the boat.
The Loyalist Page 21