My Lady of Doubt Part 24

I could feel her tremble, yet there was no shrinking in her face, no alarm.

"Oh, why were you compelled to say that! I tried so hard not to let you.

I--I cannot make the promise, it would not be right."

"Not right!"

"No, you do not know me. I told you before I was a sham, a fraud, not what I appeared to be. I will not explain even to you, and you must not ask me. Only it hurts me to hear you say what you have, and be compelled to return this answer."

"You care then--you do not disguise that?"

She threw her head back proudly, making no attempt to withdraw her hands.

"Yes, I care; any woman would. It is not true that I have served you merely because you were a soldier of the Colonies. I think it was true, perhaps, at first, but--but later it was different. Oh! why do I say this! Why do I delay your departure by consenting to remain here in conversation! Major Lawrence, cannot you realize that my only desire is to have you get away safely?"

"But that is not my only desire," I protested. "It must be weeks, months, before I can hope to see you again. I am a servant of the Colonies, and must go where I am sent; we are upon the verge of a campaign involving exposure and battle. I may not even come forth alive. Must I go without a word, without a hope? Claire, Claire, sweetheart, you have no right to turn me away, because of some phantom of imagination--"

"But it is not, it is terribly real."

"I care not; I would still love you in spite of all; you may be a spy--a British spy--but the fact would mean nothing to me. I would trust you, Claire, your womanhood; I should know that whatever you did was in accordance with your conscience, and be content--if you but love me. And, thank G.o.d! I know you do."

"I--I--no! You cannot mean that!"

"Ay, but I do. Have you supposed I could not read the message of those eyes? Oh, it may be dark, dear, but there is a star-gleam, and when the lashes lift--they confess a thousand times more than your lips acknowledge. Yet I insist on the lips! Now tell me," and I held her to me, "tell me!"

"What--oh, Major, please!"

"There are but three words to speak; whisper them, dear, and I go."

"Three words!"

"Such easy words; they are trembling on your lips now--_I love you_."

"But if I do not; if they are false. Hush! There is some one on the veranda--Seldon must have returned."

"All the more reason why you should speak quickly," I whispered, without releasing her.

"Will you go, then? At once?"

"I pledge my word."

She drew a deep breath, her eyes shadowed, but I could hear the swift pulsing of her heart.

"It--it will mean nothing--nothing."

"Of course; only a memory to dream over."

Her lashes lifted, her head tilted back upon my shoulder. For a bare instant I gazed down into the depths.

"Then--then I will--_I love you_!"

With the words I kissed her, pressing my lips to hers; an instant they clung, and I felt the pressure of her arm, the hot blood rioting through my veins.

"Sweetheart," I whispered, "sweetheart."

"No, no!" and she thrust me from her. "You forget. I am not that. You must not think it even. See, that man is coming down the steps. He will discover Captain Grant, and it will be too late--Oh, go, Major, please go!"

I turned without another word, fully realizing the danger, the necessity of action. Her hand touched mine as I grasped the rein.

"We part friends," she said softly. "Some day you may understand and forgive me."

"I understand now more than you think," I returned swiftly, "and I am coming back to learn all."

CHAPTER XXIV

I UNCOVER CAPTAIN GRANT

The thicket was sufficiently dense to conceal us from the man, who remained standing at the foot of the steps. He was but a mere dark shadow, and I could not even distinguish that he was a soldier, yet the danger of his presence was sufficiently great, for should he advance to the right he would come upon Grant's unconscious form, and in that silence the slightest noise might arouse suspicion. Mistress Claire still clung to my hand, but only to whisper a sentence of instruction.

"Go straight north, Major, until you reach the hedge; follow the shadow of that beyond the orchard, and then take the road running westward.

Don't mount until you reach there--good-bye."

"Good-bye, you will not forget me?"

"I--I am afraid not, but--but you must go!"

I left her standing there, a faint gleam of white against the dark shrubbery, motionless. Grasping the bit of the horse I picked my course slowly across the lawn, watchful that the intervening thicket hid my movements, the soft carpet of gra.s.s m.u.f.fling every sound. We reached the hedge,--a high, impa.s.sable barrier to further progress in that direction, but here the shadows were sufficiently dense for us to proceed faster, with little peril of discovery. There were no sounds of alarm from the house, by this time barely visible, but we continued on a walk until the orchard was skirted, and I felt beneath my feet the ruts of a road running east and west. I waited long enough to adjust the stirrups, which were too short, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. The house could no longer be seen, and the night was quiet as a grave. What had become of Claire? Was she still hiding at the edge of the thicket, or had she found means of attaining shelter within the house? It was useless to speculate, and I could better serve her by going my way. I swung up into the saddle, and the horse broke into a lope.

There is no incident of that night's ride which I recall distinctly. I merely pushed on steadily through the darkness, leaving my mount to choose his own course, confident we were headed toward the river. I was sufficiently acquainted with the valley of the Delaware, when daylight came, to decide upon the nearest ford. As to the British patrols I must run the risk of dodging these, but felt safe from such an encounter for several hours. In truth I met no one, having no occasion to even draw rein, although we pa.s.sed through two small villages, and by a number of farms. I could not even determine that these houses were occupied; they were dark and silent, even the galloping hoofs of my horse failing to awaken response.

As the feeling of security took possession of me, my mind returned to her whom I had just left. As I had kissed her, as I had heard her lips repeat the words I had insisted upon her saying, it had all seemed real. But now that I was no longer looking into her eyes, I began to doubt and question. Had she a.s.sented merely to appease me, merely to compel me to leave her? She had said as much, almost denied caring for me, openly stated that there was between us an impa.s.sable barrier. At the time, in the spell of her presence, all this had meant merely a girlish spirit of coquetry; it had seemed to me her eyes denied her lips, and gave me courage. But now, alone under the stars, and riding away from her, this a.s.surance deserted me, and I began to doubt. Why should I have hoped? We had met in ways which made intimacy inevitable, and yet the girl had spoken no word which I could presume to interpret into love. She had trusted me with her friendship, and was in no way responsible for my more serious thoughts. I could not recall one word, or act, on her part, that would give me any right to think that she cared for me, except as an acquaintance and friend. Through sympathy she might have served any fugitive with the same loyalty shown me. Surely she could not have loved me in Philadelphia, when we met for the first time, and yet, even then, she had risked everything to aid my escape. She had done no more since--all might have arisen from the same impersonal motive. But what could that motive be? A mere love of adventure, the reckless audacity of youthful spirits, a secret sympathy with the cause of the Colonies, or a desire to outwit Grant? I could not believe her purpose unworthy, that she would sink her womanhood into mere trickery. She disliked Grant, despised him as she had just cause, yet it was not to anger him that she had helped me. Somewhere there was a reason, and a valid one, for her action.

And, on the other hand, what could make it impossible for her to confess the truth? A love for some one else? It was not Grant, at least, and no other name had ever been mentioned. She insisted that she was a sham, a fraud; that when I really knew her I might despise her. She had not spoken this as a joke, but in sober earnestness. What could be the meaning? I had suggested that she was a British spy, and she had made no denial, and yet it was impossible to believe such a charge true. All I had witnessed of her acts would seem rather to connect her with the Colonies. Yet there were matters unexplained--the mysterious night riding, the attack on me, and my first night's imprisonment at Elmhurst.

No attempt had been made to clear up these affairs, and I might construe them as I pleased. Yet there was nothing convincing, as I knew not how far Eric might be concerned. Perhaps all that appeared strange about the conduct of the sister could be explained by a few moments' conversation with the brother. I determined to search him out as soon as I was safely within the lines, and hear his story.

It was already daylight when I arrived at this conclusion, and, in the gray desolation of dawn, drew up on the bluff summit to gaze down into the river valley. It was a scene of quiet beauty, reflecting little of the ravages of war. My vantage of height gave me a wide vista, embracing the silvery stream, and a long stretch of meadow land, dotted with farmhouses, and intersected by roads. In the middle distance small villages faced each other across the stream, and toward these most of the roads converged,--proof of the existence of a ford. I could not be mistaken as to the town--Burlington on the Jersey sh.o.r.e, and opposite Bristol. I should be safe enough in the latter, even if we had no outpost stationed there. I knew homes along those shaded streets, where food would be forthcoming, and where I could probably procure a fresh horse.

It was the nearer town, nestled on the Jersey bank, that I studied with the greatest care, but, so far as I could see, the single street was deserted. To the south, certainly two miles away, a squadron of horse were riding slowly, surrounded by a cloud of dust. Without doubt this was the British patrol that had left the village at daybreak.

It was a hot, close morning, and the padded Ranger's coat heavy and tight-fitting. I took it off, flinging it across the saddle pommel. As I did so a folded paper came into view, and I drew it forth, curiously. My eye caught the signature at the bottom of a brief note, and I stared at it in surprise. f.a.gin! How came f.a.gin to be writing to Captain Grant? He pretended to be a Tory to be sure, yet both armies knew him as a murderous outlaw, plundering loyalists and patriots alike. There came to me a memory of Farrell's chance remark that Grant had some connection with this fellow's marauding. I had not seriously considered it then, but now--why, possibly it was true. I read the lines almost at a glance, scarcely comprehending at first, and then suddenly realized the base villainy revealed:

"Have the money and papers, but the girl got away. Will wait for you at Lone Tree to-night. Don't fail, for the whole country will be after me as soon as the news gets out about Elmhurst. _f.a.gin_."

So that was the reason for this raid--Grant's personal affair. He had returned to Elmhurst, leaving his men to trudge on into Philadelphia under their Hessian officers so that he might communicate with f.a.gin. He had contrived to get Colonel Mortimer to detail him, after the main column had been started on a false trail, and then he had left his detail to another, and rode alone to the rendezvous at Lone Tree. There, doubtless, he had received f.a.gin's report, with the papers whatever they were, and then returned to Elmhurst, determined to force his will with the girl. What had happened then I knew well, for I had been part of it.

What a pity it was I had failed to kill the fellow, instead of leaving him unconscious.

The papers! Perhaps they were in the coat also. Surely Grant had no time to change or destroy them, as he must have ridden directly to Elmhurst. I searched the pockets of the garment hastily, finding a note or two, his orders to escort Delavan, and a small packet tied securely by a cord. I felt no hesitancy in opening this, and ascertaining its contents. The lines I read hastily seemed to blur before my eyes; I could barely comprehend their purport. Little by little I grasped the meaning of it all, and then my mind leaped to recognition of Grant's purpose. They were notes of instruction, brief orders, suggestions, memoranda, such as might be issued to a secret agent greatly trusted. These were addressed simply "Mortimer," many unsigned, others marked by initials, but I instantly recognized the handwriting of Washington, Hamilton, and Lee. Without question this packet was the property of Eric Mortimer, but why had the boy preserved these private instructions, covering months of operations, I should judge, although scarcely one was dated? And what caused them to be of such value to Captain Grant?