The Maid-At-Arms Part 37

Sir Lupus, standing in the hallway with a tall gentleman who wore the epaulets and the buff-and-blue uniform of a major-general, beckoned me, and I descended the stairs to make the acquaintance of that n.o.blest and most 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 young kinsman is one of the few, Sir Lupus."

"He's a good boy, General, a brave lad," mumbled Sir Lupus, frowning to hide 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 Sir George Covert the day he left for Stanwix, and Sir George mentioned your desire 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 to Sir Lupus, "who might take a lesson in modesty from Mr. Ormond."

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

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

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

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

His manner was so n.o.ble, his courtesy so charming, that there was no sting in his snub to Sir Lupus. Even I had heard of the amazing jealousies and intrigues which had made Schuyler's life miserable--charges of incompetency, of indifference, of corruption--nay, some wretched creatures who sought to push Gates into Schuyler's command even hinted at cowardice and treason. And none could doubt that Gates knew it and encouraged it, for he had publicly spoken of Schuyler in slighting and contemptuous terms.

Yet the gentleman whose honor had been the target for these slanderers never uttered one word against his traducers: and, when a friend asked him whether he was too proud to defend himself, replied, serenely, "Not too proud, but too sensible to spread discord in my country's army."

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

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

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

As for the men, there was young Paltz Clavarack, ensign in the Half-moon Regiment, very fine in his orange-faced uniform; and there was Major Harrow, of the New York line; and a jolly, handsome dare-devil, Captain Tully O'Neil, of the escort of horse, who hung to Dorothy's skirts and whispered things that made her laugh. There were others, too, aides in new uniforms, a medical officer, who bustled about in the role of everybody's friend; and a parcel of young subalterns, very serious, very red, and very grave, as though the destiny of empires reposed in their blue-and-gold despatch pouches.

"I wonder," murmured Dorothy, leaning towards me and speaking behind her rose-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--all that 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 can never have you, but you must never doubt my constancy. Say you will not?"

"Hush!" she whispered; "come to the dining-hall; I must look at the table to see that all is well done, and there is n.o.body there.... We can talk 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. Dorothy stood inspecting the silver and linen, and giving orders to Cato in a low voice. Then she dismissed the row of servants and sat down in a leather chair, resting her forehead in her hands.

"Deary me! Deary me!" she murmured, "how my brain whirls!... I would I were abed!... I would I were dead!... What was it you said concerning constancy? Oh, I remember; I am never to doubt your constancy." She raised 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--I refused 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 glimmering through unshed tears.

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

"Dorothy!" I gasped.

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

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

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

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

"I do! Oh, I do!" she said, pa.s.sionately. "But it is wrong; it is dreadfully wrong. To be safe we must both wed, and then--G.o.d knows!--we cannot 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 be married."

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

"The hope of it can."

"It cannot, Dorothy."