"tis a very pretty hazard, captain ireton. but can it be brought off successfully, think you?"
"as i have said, it hangs somewhat upon the safety of my portmanteau. if that has come through unseized to mr. pettigrew at charlotte, and i can lay hands on it, 'twill be half the battle."
"you say you left it behind you at new berne?"
"yes; mr. carey was to forward it as he could."
colonel davie had given me bite and sup, and i was ready to take the road. my plan, such as it was, had been determined upon, and to the furthering of it, the colonel had written me a letter to a friend in the town who might shelter me for a night and make the needed inquiry for my belongings. also, he had given me another letter, of which more anon, and had pressed upon me a small purse of gold pieces—a treasure rare enough in patriot hands in that impoverished time.
when all was done, two of my late captors were ordered to set me straight in the road; and some half-hour past noon i had shaken hands with the big fellow in homespun who had been so bent upon hanging me without benefit of clergy, had crossed the river, and was making the first looping in a detour which should bring me into charlotte from the westward.
'twas drawing on toward evening, and i had recrossed the river a mile or more below appleby hundred, when i began to meet the outposts of the british army. i was promptly halted by the first of these; but my borrowed uniform and a ready word or two passed me within the lines as a courier riding post to headquarters from major ferguson in the west.
the lieutenant in command of the first vedette line was not over-curious. he asked me a few questions about the major's plans and dispositions,—questions which, thanks to colonel davie's information, i was able to answer glibly enough, swallowed my tale whole, and was so obliging as to give me the password for the night to help me through the inner sentry lines.
thus fortified, i rode on boldly, and having the countersign the difficulties vanished. when i was come to town it was well past candle-lighting; and the patrol was out in force. but by dint of using the password freely i made my way unhindered to the house of the gentleman to whom colonel davie's letter accredited me.
here, however, the difficulties began. though the camp of the army lay just without the town to the southward, the officers were quartered in every house, and that of colonel davie's friend was full to overflowing. what was to be done we knew not, but at the last moment my friend's friend thought of an expedient and wrote a note for me whilst i waited, half in hiding, in the outer hall.
"'tis a desperate chance, but these are desperate times," said my would-be helper. "i am sending you to the town house of one of our plantation seigneurs—a man who is fish, flesh or fowl, as his interest demands. i hear he came in to-day to take protection, and there is a chance that he will shelter you for the sake of your red coat and a gold piece or two. but i warn you, you must be what you appear to be—a soldier of the king—and not what this note of colonel davie's says you are."
seeing a wide field of danger-chances in this haphazarding, i would have asked more about this trimming gentleman to whom i was to be handed on; but at that moment there came a thundering at the door, and my anxious host was fain to hustle me out through the kitchen as he could, catching up a black boy on the way to be my guide.
"god speed you," he said at parting. "make your footing good for the night, if you can, and we'll see what can be done to-morrow. i'll send your portmanteau around in the morning, if so be mr. pettigrew has it."
with that i was out in the night again, turning and doubling after my guide, who seemed to be greatly afeard lest i should come nigh enough to cast an evil eye upon him.
'twas but a little distance we had to go, and i had no word out of my black rascal till we reached the door-stone of a familiar mansion but one remove from the corner of the court house green. here, with a stuttering "d-d-dis de house, massa," he fled and left me to enter as i could.
since the street was busily astir with redcoat officers and men coming and going, and any squad of these might be the questioners to doubt my threadbare courier tale, i lost no time in running up the steps and hammering a peal with the heavy knocker. through the side-lights i could see that the wide entrance hall was for the moment unoccupied; but at the knocker-lifting i had a flitting glimpse of some one—a little man all in sober black—coming down the stair. there was no immediate answer to my peal, but when i would have knocked again the door was swung back and i stepped quickly within to find myself face to face with—margery.
i know not which of the two of us was the more dumbfounded; but this i do know; that i was still speechless and fair witless when she swept me a low-dipped curtsy and gave me my greeting.
"i bid you good evening, captain ireton," she said, coldly; and then with still more of the frost of unwelcome in her voice: "to what may we be indebted for this honor?"
now, chilling as these words were, they thrilled me to my finger-tips, for they were the first she had spoken to me since the night of my offending in the black gorge of the far-off western mountains. none the less, they were blankly unanswerable, and had the door been open i should doubtless have vanished as i had come. of all the houses in the town this was surely the last i should have run to for refuge had i known the name of its master; and it was some upflashing of this thought that helped me find my tongue.
"i never guessed this was your father's house," i stammered, bowing low to match her curtsy. "i beg you will pardon me, and let me go as i came."
she laid a hand on the door-knob. "is—is there any one here whom you would see?" she asked; and now her eyes did not meet mine, and i would think the chill had melted a little.
"no. i was begging a night's lodging of a friend whose house is full. he sent me here with a note to—ah—to your father, as i suppose, though in his haste he did not mention the name."
she held out her hand. "give me the letter."
"nay," said i; "that would be but thankless work. knowing me, your father must needs conceive it his duty to denounce me."
"give it me!" she insisted; this with an impatient little stamp of the foot and an upglance of the compelling eyes that would have constrained me to do a far foolisher thing, had she asked it.
so i gave her the letter and stood aside, hat in hand, while she read it. there were candles in their sconces over the mantel and she moved nearer to have the better light. the soft glow of the candles fell upon her shining hair, and upon cheek and brow; and i could see her bosom rise and fall with the quick-coming breath, and the pulse throbbing in her fair white neck. and with the seeing i became a fool of love again in very earnest, and was within a hair's breadth of sinking honor and all else in an outpouring of such words as a man may say once to one woman in all the world—and having said them may never unsay them.
'twas a most practical little thing she did that saved me from falling headlong into this last ditch of dishonor. twisting the letter into a spill she stood on tiptoe to light it at one of the candles, saying: "'twas a foolish thing to put on paper, and might well hang the writer in such times as these. he says you are a king's man and well known to him, and you are neither." but when the letter was a crisp of blackened paper-ash she turned upon me, and once again the changeful eyes were cold and her words were stranger-formal.
"what is it you would have me do, captain ireton?"
"nothing," i made haste to say; "nothing save to believe that i came here unwittingly—and to let me go."
"where will you go? the town is alive with those who would—who would—"
"who would show me scant mercy, you would say. true; and yet i came hither—to the town, i mean—of my own free will."
her mood changed in the pivoting fraction of an instant, and now the beautiful eyes were alight and warm and pleadingly eloquent.
"oh, why did you come? are you—are you what they said you were?"
"a spy? if i am, you would scarce expect me to confess it, even to you."
"'tis dishonorable—most dishonorable!" she cried. "i could respect a brave soldier enemy; but a spy—"
there was a clattering of hoofs in the street and a jingle of sword-scabbards on the door-stone. i wheeled to face the newcomers, determined now to front it boldly as a desperate man at bay. but before the fumbling hands without could find the door-knob margery was beside me, all a-flutter in a trembling-fit of excitement.
"up the stair, quickly, pour l'amour de dieu!" she whispered; and we were at the clock landing when the great door opened and some half-dozen king's officers came in. we crouched together behind the balustrade till they should pass beyond the sight of us, and in the group i marked a man stout and heavy built, walking full solidly for his two-and-forty years. he wore his own hair dressed high in front in the fashion first set for the women by the grand monarque's loose-wife; and as he passed under the candles i saw that it was graying slightly. his face, high-browed, long-nosed, double-chinned, with the eyes womanish for bigness and marked with brows that might have been penciled by the hair-dresser, i had seen before; but lacking this present sight of it, the orders on his breast would have named him the ranking general of the army in the field—lord charles cornwallis. with all the houses in the town to choose among, i had blundered into this—my lord's own headquarters.
i had but a passing glimpse of the incoming group, for when it was well beneath the turn of the stair, my lady had me up and running again, driving me on before her to the chamber floor above, along a dimly lighted corridor with many turnings, and so to a cul-de-sac in the same—a doorless passage with a high dormer window in the end and no other apparent means of egress.
margery had snatched a candle from one of the corridor holders in the flight, and now she bade me sit on the floor and draw my boots. i did it, shamefacedly enough, being but a foul and ragged vagabond unfit to have her come anigh me. but i might have spared my blushings for she had turned her back and was opening a secret door in the high wainscot.
beyond the door lay a raftered garret half filled with cast-off house lumber and lighted and aired by two high roof windows. into this she led me, with a finger on her lip for silence. a hum of voices, the clinking of glass, and now and again a hearty soldier laugh told me that my garret was above some living-room of the house.
while i stood, boots in hand, she found a makeshift candlestick and in a trice had spread me a pallet on an ancient oaken settle big enough to serve for a choir stall in a cathedral.
"you'll be safe here for the night, if so be you will make no more noise than a rat might make," she whispered. "mais, mon dieu! 'tis a terrible risk. how you will get off in the morning i do not know."
"leave that to me," i rejoined. then i remembered the portmanteau and the promise that it should be sent hither. here was a further complication, and i must needs beg a boon of her. "a black boy will bring my portmanteau in the morning. i have a decent desire to be hanged in clean clothing; may i beg you to—"
she made a quick little gesture of impatience; at the further complication, or at my boldness in asking, i knew not which. but her whispered reply was of assent, and then she turned to leave me.
at that a sudden fierce desire to know why she had thus befriended me came to throttle prudence.
"one more word before you go, mistress margery. will you tell me why you have done this for the man who can serve you only by thrusting his neck into the hangman's noose?"
she was silent for a little space, and i knew not what emotion it was that moved her to turn away and cover her face with her hands. but when she spoke her voice was low and tremulous with pent-up anger, as i thought.
"truly, captain ireton, you have done a thing to make me hate you—and myself, as well. but i may not forget my duty, sir."
and with this cruel word she was gone.
