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 THE GIPT OF 
 
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 :A,..9^^^^.^.. .::^.::h..... 
 
Cornell University Library 
 
 PS 3343.W2E2 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft. 
 
 3 1924 022 230 050 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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EDWIN BROTHERTOFT 
 
 THEODOKE "^INTHKOP 
 
 AirrHOIl OF "CECIL DBEEHE," "JOHH BBENT," ETC., BTC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 JOHN W. LOVELL COMPAJST? 
 
 150 WoKTH Street, corner Mission Pi/Ace 
 
Bnterad ftccording to Act o( OongresSf in the year 186S, by 
 
 TICKNOR AND FIELDS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office ot the Districl, Court of the District of Maasachntntti. 
 
PART I 
 
EDWIK BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 The Cavaliers always ran when they saw Puri- 
 tan Colonel Brothertoft and his troop of white 
 horses coming. 
 
 They ran from the lost battle of Horncastle, in 
 the days of the great rebellion, and the Colonel 
 chased. 
 
 North and West he chased over the heaths 
 and wolds of his native Lincolnshire. Every 
 leap took him farther away from the peaked 
 turrets of Brothertoft Manor-House, — his home, 
 midway between the towers of Lincohi Cathe- 
 dral and Boston on the Witham. 
 
 Late at night he rode wearily back to Horn 
 castle. He first took care that those famous 
 horses were fed a good feed, after their good 
 fight and brave chase, and then laid himseli 
 down in his cloak to sleep beside Cromwell ani* 
 Fairfax. 
 
 Presently a youth on a white horse came gallop- 
 
8 EbWlN B&OtriEbTOt't. 
 
 ing into the town, up to the quaint honse where 
 the Colonel quartered, and shouted for him. 
 Brothertoft looked out at the window. By the 
 faint light he recognized young Galsworthy, son 
 of his richest tenant and trustiest follower. 
 
 " The King's people have attacked the Manor- 
 House," cried the boy. " My lady is trying to 
 hold it with the servants. I come for help." 
 
 In a moment a score of men were mounted 
 and dashing southward. Ten miles to go. They 
 knew every foot of it. The twenty white horses 
 galloped close, and took their leaps together 
 steadily, — an heroic sight to be seen in that 
 clear, frosty night of October! 
 
 The fire of dawn already glimmered in the 
 east when they began to see another fire on the 
 southern horizon. The Colonel's heart told him 
 whose towers were burning. They rode their 
 best ; but they had miles to go, and the red 
 flames outran them. 
 
 Colonel Brothertoft said not a word. He 
 spurred on, and close at his heels came the 
 troop, with the fire shining on their corselets and 
 gleaming in the eyes of their horses. 
 
 Safe ! yes ; the house might go, — for his dear 
 wife was safe, and his dear son, his little name- 
 sake Edwin, was safe in her arms. 
 
 The brave lady too had beaten off the maraud- 
 ers. But fight fire as they would, they could 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEBTOPT. M 
 
 rescue only one angle of the mansion. That 
 " curious now brique fabrick, four square, with 
 a turret at each corner, two good Courts, a fine 
 Library, and most romantick Wildernesse; a 
 pleasant noble seat, worthie to be noted by alle," 
 — so it is described in an Itinerary of 1620, — 
 had been made to bear the penalty for its mas- 
 ter's faith to Freedom. 
 
 " There is no service without suffering," he 
 quietly said, as he stood with the fair Lucy, his 
 wife, after sunrise, before the smoking ruins. 
 
 He looked west over the green uplands of his 
 manor, and east over his broad acres of fenny 
 land, billowy with rank grass, and all the beloved 
 scene seemed strange and unlovely to him. 
 
 Even the three beautiful towers of Lincoln 
 Cathedral full in view, his old companions and 
 monitors, now emphasized the devastation of his 
 liome. 
 
 He could not dally with regrets. There was 
 still work for him and the Brothertoft horses to 
 do. He must leave his wife well guarded, and 
 gallop back. 
 
 So there was a parting and a group, — the fair 
 wife, the devoted soldier, the white charger, and 
 the child awakened to say good-bye, and scared 
 at his father's glinting corselet, — a group such 
 as a painter loves. 
 
 The Colonel bore westward to cross the line 
 )* 
 
!(; f.nWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 
 
 of march of the Parliamentary army, and by and 
 by, as he drew nearer the three towers of Lin- 
 coln, they began to talk to him by Great Tom, 
 the boll. 
 
 From his yonth up, the Great Tom of Lincoln, 
 then in full swing and full roar, had aroused, 
 warned, calmed, and comforted him, singing to 
 him, along the west wind, pious chants, merry 
 refrains, graceful madrigals, stirring lyrics, more 
 than could be repeated, even " if all the geese 
 in Lincoln's fens Produced spontaneous well- 
 made pens," and every pen were a writer of 
 poetry and music. 
 
 To-day Great Tom had but one verse to repeat, 
 
 " Westward ho ! A new home across the seas." 
 
 This was its stern command to the Puritan 
 Colonel, saddened by the harm and cruelty oi 
 war. 
 
 " Yes, my old oracle," he replied, " if we fail, 
 if we lose Liberty here, I will obey, and seek 
 it in the New "World." 
 
 For a time it seemed that they had not failed. 
 England became a Commonwealth. Brothertoft 
 returned in peace to his dismantled home. Its 
 ancient splendors could never be restored. Three 
 fourths of the patriot's estate were gone. He 
 was too generous to require back from his party^ 
 in its success, what he had frankly given for the 
 
EDWIN BROTSERTOFt. 11 
 
 nation's weal. He lived quietly and sparingly. 
 His sole extravagance was, that, as a monument 
 of bygone grandeur, he commissioned Sir An- 
 thony Vandyck to paint him, his wife, his boy, 
 and the white charger, as they stood grouped for 
 the parting the morning of- the fire. 
 
 So green ivy covered the ruins, and for yeaa-s 
 Great Tom of Lincoln never renewed its sen- 
 tence of exile. 
 
 Time passed. Kingly Oliver died. There was 
 no Protector blood in gentle Richard Cromwell. 
 He could not wield the land. " Ho for cava- 
 liers ! hey for cavaliers ! " In came the Merrie 
 Monarch. Out Puritans, and in Nell Gwynn ! 
 Out crop-ears and in love-locks ! Away sad 
 colors ! only frippery is the mode. To prison 
 stout John Bunyan ; to office slight Sam Pepys ! 
 To your blind study, John Milton, and indite 
 Paradise Lost ; to Wliitehall, John Wilmot, Earl 
 of Rochester, and scribble your poem, " Noth- 
 ing ! " Yes ; go Bigotry, your jackboots smell 
 unsavory ; enter Prelacy in fine linen and per- 
 fume ! Procul, O procul, lAbertas ! for, alas ! 
 English knees bend to the King's mistress, and 
 English voices swear, " The King can do ho 
 wrong." Boom sullenly, Great Tom of Lincoln, 
 the dirge of Freedom ! 
 
 Ring solemnly. Great Tom of Lincoln, to 
 Colonel Brothertoffc the stern command revived. 
 
12 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 Syllable again aloug the west wind the sen 
 tence of exile, — 
 
 " Westward ho ! A new home across the seas ! " 
 
 Every day the nation cringed baser and baser. 
 Every day the great bell, from its station high 
 above all the land, shouted more vehemently 
 to the lord of Brothertoft Manor to shake the 
 dust from his feet, and withdraw himself from 
 among a people grown utterly dastard. His 
 young hopes were perished. His old associates 
 were slain or silenced. He would go. 
 
 And just at this moment, when in 1665 all 
 freedom was dead in England, Winthrop of 
 Connecticut wrote to his friend at Brothertoft 
 Manor : " We have conquered the Province of 
 New Netherlands. The land is goodlie, and 
 there is a great brave river running through 
 the midst of it. Sell thy Manor, bring thy 
 people, and come to us. We need thee, and 
 the like of thee, in our new communities. We 
 have brawn enow, and much godlinesse and 
 singing of psalms ; but gentlemen and gentle- 
 women be few among us." 
 
 So farewell to England, debauched and dis- 
 graced ! 
 
 Great Tom of Lincoln tolled farewell, and the 
 beautiful tower of St. Botolph's at Boston saw 
 the exiles out to sea. 
 
II. 
 
 Bluff is the bow and round as a pumpkin 
 is the stern of the Dutch brig, swinguig to its 
 anchor in the bay of New York. It is the new 
 arrival from England, this sweet autumn day of 
 1665. The passengers land. Colonel Brother- 
 toft and family ! Welcome, chivalric gentleman, 
 to this raw country! You and your class are 
 needed here. 
 
 And now disembark a gi-eat company of 
 Lincolnshire men, old tenants or old soldiers of 
 the Colonel's. Their names are thorough Lin- 
 colnshire. Here come Wrangles, Swinesheads, 
 Timberlands, Mumbys, Bilsbys, Hogsthorpes, 
 Swillingores, and Galsworthys, old and young, 
 men and women. 
 
 These land, and stare about forlornly, after 
 the manner of emigrants. Tliey sit on their 
 boxes, and wish they were well back in the old 
 country. They see the town gallows, an emi- 
 nent object on the beach, and are taught that 
 where man goes, crime goes also. A frowzy 
 Indian paddles ashore with clams to sell ; at 
 
14 EDWflN BROTHEBTOFt. 
 
 this vision, their dismayed scalps tremble on 
 their sinciputs. A sly Dutchman, the fatter pro- 
 totype of to-day's emigrant runner, stands before 
 them and says, seductively, " Bier, Schnapps ! " 
 They shake their heads firmly, and respond. 
 " Nix ! " 
 
 Colonel Brothertoft was received with due dis- 
 tinction by Governor NicoUs and Mayor Willet. 
 Old Peter Stuyvesaut was almost consoled that 
 Hollanders were sent to their Bouweries to smoke 
 and grow stolid, if such men as this new-comer 
 were to succeed them in power. 
 
 The Colonel explored that " great brave river " 
 which Connecticut Winthrop had celebrated in 
 his letter. Its beautiful valley was " all before . 
 him where to phoose." Dutch land-patents were 
 plenteous in market as villa sites after a modern 
 panic. Crown grants were to be had from the 
 new proprietary, almost for the asking. 
 
 The lord of old Brothertoft Manor selected his 
 square leagues for the new Manor of Brothertoft 
 at the upper end of Westchester County, border- 
 ing upon the Highlands of the Hudson. A few 
 pioneer Dutchmen — De Witts, Van Warts, and 
 Canadys — were already colonized there. His 
 Lincolnshire followers soon found their places • 
 but they came from the fens, and did not love 
 the hills, and most of them in time dispersed to 
 flatter countrv. 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 16 
 
 The new proprietor's wealth was considerable 
 for America. He somewhat diminished it by 
 reproducing, as well as colonial workmen could 
 do, that corner of the old manor-house imtouched 
 by the fire. It grew up a strange exotic, this 
 fine mansion, in the beautiful wilderness. The 
 " curious fabrick " of little imported bricks, with 
 its peaked turret, its quaint gables, its square 
 bay-window, and grand porch, showed incongru- 
 ously at first, among the stumps of a clearing. 
 
 And there the exiled gentleman tried to live 
 an exotic life. He bestowed about him the fur- 
 niture of old Brothertoft Manor. He hung his 
 Vandyck on the wall. He laid his presentation 
 copy of Mr. John Milton's new poem, Paradise 
 Lost, on the table. 
 
 But the vigor and dash of the Colonel's youth 
 were gone. His heart was sick for the failure 
 of liberty at home. The rough commonplace of 
 pioneering wearied him. He had done his last 
 work in life when he uprooted from England, and 
 transferred his race to flourish or wither on the 
 new soil. He had formed the family character ; 
 he had set the shining example. Let his son 
 sustain the honor of the name ! 
 
 The founder of Brothertoft Manor died, and a 
 second Edwin, the young Astyanax of Vandycjk's 
 picture, became the Patroon. 
 
 A third Edwin succeeded him, a fourth fol- 
 
16 EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 
 
 lowed, and in 1736 the fifth Edwin Brothertoft 
 was born. He was an only child, like each of 
 his forefathers. These pages chronicle his great 
 joy and his great sorrow, and how he bore him- 
 self at a crisis of his individual life. Whoever 
 runs may read stories like his in the broad light 
 of to-day. This one withdraws itself into the 
 chiaroscv/ro of a recent past. 
 
 The Brothertoft fortunes did not wax ou the 
 new continent. Each gentle Edwin transmitted 
 to his heir the Manor docked of a few more 
 square miles, the mansion a little more dilapi- 
 dated, the furniture more worn and broken, tli3 
 name a little less significant in the pushing world 
 of the Province. 
 
 But each Edwin, with the sword and portrait 
 of the first American, handed down the still more 
 precious heirlooms of the family, — honor un- 
 blemished, quick sympathies, a tender heart, a 
 generous hand, refinement, courtesy, — in short, 
 all the qualities of mind and person that go " to 
 grace a gentleman." 
 
 It became the office of each to be the type 
 gentleman of his time. 
 
 Perhaps that was enough. Perhaps they were 
 purposely isolated from other offices. Nature 
 takes no small pains to turn out her type black- 
 guard a complete model of ignobility, and makes 
 it his exclusive business to be himself. Why 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 17 
 
 should she not be as careful with the antago- 
 nistic order? 
 
 The Brothertofts always married women iike 
 themselves, the female counterparts of their mild 
 manhood. Bach wife blended with her husband. 
 No new elements of character appeared in the 
 only child. Not one of them was a father vigor- 
 ous enough to found a sturdy clan with broad 
 shoulders and stiff wills, ordained to success 
 from the cradle. 
 
 They never held their own in the world, much 
 less took what was another's. Bach was con- 
 scious of a certain latent force, and left it latent. 
 They lived weakly, and died young, like fair 
 exotics. They were a mild, inefficient, ineffect- 
 ual, lovely, decaying race, strong in all the 
 charming qualities, feeble in all the robust ones. 
 
 And now let the procession of ancestors fade 
 away into shadows ; and let the last shadow 
 lead forth the hero of this history in his proper 
 substance 1 
 
III. 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft, fifth of that name, had 
 been two years at Oxford, toiling at the peace- 
 ful tasks and dreaming the fair dreams of a 
 young scholar. 
 
 It was the fashion of that time to send young 
 men of property to be educated and Anglicized 
 in England. 
 
 Bushwhackers and backwoodsmen the new 
 continent trained to perfection. Most of the 
 Colonists knew that two and two make four, 
 and could put this and that together. But 
 lore, classic or other, — heavy lore out of tomes, 
 — was not to be had short of the old country. 
 The Massachusetts and Connecticut mills, Har- 
 vard and Yale, turned out a light article of do- 
 mestic lore, creditable enough considering their 
 inferior facilities for manufacture ; the heavy 
 British stuff was much preferred by those who 
 could aiford to import it. 
 
 Edwin went to be Anglicized. Destiny meant 
 that he shall not be. His life at Oxford came 
 to a sharp end. 
 
EDWIN BKOTHEETOFT. 18 
 
 His father wrote : " My son, I am dying the 
 early death of a Brothertoft. I have been fool- 
 ish enough to lose the last of our fortune. 
 Come home and forgive me ! " 
 
 Beautiful Oxford ! Fair spires and towers and 
 dreamy cloisters, — dusky chapels, and rich old 
 halls, — green gardens, overlooked by lovely 
 oriels, — high avenues of elms for quiet con- 
 templation, — companionship of earnest minds, 
 — a life of simple rules and struggles witliout 
 pain, — how hard it was for the young man to 
 leave all this ! 
 
 It was mid-January, 1757, when he saw home 
 again. 
 
 A bleak prospect. The river was black ice. 
 Dunderberg and the Highlands were chilly with 
 snow. The beech-trees wore their dead leaves, 
 in forlorn protest against the winter-time. The 
 dilapidated Manor-House published the faded for- 
 tunes of its tenants. 
 
 " Tenants at will," so said the father to his 
 son, in the parlor where Vandyck's picture pre- 
 sided. 
 
 " Whose will ? " Edwin asked. 
 
 " Colonel Billop's." 
 
 " The name is new to me." 
 
 " He is a half-pay oflBcer and ex-army-con- 
 tractor, — a hard, cruel man. He has made a 
 great fortune, as such men make fortunes." 
 
20 EDWIN BROTHERTbFT. 
 
 " Will his method suit me, father ? You 
 know I have mine to make." 
 
 "Hardly. I am afraid you could not trade 
 with the Indians, — a handful of beads for a 
 beaver-skin, a 'big drunk' for a bale of them." 
 
 "I am afraid not." 
 
 "I fear your conscience is too tender to let 
 you put off beef that once galloped under the 
 saddle to feed troops." 
 
 " Yes ; and I love horses too much to encour- 
 age hippophagy." 
 
 " Could you look up men in desperate circum- 
 stance, and take their last penny in usury ? " 
 
 " Is that his method ? " 
 
 " Certainly. And to crown all, could you 
 seduce your friend into a promising job, make 
 the trustful fool responsible for the losses, and 
 when they came, supply him means to pay them, 
 receiving a ruinous mortgage as security ? This 
 is what he has done to me. Do any of these 
 methods suit my son ? " asked the elder, with a 
 gentleman's scorn. 
 
 " Meanness and avarice are new to me," the 
 junior rejoined, with a gentleman's indignation. 
 " Can a fortune so made profit a man ? " 
 
 " Billop will not enjoy it. He is dying, too. 
 His heirs will take possession, as mine retire." 
 
 Edwin could not think thus coolly of his fn 
 ther's death. To check tears, he went on with 
 bis queries. 
 
EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 21 
 
 "He has heirs, then, our vinenviable suc- 
 cessor ? " 
 
 " One child, heir or heiress ; I do not remem- 
 ber which." 
 
 " Keir or heiress, I hope the new tenant will 
 keep the old place in order, until I can win it 
 back for you, father." 
 
 " It cheers me greatly, my dear son," said the 
 father, with a smile on his worn, desponding face, 
 " to find that you are not crushed by my avowal 
 of poverty." 
 
 " The thought of work exhilarates me," the 
 younger proudly returned. 
 
 " We Brothertofts have always needed the 
 goad of necessity," said the senior, in apology 
 for himself and his race. 
 
 "Now, then, necessity shall make us ac- 
 quainted with success. I will win it. You 
 shall share it." 
 
 " In the spirit, not in the body. But we will 
 not speak of that. Where will you seek your 
 success, here or there ? " 
 
 He pointed to Vandyck's group of the Parlia- 
 mentary Colonel and his family. The forefather 
 looked kindly down upon his descendants. Each 
 of them closely resembled that mild, heroic gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " Here or in the land of our ancestors ? " the 
 father continued. " Tour generation has tho 
 
22 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 choice. No other will. These dull, deboshed 
 Hanoverians on the throne of England will 
 crowd us to revolution, as the Stuarts did the 
 mother country." 
 
 " Then Westchester may need a Brothertoft, 
 as Lincolnshire did," cries Edwin, ardently. His 
 face fluslied, his eye kindled, it seemed as if the 
 Colonel, in the vigor of youth, had stepped down 
 from the canvas. 
 
 His father was thrilled. A life could not name 
 itself wasted which had passed to such a son. 
 
 " But let us not be visionary, my boy," lie went 
 on more quietly, and with weak doubts of the 
 wisdom of enthusiasm. " England offers a bril- 
 liant career to one of your figure, your manners, 
 and your talents. Our friends there do not for- 
 get us, as you know, for all our century of rusti- 
 cation here. When I am gone, and the Manor 
 is gone, you will have not one single tie of prop- 
 erty or person in America." 
 
 " I love England," said Edwin, " I love Ox- 
 ford ; the history, the romance, and the hope of 
 England are all packed into that grand old 
 casket of learning ; but " — and he turned to- 
 wards the portrait — " the Colonel embarked us 
 on the continent. He would frown if we gave 
 up the groat ship and took to the little pinnace 
 again." 
 
 Clearly the young gentlemen was not Angli- 
 
EOWlN BROTfiERTOPT. 23 
 
 cized. He went on gayly to say, " that he knew 
 the big ship was freighted with pine lumber, 
 and manned by Indians, whUe the pinnace was 
 crammed with jewels, and had a king to steer 
 and peers to pull the halyards ; but still lie was 
 of a continent, Continental in all his ideas and 
 fancies, and could not condescend to be an 
 Islander." 
 
 Tlien the gentlemen continued to discuss his 
 decision in a lively tone, and to scheme pleas- 
 antly for the future. Tliey knew that gravity 
 would bring them straightway to sadness. 
 
 Sadness must come. Both perceived that this 
 meeting was the first in a series of farewells. 
 
 Daily interviews of farewell slowly led the 
 father and the son to their hour of final parting. 
 
 How tenderly this dear paternal and filial love 
 deepened in those flying weeks of winter. Tlie 
 dying man felt his earthly being sweetly com- 
 pleted by his son's affection. His had been a 
 somewhat lonely life. The robust manners of 
 his compeers among the Patroons had repelled 
 him. The early death of his wife had depressed 
 and isolated him. No great crisis had happened 
 to arouse and nerve the decaying gentleman. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, " I sliould not have ac- 
 cepted a merely negative life, if your mother had 
 been with me to ripen my brave purposes into 
 utout acts. Love is the impelling force of life. 
 
24 a&WiN BKOTHEKTOFT. 
 
 Love wisely, my son ! lest your career be worse 
 than failure, a hapless ruin and defeat." 
 
 These boding words seemed spoken with the 
 clairvoyance of a dying man. They were the 
 father's last warnings. 
 
 The first mild winds of March melted the 
 snow from the old graveyard of Brothertoft Manor 
 on a mount overlooking the river. There was 
 but a little di-ift to scrape away from the vault 
 door when they came to lay Edwin Brother- 
 toft, fourth of that name, 1^ the side of bis an* 
 cestors. 
 
ir. 
 
 FoDB great Patroons came to honor their peer's 
 funeral. 
 
 These were Van Gortlandt, Phillipse with his 
 6on-in-law Beverley Robinson, from the neigh- 
 borhood, and Livingston '' itm above the High- 
 lands. 
 
 They saw their old friend's coiBn to its damp 
 shelf, and then walked up to the manor-house 
 for a slice of the funeral baked meats and a liba- 
 tion to the memory of the defunct. 
 
 A black servant carved and uncorked for 
 them. He had the grand air, and wielded knife 
 and corkscrew with dignity. Voltaire the gen- 
 tlemen called him. He seemed proud to bear 
 the name of that eminent destructive. 
 
 The guests ate their fat and lean with good 
 appetite. Then they touched glasses, and sighed 
 over another of their order gone. 
 
 " The property is all eaten up with mortgages, 
 I hear," says Phillipse, with an appropriate dole- 
 ful tone. 
 
 " Billop swallows the whole, the infernal 
 
 3 
 
26 EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 usurer ! '' Van Cortlaiidt rejoined, looking lugu 
 briously at his fellows, and then cheerfully at his 
 glass. 
 
 " He 's too far gone to swallow anything. The 
 Devil has probably got him by this time. He 
 was dying three days ago," said Beverley Rob- 
 inson. 
 
 "Handsome Jane Billop will be our great 
 heiress," Livingston in turn remarked. " Let 
 your daughters look to their laurels, Phillipse ! " 
 
 " My daughters, sir, do not enter the lists with 
 such people." 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," jolly Van Cortlandt in- 
 terjected, " another glass, and good luck to our 
 young friend here ! I wish he would join us ; 
 but I suppose the poor boy must have out his 
 cry alone. What can we do for him? We 
 must stand by our order." 
 
 " I begin to have some faith in the order," 
 says Livingston, " when it produces such ' preui 
 chevaliers ' as he. What can we do for him ? 
 Take him for your second son-in-law, Phillipse ! 
 The lovely Mary is still heart-whole, I believe. 
 Our strapping young friend from Virginia, Mas- 
 ter George Washington, has caracoled off, with 
 a tear in his eye and a flea in his ear. Slice off 
 twenty or thirty thousand acres from your 
 manor, marry these young people, and set them 
 up. You are too rich for our latitude and our 
 era." 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFt. 27 
 
 Mr. Adolphus Phillipse was a slow coach, 
 The other's banter teased him. 
 
 " Mr. Livingston," he began, swelling and 
 growing red. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," cries Van Cortlandt, pa- 
 cificator, " I have a capital plan for young Brotb- 
 ertoft." 
 
 " What ? " Omnes inquire. 
 
 " He must marry Jane Billop." 
 
 "Ay, he must marry Jane Billop," Omnes 
 rejoin. 
 
 " A glass to it ! " cried the proposer. 
 
 " Glasses round ! " the seconders echo, with 
 subdued enthusiasm. 
 
 " A beauty ! " says Van Cortlandt, clinking 
 with Phillipse. 
 
 " An heiress ! " says Phillipse, clinking on. 
 
 " An orphan and only child ! " says Robinson, 
 touching glasses with his neighbor. 
 
 " Sweet sixteen ! " says Livingston, blowing a 
 kiss, and completing the circle of clink. 
 
 These jolly boys, old and young, were of a 
 tribe on its way to extinction, with th;. painted 
 sagamores of tribes before them. First came 
 the red nomad, striding over the continent. In 
 time followed the great Patroon, sprawling over 
 all the acres of a county. Finally arrives the 
 unembarrassed gentleman of our time, nomad in 
 fouth, settler at maturity, but bound to no spot, 
 
28 EDWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 
 
 and cribbed in no habitation ; and always packed 
 to move, with a brain full of wits and a pocket 
 full of coupons. 
 
 The four proprietors finished their libations 
 and sent for Edwin to say good-bye. His deep 
 grief made any suggestion of their marriage 
 Bcheme an impertinence. 
 
 Jolly Van Cortlandt longed to lay his hand 
 kindly on the young man's shoulder and say, 
 " Don't grieve, my boy ! ' Omnes moriar,' as we 
 used to say at school. Gome, let me tell you 
 about a happy marriage we 've planned for 
 you!" 
 
 Indeed, he did arrange this little spy^ v- ji 
 his mind, and consulted Livingston on its de- 
 livery. 
 
 " Let him alone ! " said that '- magister mo- 
 rum.' " You know as much of love as of Lat- 
 in. The match is clearly made in heaven. It 
 will take care of itself. He shall have my good 
 word with the lady, and wherever else he wants 
 it. I love a gentleman." 
 
 " So do I, naturally," Van says, and he gave 
 the youth honored with this fair title a cordial 
 invitation to his Manor. 
 
 The others also offered their houses, hearths, 
 and hearts, sincerely; and then mounted and 
 rode off on their several prosperous and cheerful 
 ways. 
 
EbWm BROTHEKTOFT. 29 
 
 Meanwhile, a group of the tenants of the Ma- 
 nor, standing on the sunny side of the vault, had 
 been discussing the late lord and the prospects 
 of his successor. As the elders talked, their 
 sons and heirs played leap-frog over the tomb- 
 stones, puffed out their cheeks to rival the cher- 
 ubs over the compliments in doggerel on the 
 slabs, and spelled through the names of extinct 
 Lincolnshire families, people of slow lungs, who 
 had not kept up with the fast climate. 
 
 " I feel as if I 'd lost a brother," said Squire 
 Jierck Dewitt, the chief personage among the 
 tenantry. 
 
 " A fine mahn, he was ! " pronounced Isaac 
 Van Wart, through a warty nose. "But not 
 spry enough, — not spry enough ! " 
 
 " Anybody could cheat him," says lean Hen- 
 drecus Canady, the root and Indian doctor, who 
 knew his fact by frequent personal experiments. 
 
 " Who 'd want to cheat a man that was every- 
 body's friend?" asked old Sam Galsworthy's 
 hearty voice. 
 
 " The boy 's a thorough Brothertoft, mild as a 
 lamb and brave as a lion," Dewitt continued. 
 " But I don't like to think of his being flung on 
 the world so young." 
 
 " He can go down to York and set up a news- 
 paper," Van Wart suggested. 
 
 " If I was him, I 'd put in for Squire Billop's 
 
80 EDWIN BROTHERtOFt. 
 
 gal, and have easy times." This was the root 
 doctor's plan. 
 
 " Well, if he ever wants a hundred pounds," 
 says Galsworthy, — "ay, or five hundred, for 
 that matter, — he 's only got to put his hand 
 into my pocket." 
 
 " You can't put your own hand in, without 
 wrastlin' a good deal," Van Wart says. 
 
 Sam laughed, and tried. But he was too 
 paunchy. 
 
 " I 'm a big un," he said ; " but I was a little 
 un when I got back from that scalpin' trip to 
 Canada, when Horse-Beef Billop was Commis- 
 sary. I did n't weigh more 'n the Injun doctor 
 here ; and he, and that boy he feeds on yaller 
 pills, won't balance eight stone together. It 's 
 bad stock, is the Billop. I hope oiir young man 
 and the Colonel's gal won't spark up to each 
 other." 
 
 It was growing dusk. The dead man's R. 1. 
 P. had been pronounced, and the youth's ' Perge 
 puer ! " The tenants, members of a class pres- 
 ently to become extinguished with the Patroons, 
 marched off toward the smokes that signalled 
 their suppers. The sons dismounted from the 
 tombstones and followed. Each of them is his 
 father, in boy form. They prance off, exercising 
 their muscles to pull their pound, by and by, at 
 the progress of this history. Old Sam Galswor- 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 31 
 
 thy junior has hard work to keep up with the 
 others, on account of his back load. He carries 
 on his shoulders little Hendrecus Canady, a 
 bolus-fed fellow, his father's corpus vile to try 
 nostrums upon. 
 
 And Edwin Brothertoft sat alone in his lonely 
 home, — his home no more. 
 
 Lonely, lonely ! 
 
 A blank by the fireside, where his father used 
 to sit. A blank in the chamber, where he lay so 
 many days, drifting slowly out of life. Silence 
 now, — silence, which those feeble words of affec- 
 tion, those mild warnings, ihose earnest prayers, 
 those trailing whispers low from dying lips, would 
 never faintly break again. No dear hand to 
 press. No beloved face to watch sleeping, until 
 it woke into a smile. No face, no touch, no 
 voice ; only a want and an absence in that lonely 
 home. 
 
 And if, in some dreamy moment, the son 
 seemed to see the dear form steal back to its 
 accustomed place and the dear face appear, the 
 features wore an eager, yet a disappointed look. 
 So much to say, that now could never be said I 
 How the father seemed to long to recover human 
 accents, and urge fresh warnings against the 
 passions that harm the life and gnaw the soul, 
 or to reveal some unknown error sadder than 
 « si». 
 
32 EDWIN BKOTHERTOFT. 
 
 And sometimes, too, that vision of the fatlier'a 
 countenance, faint against a background of twi- 
 light, was tinged with another sorrow, and the 
 son thought, " He died, and never knew how 
 thoroughly I loved him. Did I ever neglect 
 him ? Was I ever cold or careless ? That sad 
 face seems to mildly reproach me with some 
 cruel slight." 
 
 The lonely house grew drearier aind drearier. 
 
 " Colonel Billop," wrote Mr. Skaats, his agent 
 and executor, " has been removed by an aU-wise 
 Providence. Under the present circumstances, 
 Mr. Brothertoft, I do not wish to disturb you. 
 But I should be glad to take possession at the 
 Manor at your earliest convenience. 
 " Respectfully, &c., 
 
 " Skervey Skaats." 
 
 Everything, even the priceless portrait of the 
 Puritan Colonel, was covered by the mortgages. 
 Avarice had licked them all over with its slime, 
 and gaped to bolt the whole at a meal. 
 
 Edwin did not wish to see a Skervey Skaats 
 at work swallowing the family heirlooms. He 
 invited Squire Dewitt to act for him witli the 
 new proprietor's representative. 
 
 New York, by that time, had become a thriving 
 little town. The silt of the stream of corn that 
 flowed down the Hudson was enriching it. Ed 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT 88 
 
 mn had brave hopes of making at least his daily 
 bread there with his brains or his hands. 
 
 While he was preparing to go, Old Sam (Jals- 
 worthy appeared with a bag of guineas and a fine 
 white mare of the famous Lincolnshire stock, — 
 such a mare as Colonel Brothertoft used to ride, 
 and Prince Rupert's men to run &om. 
 
 " Squire Dewitt told me you were going to 
 trudge to York," said Sam. 
 
 " I was," replied the orphan ; " my legs will 
 take me there finely." 
 
 " It was in my lease," said Sam, " to pay a 
 mare-colt every year over and above my rent, 
 besides a six-year-old mare for a harriet, when- 
 ever the new heir came in." 
 
 " Heriot, I suppose you mean, Sam." 
 
 " We call 'em heriots when they 're horses, 
 and harriets when they 're mares. Well, your 
 father would n't take the colts since twelve year. 
 He said he was agin tribute, and struck the colts 
 and the harriets all out of my lease. So I put 
 the price of a colt aside for him every year, in 
 case hard times come. There 's twelve colts in 
 this buckskin bag, and this mare is the token 
 that I count you the rightful owner of my farm 
 and the whole Manor. I 've changed her name 
 to Harriet, bein' one. She *s a stepper, as any 
 man can see with half a blinker. The dollars 
 and the beast is yourn. Mister Edwin." 
 
 a* • 
 
34 EDWIN BKOTHERTOFT. 
 
 Edwin shook his head. "You aie very kind, 
 Sam ; but I am my father's son, and against 
 tribute in any form." 
 
 " I have n't loved your father forty year to 
 see his son go afoot. Ride the mare down, any- 
 how. She don't get motion enough, now that 
 I 'm too heavy for her, bein' seventeen stone 
 three pound and a quarter with my coat off." 
 
 Edwin's pride melted under this loyalty. 
 
 "I will ride her then, Sam, and thank you. 
 And give me a luck-penny out of the bag." 
 
 " You '11 not take the whole ? " pleaded Gals- 
 worthy. 
 
 No. And when the root-doctor heard this, he 
 stood Hendrecus Canady junior in a receptive 
 position, and dosed him with a bolus of wisdom, 
 as follows : — 
 
 " Men is divided into three factions. Them 
 that grabs their chances. Them that chucks 
 away their chances. And them that lets their 
 chances slide. The Brothertofts have alluz ben 
 of the lettin'-slide faction. This one has jined 
 the Chuckin'-Aways. He '11 never come to 
 nothin'. You just swaller that remark, my son, 
 and keep a digestin' of it, if you want to come 
 to anything yourself." 
 
 Next morning Edwin took leave of home, and 
 sorrowfully rode away. 
 
 A harsh, loud March wind chased hiin, blow- 
 
EDWIN BROTHfiBTOFT. 36 
 
 ing Harriet Heriot's tail between her legs. The 
 omens were bad. 
 
 But when, early the second morning, the or- 
 phan crossed King's Bridge, and trod the island 
 of his new career, a Gulf Stream wind, smelling 
 of bananas and soundii^g of palm-leaves, met 
 him, breathing welcome and success. 
 
With youth, good looks, an English educa- 
 tion, the manners and heart of a gentleman, and 
 the Puritan Colonel's sword, Edwin Brothertoft 
 went to New York to open his oyster. 
 
 "Hushed in grim repose," the world, the 
 oyster, lay with its lips tight locked against the 
 brutal oyster-knives of blackguards. 
 
 But at our young blade's first tap on the shell 
 the oyster gaped. 
 
 How pleasant it is to a youth when his oyster 
 gapes, and indolently offers him the succulent 
 morsel within ! His oyster is always uneasy at 
 the hinge until it is generously open for an Ed- 
 win Brothertoft. He was that fine rarity, a 
 thorough gentleman. 
 
 How rare they were then, and are now ! rare 
 as great poets, great painters, great seers, great 
 doers. The fingers of my right hand seem too 
 many when I begin to number off the thorough 
 gentlemen of my own day. But were I ten 
 times Briareus, did another hand sprout when- 
 ever I wanted a new tally, I never could count 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 87 
 
 the thorough blackguards among my contempo- 
 raries. So much shade does it take to make 
 sunshine ! 
 
 The Colonial world gave attention when it 
 heard a young Brothertoft was about to descend 
 into the arena and wrestle for life. 
 
 " So that is he ! " was the cry. " How 
 handsome! how graceful! how chivalrous! how 
 brilliant ! what a bow he makes ! his manners 
 disarm every antagonist ! He will not take ad- 
 vantages, they say. He is generous, and has 
 visionary notions about fair play. He thinks a 
 beaten foe should not be trampled on or scalped. 
 He thinks enemies ought to be forgiven, and 
 friends to be sustained, through thick and thin. 
 Well, well! such fancies are venial errors in a 
 young aristocrat." 
 
 The city received him as kindly as it does the 
 same manner of youth now, when its population 
 has increased one hundred-fold. 
 
 The chief lawyer said, " Come into my oflSce 
 and copy papers, at a pound a week, and in a 
 year you will be a Hortensius." 
 
 The chief merchant said, " If you like the 
 smell of rum, codfish, and beaver-skins, take a 
 place in my counting-house, at a hundred pounds 
 a year, and correct the spelling of my letters. 
 ' promise nothing; but I may want a partner 
 ky and by." 
 
38 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT 
 
 The Governor of the Province and Mayor of 
 the town, dullards, as officials are wont to be, 
 each took the young gentleman aside, and said, 
 " Here is a proclamation of mine ! Now punctuate 
 it, and put in some fine writing, — about Greece 
 and Rome, you know, and Magna Charta, with 
 a Latin quotation or two, — and I will find you 
 a fat job and plenty of pickings ! " 
 
 The Livingston party proposed to him to go 
 to the Assembly on their votes and fight the 
 De Lanceys. The De Lanceys, in turn, said, 
 " Represent us, and talk those radical Living- 
 stons down." 
 
 Lord Loudon, Commander-in-Chief, swore that 
 Brothertoft was the only gentleman he had seen 
 among the dashed Provincials. " And," says he, 
 " you speak Iroquois and French, and all that 
 sort of thing. Be my secretary, and I '11 get you 
 a commission in the army, — dashed if I don't ! " 
 
 King's College, just established, to increase the 
 baker's dozen of educated men in tlie Colony, 
 offered the young Oxonian a professorship. Meta- 
 physics, Mathematics, Languages, Belles-Lettres, 
 — in fact whatever he pleased ; none of the 
 Trustees knew them apart. 
 
 Indeed, the Provincial world prostrated itself 
 before this fortunate youth and prayed him, — 
 
 " Be the representative Young American ! 
 Convince our unappreciative Mother England : 
 
fiDWiN BftOTHERTOJT. 39 
 
 " That we do not talk through our noses ; 
 
 " That our language is not lingo ; 
 
 " That we are not slaves of the Almighty 
 Wampum ; 
 
 " That we can produce the Finest Gentlemen, 
 as well as the Biggest Lakes, the Longest Eivers, 
 the Vastest Antres, and the Widest Wildernesses 
 in the World." 
 
 What an oyster-bed, indeed, surrounded our 
 hero !' 
 
 Alas for him! He presently found a PearL 
 
VI. 
 
 Handsome Jane Billop wanted a husband. 
 
 She looked into the glass, and saw Beauty. 
 Into the schedules of her father's will, and saw 
 Heiress. 
 
 She determined to throw her handkerchief, as 
 soon as she could discover the right person to 
 pick it up. 
 
 " He must belong to a great family," thought 
 the young lady. " He must promise me to be 
 a great man. He must love me to distraction. 
 I hate the name of Billop ! I should look lovely 
 in a wedding-dress ! " 
 
 She was very young, very premature, mother- 
 less, the daughter and companion of a coarse 
 man who had basely made a great fortune. Rich 
 rogues always fancy that their children will in- 
 herit only the wealth, and none of the sin. They 
 are shocked when the paternal base metal crops 
 out at some new vein in their progeny. Better 
 not embezzle and oppress, papa, if you wish 
 your daughters to be pure and your sons honest ! 
 Colonel Billop did not live to know what kind 
 
EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 41 
 
 of an heiress he and his merciless avarice had 
 fathered. 
 
 " I must see this young Brothertoft," Jane's 
 revery continued. " Poor fellow, I have got all 
 his property ! Mr. Skaats says he is a very dis- 
 tingiiished young gentleman, and will be one of 
 the first men of the Province. Handsome too, 
 and knows lords and ladies in England! Let 
 me see ! I cannot meet him anywhere so soon 
 after the funeral. But he might call on me, 
 about business. I feel so lonely and solemn! 
 And I do not seem to have any friends. Every- 
 body courts me for my money, and yet they look 
 down upon me too, because my father made his 
 own fortune." 
 
 Colonel Billop had taken much pains to teach 
 his daughter business habits, and instruct her in 
 all the details of management of property. 
 
 She sat down at her desk, and in a bold round 
 hand indited the following note : — 
 
 " Mr. Skaats, Miss Billop's agent, begs that 
 Mr. Brothertoft will do him the favor to call at 
 the house in Wall Street to-morrow at eleven. 
 Mr. Skaats is informed that there is a picture at 
 the Manor-House which Mr. Brothertoft values, 
 and he would be pleased to make an arrange- 
 ment for the late owner's retaining it." 
 
 Skilful Jane! to whom a Vandyck was less 
 worth than iis length and breadth in brocade. 
 
42 EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 
 
 She sealed this note with Colonel Billop's frank 
 motto, " Per omnia iJ. opes," and despatched it. 
 
 Edwin was delighted at the prospect of re- 
 covering his ancestor. It is a mighty influence 
 when the portrait of a noble forefather puts its 
 eye on one who wears his name, and says, by the 
 language of an unchanging look : " I was a Eadi- 
 cal in my day ; be thou the same in thine ! I 
 turned my back upon the old tyrannies and 
 heresies, and struck for the new liberties and 
 beliefs ; my liberty and belief are doubtless al- 
 ready tyranny and heresy to thine age ; strike 
 thou for the new ! I worshipped the purest God 
 of my generation, — it may be that a purer God 
 is revealed to thine ; worship him with thy wliole 
 heart." 
 
 Such a monitor is priceless. Edwin was in a 
 very grateful mood when he knocked at the door 
 in Wall Street. 
 
 A bank now rests upon the site of the Billop 
 mansion. Ponderous, grim, granite, stand the 
 two columns of its propylon. A swinging door 
 squeaks " Hail ! " to the prosperous lender, and 
 "Avaunt! " to the borrower unindorsed. Within, 
 paying tellers, old and crusty, or young and 
 jaunty, stand, up to their elbows in gold, and 
 smile at the offended dignity of personages not 
 identified presenting checks, and in vain requir- 
 ing payment. Farther back depositors are feed- 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFt. 4S 
 
 lag money, soft and hard, into the maw of the 
 receiving teller. Behind him, book-keepers wield 
 prodigious ledgers, and run up and down their 
 columns, agile as the lizards of Faestum. And 
 in the innermost penetralia of that temple of 
 Plutus, the High-Priests, old Dons of Directors 
 worth billions, sit and fancy that they brew crisis 
 or credit. 
 
 So stand things now where Edwin Brothertoft 
 once stood contemplating a brass knocker. 
 
 The door opened, and he was presently intro- 
 duced into a parlor, upholstered to the upper- 
 most of its era. 
 
 But where is Mr. Skervey Skaats ? 
 
 Instead of that mean and meagre agent, here 
 
 is the principal, — a singularly handsome, bold, 
 
 resolute young woman, her exuberant beauty 
 
 ■jpressed and her carnations toned down by 
 
 mourning. 
 
 Both the young people were embarrassed for a 
 moment. 
 
 He was embarrassed at this unlooked-for sub- 
 stitution of a beautiful girl for an ugly reptile of 
 a Skaats ; and she to find how fair a spirit she 
 had conjured up. He with a sudden compunc- 
 tion for the prejudice he had had against the 
 unknown heir, his disinheritor ; and she with her 
 instant conviction that here was the person to 
 pick up her handkerchief, if he would. 
 
44 EDWIN BKOTHEETOFT. 
 
 Shall the talk of these children be here re« 
 peated ? It might fill a pleasant page ; but this 
 history cannot deal with the details of their im- 
 mature lives. It only makes ready, in this First 
 Act, for the rapid business of a riper period. 
 
 When Edwin Brothertoft left the heiress's par- 
 lor, after sixty minutes of delight, she seated 
 herself at the desk where she, under the alias 
 Skaats, had indited his invitation, took a fresh 
 sheet of paper and a virgin quill, and wrote : ^ 
 
 Jane Brothertoft. 
 Then the same in backhand, with flourishes and 
 without. Then she printed, in big text : — 
 
 Lady Jane Brothertoft, op Brothertoft Hall. 
 
 Then, with a conscious, defiant look, she carried 
 her prophetic autograph to the fire, and watched 
 it burn. 
 
 Over the fireplace was a mirror, districted in- 
 to three parts by gilded muUions. Above was 
 perched a gilt eagle, a very rampant high-flier 
 indeed. Two wreaths of onions, in the disguise 
 of pomegranates, were festooned from his beak, 
 and hung in alluring masses on either side of 
 the frame. Quite a regiment of plump little 
 cherubs, clad in gilding, tight as it could fit, 
 clung in the wreaths, and snified at their fi-a- 
 grance. Jane looked up and saw herself in the 
 mirror. A blush deepened her somewhat carnal 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEETOFT. 45 
 
 «amations. Every cherub seemed to be laugh- 
 ing significantly. She made a face at the merry 
 imps. As she did so, she caught sight of the re- 
 flection of her father's portrait, also regarding 
 her. He was such a father as a child would 
 have been quite justified in disowning and ut- 
 terly cutting, if a stranger had asked, " Who is 
 that horrid person with the red face, the coarse 
 jowl, the permanent leer, and cruel look ? " An 
 artist, cunning in red for the face and white for 
 the ruffles, had made this personage more butch- 
 erly even than Nature intended. 
 
 Jane Billop marched up to the portrait, and 
 turned it with its face toward the wall. 
 
 " He need n't look at me, and tell me I am 
 courting Mr. Edwin Brothertoft," she said to 
 herself. " I know I am, and I mean to have 
 him. He is lovely ; but I almost hate him. He 
 makes me feel ignorant and coarse and mean. 
 I don't want to be the kind of woman he has 
 been talking to with that deferential address. 
 But I suppose this elegant manner is all put on, 
 and he is really just like other people. He seems 
 to be pretty confident of carrying the world be- 
 fore him. We shall be the great people of the 
 Province. Here comes the distinguished Sir Ed- 
 win Brothertoft, and Lady Jane, his magnificent 
 wife ! People shall not pretend to look down 
 upon me any more, because my father knew how 
 
46 EDWm BKOTHERTOFT. 
 
 to make money, when fools threw it away. I 've 
 got a Manor, too, Miss Mary Phillipse ; and I 'm 
 handsomer than you, and not almost an old maid. 
 That little chit of a Mayor Oruger's daughter's 
 had better not try to patronize me again, nor 
 Julia Peartree Smith turn up her poor pug nose. 
 They '11 all want invitations to Mrs. Brothertoft's 
 ball on going out of mourning. How they wiU 
 envy me my Edwin ! What a beautiful bow he 
 makes ! What a beautiful voice he has ! June is 
 a lovely month for a wedding." 
 
 There is never joy in Wall Street now such as 
 filled the heart of Edwiu Brothertoft on that 
 morning of a bygone century. The Billops of 
 our time live a league up town, and plot on Mur- 
 ray Hill for lovers of good family. 
 
 Edwin had found liis Pearl, — a glorious, flash- 
 ing Ruby rather. Its gleam exhilarated him. 
 His heart and his heels were so light, that he felt 
 as if he could easily spring to the top of the spire 
 of Old Trinity, which was at least a hundred feet 
 ■lower than the crocketty structure now pointing 
 the moral of Wall Street. He walked away from 
 Miss Billop's door in a maze of delight, too much 
 bewildered by this sudden bliss to think of ana- 
 lyzing it. 
 
 So the young payee, whose papa's liberal check 
 for his quarter's allowance has just been cashed, 
 may climb from the bank on the site of the Billop 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 47 
 
 house, as far as Broadway, content with the joy 
 of having tin, without desiring to tinkle it. 
 
 But at the corner Edwin's heart began to speak 
 to him with sentiments and style quite different 
 from the lady's. 
 
 " How she startled me with her brilliant beau- 
 ty ! How kind it was to think of my valuing the 
 portrait! How generously and how delicately 
 she offered it ! And I had done her the injustice 
 of a prejudice ! That wrong I will redress by 
 thinking of her henceforth all the more highly 
 and tenderly. 
 
 " Poor child ! a lonely orphan like myself. 
 She showed in all our interview how much she 
 yearned for friendship. Mine she shall have. 
 My love ? yes, yes, my love ! But that must 
 stay within my secret heart, and never find a 
 voice until I have fully assured my future. 
 
 "And this warm consciousness of a growing 
 true love shall keep me strong and pure and 
 brave. Thank God and her for this beautiful 
 influence ! With all the kindness I have met, 
 I was still lonely, still desponding. Now I am 
 jubilant ; everything is my friend and my com- 
 rade. Yes ; ring out, gay bells of Trinity ! What 
 is it you are ringing ? A marriage ? Ah, happy 
 husband ! happy bride ! I too am of the brother- 
 hood of Love. Eing, merry bells ! Your songs 
 shall be of blissful omen to my heart." 
 
VII. 
 
 Such soliloquies as those of the last chapter 
 presently led to dialogue of the same character. 
 
 The lady continued to scribble that brief ro- 
 mance, or rather that title of a romance. 
 
 " Lady Jane Brothertoft of Brothertoft Hall." 
 
 The lover for his part was not a dunce. He 
 soon perceived that it was his business to supply 
 the situations and the talk under this title, and 
 help the plot to grow. 
 
 It grew with alarming rapidity. 
 
 Tulips were thrusting their green thumbs 
 through the ground in the Dutch gardens of the 
 town when the young people first met. Tulips 
 had flaunted their day and gone to green seed- 
 vessels with a little ruffle at the top, and cabbage- 
 roses were in young bud, when the first act of 
 the drama ended. 
 
 The lady was hardly as coy as Galatea in the 
 eclogue. The lover might have been repelled 
 by the large share she took in the courtship. 
 But he was a true, blind, eager young lover, 
 utterly absorbed in a fanaticism of affection. 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEBrOFT. 49 
 
 Indeed, if in the tumult of his own bliss he had 
 perceived that the lady was reaching beyond 
 her line to beckon him, this would have seemed 
 another proof that she and he were both obeying 
 a Divine mandate. What young lover disputes 
 his mistress's right to share the passion ? 
 
 "I knew it," he said to her, by and by, — "I 
 knew from the first moment we met, that we 
 must love one another. "We are perfect counter- 
 parts, — the halves of a perfect whole. But you 
 the nobler. I felt from the moment that pleas- 
 ant incident of the portrait had brought us to- 
 gether, that we were to be united. I hardly 
 dared give my hope words. But I knew in my 
 heart that the benign powers would not let me 
 love so earnestly and yet desperately." 
 
 These fine fervors seemed to her a little ridic- 
 ulous, but very pretty. She looked in the glass, 
 where the little Cupids in the onion-wreaths were 
 listening, amused with Edwin's rhapsodies, smiled 
 to herself, then smiled to him, and said, " Matches 
 are made in heaven." 
 
 " I told you," he said, "that I had erased the 
 word Perhaps from my future. Now that I am 
 in the way to prosperity and distinction for my- 
 self, and that you smile, success offers itself to 
 me droUy. The Great Lawyer proposes to me a 
 quadruple salary, and quarters the time in which 
 I am to become a Horteusius. The Great Mer- 
 
50 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 
 
 chant ojQFers me three hundred a year at once, 
 a certain partnership, and promises to abandon 
 codfish and go into more fragrant business." 
 
 They laughed merrily over this. Small wit 
 wakes lovers' glee. 
 
 " I like you better in public life," she said. 
 " You must be a great man immediately." 
 
 " Love me, and I will be what you love." 
 
 "I am so glad I am rich. Such fine things 
 can be done with money." 
 
 "I should be terribly afraid of your wealth, 
 if I was not sure of success on my side. As it 
 is, we have the power of a larger usefulness." 
 
 " Yes," she said, carelessly. 
 
 He did not notice her indifferent manner, for 
 he had dashed into a declamation of his high 
 hopes for his country and his time. Those were 
 the days when ardent youths were foreseeing 
 Revolution and Independence. 
 
 She did not seem much interested in this 
 rhapsody. 
 
 " I love to hear you talk of England and the 
 great people you knew there," said she. " Is 
 not Brothertoft Manor-House very much like an 
 English country-seat ? " 
 
 "Yes; but if it were well kept up, there 
 would be no place so beautiful in England, — 
 none so grand by nature, I mean." 
 
 Here followed another rhapsody from this 
 
EDWIN BKOTHEKTOFT 51 
 
 poetic joutli on the Manor and its people, the 
 river and the Highlands. 
 
 She was proud of her lover's eloquence, al- 
 though she did not sympathize much in his 
 enthusiasms. She had. heard rivers talked of as 
 water-power or roads for water-carriage. Moun- 
 tains had been generally abused in the Billop 
 establishment as ungainly squatters on good soil. 
 Forests were so many feet of timber. Tenants 
 were serfs, who could be squeezed to pay higher 
 rents, and ought to be the slaves of their land- 
 lords. 
 
 But she listened, and felt complimented while 
 Edwin' painted the scenery of her new piece 
 of property with glowing fancy, and while he 
 made each of the tenants the hero of a pastoral 
 idyl. A manor that could be so commended 
 must be worth more money than she had sup- 
 posed, . . ,: 
 
 " I begin to long to see it," she said, with real 
 interest. " And that dear old fat Sam Gals- 
 worthy, who lent you the horse, I must thank 
 him." 
 
 "Why not go up, as soon as J[une is fairly 
 begun ? '^ 
 
 " Mr. Skaa,ts would not know all the pretty 
 places." 
 
 They looked at dach other an instant, — she 
 bold and imperious, he still timidly tender. 
 
52 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT 
 
 " If I only dared ! " he said. 
 
 " Men alwa,7s dare, do they not ? " she rejoined, 
 without flincliing. 
 
 " Are you lonely here ? " he asked. 
 
 " Bitterly, except when you come. Axe 
 you ? " 
 
 " Sadly, except when I am with you." 
 
 Another exchange of looks, — she a little soft- 
 ened, and oppressed with the remembrance of 
 the sudden, voiceless, unconscious death of her 
 father, — he softened too, measuring her loss by 
 his, tenderer for her than before, but not quite 
 so timid. 
 
 " Both very lonely," he continued, with a 
 smile. "Two negatives make an affirmative. 
 Do you love me ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I am already committed on that 
 subject." 
 
 " Why should we not put our two solitudes 
 together, and make society ? " 
 
 « Why not ? " 
 
 " Mr. Skaats would be a poor guide to Broth- 
 ertoft Manor." 
 
 " Mr. Skaats ! " she said impatiently, as if she 
 were dismissing a feline intruder. " We were 
 not talking of him." 
 
 " No. I was merely thmking I could recom- 
 mend you a better cicerone." 
 
 " Who can you possibly mean ? " 
 
EDWIN BKOTHERTOFT. 53 
 
 « Myself." 
 
 «Ah!" 
 
 "Brothertoft Manor would be a lovely place 
 to spend a honeymoon in." 
 
 "I long to see it, after your description." 
 
 "June there is perfection." 
 ' " June ! and this is May ! " 
 
 "Will you go there with me in June, my 
 dearest love?" 
 
 " Yes, Edwin." 
 
 It was agreed among all the gossips of the 
 Province — and the gossips were right — that 
 this was not a mercenary match. Youth and 
 beauty on both sides, what could be more nat- 
 ural than love and marriage? And then the 
 gossips went on to weigh the Brothertoft name 
 against the Billop fortune, and to pronounce — 
 for New York in those days loved blood more 
 than wampum — that the pounds hardly bal- 
 anced the pedigree. Both parties were in deep 
 mourning. Of course there could be no great 
 wedding. But all the female quality of the 
 Province crowded to Trinity Church to see the 
 ceremony. The little boys cheered lustily when 
 the Billop coach, one of the three or four in 
 town, brought its broadside to bear against the 
 church porch, and, opening its door, inscribed 
 with the Billop motto, "Per omnia ad opes," 
 
54 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 discharged the blushing bridegroom a ad Ms 
 bride. 
 
 The beadle — for beadles have strutted on our 
 soil — quelled the boys, and ushered the happy 
 pair to the chancel-rail. It is pleasant to know 
 that the furniture of the altar, reading-dest, and 
 pulpit, which met their eyes, was crimson dam- 
 ask of the "richest and costliest kind," and cost 
 in England forty-two pounds eleven shillings and 
 threepence. 
 
 Venerable Rector Barclay read the service, 
 witli a slight Mohawk accent. He had been' for 
 some years missionary among that respectable 
 tribe, — not, be it observed, the unworthy oiff- 
 shoot known as Mohocks and colonized in Lon- 
 don, — and had generally persuaded his disciples 
 to cut themselves down from polygamy to biga- 
 my. Reverend Samuel Auchmuty assisted the 
 Rector with occasional interjections of Amen. 
 
 The great officials of the Province could not 
 quit business at this hour ; but the Patroons who 
 happened to be in town mustered strong in 
 honor of their order. Of pretty girls there came 
 galore. Pages would fail to nanae them and 
 their charms. There was the espiegle Miss Jay, 
 of that fine old Huguenot Protestant stock, 
 which still protests pertinaciously against ini- 
 quity in Church and State. There was the sen- 
 dible Miss Schuyler, the buxom Miss Beekman, 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOPT. 65 
 
 Wglirbred Miss Van Rensselaer, Miss Winthrop^ 
 faultless in toilette and temper, Miss Morris, 
 wearing the imperious nose of her family, popu- 
 lar Miss Stuyvesant, that Amazonian filly Miss 
 Livingston, handsonie Mary Phillipse with her 
 determined chin, Julia Peartree Smith, nez en 
 Voir as usual, anij a score of others, equally 
 ffiir, and equally worthy of a place in a fashion- 
 able chronicle. 
 
 " Poor Edwin Brothertoft ! " said the Peartree 
 Smith, as the young ladies filed out after the cer- 
 emony. " Did you hear that bold creature make 
 her responses, 'I Jane take thee Edwin,' as if 
 she were liailing the organ loft. These vulgar 
 girls understand the policy of short engagements. 
 They don't wish to be found out. But company 
 manners will not last forever. Poor Mr. Brother- 
 toft ! vfhy could he not find a mature woman ? " 
 (Julia had this virtue, perhaps, to an exagger- 
 ated degree, and had been suspected of designs 
 uppn the bridegroom.) " Girls as young as she 
 is have had no chance to correct their ideal. 
 She will correct it at his expense. She will pres- 
 ently find out lie is not perfect, and then will 
 fancy some other man would have suited her bet- 
 ter. Women should have a few years of flirta- 
 tion before they settle in life. These pantalette 
 •narriages never turn out well. An engagement 
 of a few weeks to that purse-proud baby, her 
 
60 EDWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 
 
 father's daughter ! Poor Edwin Brothertoft ! 
 He will come to disappointment and grief.'' 
 
 With this, Miss Julia, striving to look Cassan- 
 dra, marches off the stage. 
 
 But Edwin Brothertoft had no misgivings. If 
 he had fancied any fault of temper in his be- 
 trothed, or perceived any divergence in principle, 
 he had said to himself, " My faithful love shall 
 gently name the fault, or point the error, and 
 her love shall faithfully correct them." 
 
 The Billop coach rumbled away on its little 
 journey down Wall Street. Parson Barclay 
 bagged his neat fee and glowed with good wishes. 
 The world buzzed admiration. The little boys 
 huzzaed. The bell-ringer tugged heartily at the 
 bell-rope. And at every tug of his, down on the 
 noisy earth, the musical bells, up in the serene 
 air, responded, " Go, happy pair ! All bliss, no 
 bale ! All bliss, no bale ! " 
 
 The rumble of the " leathern conveniency," 
 the applause of Young New York, and the 
 jubilation of the bells were so loud, that Edwin 
 was forced to lean very close to his wife's cheek 
 while he whispered: — 
 
 " We were alone, and God has given us each 
 a beloved companion. We are orphans ; we 
 ehall be all in all to one another. Long, long, 
 and always brightening years of thorough trust 
 and love, dearer than ever was dreamed, lie 
 
EDWIN BROTIIERTOFT. 67 
 
 before us. How happy we shall be in our 
 glowing hopes ! how happy in our generous am 
 bitions ! how happy in our earnest life ! Ah, 
 my love ! how can I love you enough for the gift 
 of this beautiful mon^ent, for the promise of tb»« 
 fairer time to come ' ' 
 
Vlll 
 
 Cassandea was right. The mamage went 
 wrong. 
 
 It was the old, old, young, young story. 
 
 But which of those old young stories? 
 
 Ah, yes! there are so many of them. And 
 yet all human tragedies belong to one Trilogy. 
 There are but three kinds of wrongs in our lives. 
 
 The wrongs a man does to his own soul or 
 body, or suffers in either. 
 
 The wrongs of man against his brother man. 
 
 The wrongs between man and woman. 
 
 This is one of the old young stories of the 
 wrong between man and woman. 
 
 It might be made a very long and very pain- 
 ful story. Chapter after chapter might describe 
 the gradual vanishing of illusions, the slight 
 divergence, the widening of estrangement, the 
 death of trust, the deceit on one side, the wear- 
 ing misery of doubt on the other, the dragging 
 march, step by step, day by day, to the final 
 wrong, the halt on the hither edge, and the 
 careless, the desperate, the irremediable plunge 
 at last. 
 
EDWm BROTHERTOFT, 59 
 
 But the statement of the result is sad enough. 
 Let all these dreary chapters be condensed into 
 one! 
 
 A fatality preceded the wrong. It was this : — 
 
 The woman was coarse, and the man was fine. 
 No 1 gentle influences had received her in the 
 facile days of childhood, and trained her nobler 
 nature to the masterhood. Her eyes had been 
 familiar with vulgar people and their vulgar 
 ways. Her ears had heard their coarse talk. 
 Her mind had narrowed to their ignoble meth- 
 ods of judgment. Her heart's desire had been 
 taught to be for the cheap and mundane posses- 
 sions, money, show, titles, place, notoriety ; and 
 not for the priceless and immortal wages of an 
 earnest life, Peacp, Joy, and Love. She could 
 not comprehend a great soul unless its body 
 were dubbed My Lord or Sir Edwin, and wore 
 some gaud of a star at the breast, or a ribbon 
 at the knee. 
 
 Poor child! She was young enough to be 
 docile. But after the blind happiness of that 
 honeymoon at Brothertoft Manor, the old feel- 
 ing of her first interview with her lover re- 
 vived and exasperated. 
 
 " I believe he wants to make me feel igno- 
 rant and vulgar," she thought, " so that he 
 can govern me. But he shall not. I intend 
 to be mistress. I 'm sick of his meek sugge»- 
 
60 EDWIN BftOTHEftTOFT. 
 
 tions. No sir; my way is my way, and I mean 
 to have it." 
 
 And so, rebuked by contact with a delicacy she 
 could not understand, she resolutely coarsened 
 herself, sometimes for spite, sometimes for sorry 
 consolation. Her unsensitive nature trampled 
 roughly on his scruples. 
 
 " My dear Jane," he said to her at Brothertoft, 
 " could you not instruct Mr. Skaats to be a little 
 more indulgent with the Manor tenants ? " 
 
 " Mr. Skaats's business is to get the rents, for 
 us to spend." 
 
 " But these people have been used to gentler 
 treatment." 
 
 " Yes ; they have been allowed to delay and 
 shirk as they pleased. My property must not be 
 wasted as yours was." 
 
 " It is a hard summer for them, with this 
 drought." 
 
 " It is an expensive summer for us, with these 
 repairs." 
 
 Again, when they were re-established in New 
 York, other causes of dispute came up. 
 
 " I wish, my dear Jane," he said, " that you 
 would be a little more civil with my patriot 
 friends from Boston." 
 
 " I don't like people who talk through their 
 noses." 
 
 " Forgive the twang for the sake of the good 
 sense." 
 
EDflTN BKOTHERTOFT. 61 
 
 " Good sense ! It seems to me tiresome grum- 
 bling. I hate the word ' Grievance.' I despise 
 the name Patriot." 
 
 " Eemember, my dear child, that I think Trith 
 t,h»=ft gentlemen ! " 
 
 " Yes ; and you are injuring your reputation 
 and your chances by it. A Brothertoft should 
 be conservative, and stand by his order." 
 
 "I try to be conservative of Right. I stand 
 by the Order of Worth, Courage, and Loyalty to 
 Freedom." 
 
 " 0, there you go again into your foggy meta- 
 physics ! " 
 
 Again, he came one day, and said, with much 
 concern : " My dear, I was distressed to know 
 from Skaats that your father's estate owned a 
 third of the ' Red Rover.' " 
 
 " Why ? " she asked, with no concern. 
 
 " I was sure you did not know, or you would 
 be as much shocked as I am. She is in the 
 slave-trade ! " 
 
 " Well. And I have often heard my father 
 call her a ' tidy bit of property,' and say she had 
 paid for herself a dozen times." 
 
 He could not make her comprehend his hatred 
 of this vile business, and his contempt, as a gen 
 tleman, for all the base subterfuges by which 
 base people tried to defend it. 
 
 The Red Rover fortunately did not remaL, a 
 
62 EDWIN I'.KOl'HERTOPT, 
 
 subject of discussion. On tljat very trip tlie N& 
 groes rose and broiled the captain and crew, — 
 and served them right. Then, being used only 
 to the navigation of dug-outs, they omitted to 
 pump the vessel, whereupon she sunk, and the 
 sharks had a festival. 
 
 , With, such divergences of opinion the first 
 year of this propitious marriage passed miserably 
 enough. Yet there was a time when it seemed 
 to the disappointed husband and the defiant wife 
 that their love might revive. 
 
 In 1758, ; Edwin Brothertoft, rich, aristocratic, 
 and a liberal, the pride of the Colony as its fore- 
 most young man, was selected as the mouthpiece 
 of a commission to present at; home a petition 
 and remonstrance. Such papers were flying 
 freely across the water at that time. Reanas of 
 paper must be fired before the time comes for 
 firing lead. 
 
 So to England went the envoy with his gor- 
 geous wife. They were received with much 
 distinction, as worthy young Americans from 
 Benicia and elsewhere still are. 
 
 " Huzzay ! " was the rapturous acclaim. " They 
 do not talk through rebel noses ! " 
 
 " Huzzay ! It is English they speak, not 
 Wigwamee ! " 
 
 " Huzzay ! The squaw is as beautiful as our 
 Fairest, and painted red and white by cunning 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT, 63- 
 
 Nature, not daubed with ochres. Huzzay! the 
 young sagamore is an Adonis. He beats Ches- 
 terfield at a bow and'Selwyn at a, mot." 
 
 .Mrs. Brothertoft grew proud of her husband, 
 and grateful to him that he had chastened her 
 Billop manners. 
 
 What a brilliant visit that was ! 
 : All the liberal statesmen — Pitt, Henry Fox, 
 Conway, mellifluous Murray — were glad to do 
 the young American honor. 
 
 Rugged Dr. Sam Johnson belabored him with 
 sesquipedalian words, but in a friendly way and 
 without bullying. He could be a good old boy, 
 if he pleased, with good young ones. 
 
 Young Mr. Burke was gratified that his friend 
 from a sublime and beautiful hemisphere appre^' 
 ciated the new treatise on the Sublime and Beau- 
 tifiil. 
 
 Young Mr. Joshua Reynolds was flattered that 
 the distinguished stranger consented to sit to 
 him, and in return tried to flatter the portrait. 
 
 Young Dr. Oliver Goldsmith, a poor Bohe- 
 mian, smattered in music an^ medicine, came 
 to inquire whether a clever man, out of pilace, 
 could find his niche in America. 
 
 Mr. Garrick, playing Ranger, quite lost his self- 
 possession when Mrs. Brothertoft first brought 
 her flashing black eyes and glowing cheeks into 
 the theatre, and only recovered when the audi- 
 
64 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 ence perceived the emotion and cheered it and 
 the lady together. 
 
 That . great dilettante, Mr. Horace Walpole, 
 made the pair a charming dijeimer at Straw- 
 berry Hill, upon which occasion he read aloud, 
 with much cadence, — as dilettante gentlemen 
 continue to do in our own time, — his friend Mr. 
 Gray's elaborate Elegy in a Country Churchyard, 
 just printed. After this literary treat, Mr. Hor- 
 ace said : " Tell me something about that clever 
 young aide-de-camp, Washington, who got Iro- 
 quois Braddock the privilege of dying in his 
 scalp. A brave fellow that! an honor to youi 
 country, sir." Mr. George Selwyn, the wit, was 
 also a guest. He looked maliciously out of his 
 " demure eyes," and said : " You forget, Horry, 
 that you used to name Major Washington ' a fan- 
 faron,' and laugh at him for calling the whiz 
 of cannon-balls ' a delightful sound.' " Where- 
 upon the host, a little abashed, laughed, and 
 said : " I wish such ' fanfarons ' were more 
 plenty in the army." And the sparkling gossip 
 did not relate how he had put this nickname 
 in black and white in a letter to Sir Horace 
 Mann, in whose correspondence it may still be 
 read, with abundance of other second-hand jokes. 
 
 What a gay visit it was of the young pair in 
 that brilliant moment of England ! 
 
 While Brothertoft, in the intervals of urging 
 
EDWIN BKOTHEETOFT. 65 
 
 his Petition and Remonstrance, discussed all the 
 sublime and beautiful things that are dreamt of 
 in philosophy with Mr. Burke, — while he talked 
 Art with Mr. Reynolds, poetry with Dr. Gold- 
 smith, and de omnibus rebus with Dr. Johnson, 
 — his wife was holding a little court of her own. 
 
 She was a new sensation, with her bold, wilful 
 beauty and her imperious Americanism. A new 
 sensation, and quite annihilated all the tradi- 
 tions of Mary Wortley Montagu and her Turkish 
 dress, when she appeared at a masquerade as 
 Pocahontas, in a fringed and quilled buckskin 
 robe, moccasons, and otter coronet with an eagle's 
 plume. 
 
 " I suppose that 's a scalping-knife she 's play- 
 ing with," said the Duke of Gurgoyle, inspect- 
 ing her in this attire. " And, by George, she 
 looks as if she could use it." 
 
 Then the ugly old monster, and the other 
 blase men, surrounded the Colonial beauty, and 
 fooled her with flattery. 
 
 Was she spoilt by this adulation ? 
 
 " Dear Edwin," she schemed, in a little visit 
 they made to Lincolnshire and the ruins of old 
 Brotliertoft Manor, " let us buy back this estate 
 and never return to that raw America. You 
 can go into Parliament, make one or two of your 
 beautiful speeches, and presently be a Peer, witl» 
 stars and garters." 
 
 % 
 
^6 EDWQ^ BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 "Does a garter straighten a leg? does a stai 
 ennoble a heart? Listen, my love, do you not 
 hear Great Tom of Lincoln warning me, as he 
 long ago warned my ancestor, ' Go home again, 
 Brothertoftj Liberty is in danger ' ? " 
 
 *' No," she rejoined, petulantly ; " a loyal bell 
 would not utter such treasonable notes. This 
 is what I hear : ' Oome again, Brothertoft^ Lord 
 of the old ■ Manor ! ' Liberty ! Liberty ! You 
 tire me with your idle fancies. Why will you 
 throw away name and fame ? " 
 
 " I will try to gain them, since they are pre- 
 cious to you; but they must come in the way 
 of duty." 
 
 There was peril in these ambitions of hers ; 
 but the visionary husband thought, " How can I 
 wonder that her head is a little turned with 
 adulation ? She merits it all, my beautiful wife ! 
 But she will presently- get the court glare out 
 of her eyes. Wheii our child is born, a pledge 
 of our restored affection, she will recognize 
 deeper and tenderer duties^" 
 
 The Brothertoft embassy was a social success, 
 but a political failure. 
 
 The lewd old dolt of a King sulkily pool>j)ooh- 
 ed B.emonstrance and Petition. 
 
 " You ouglit to have redress," says Pitt, " but 
 I am hardly warm in my seat of Prime Minister. 
 \ ciMi only be a tacit friend at present/' 
 
EDWIN BROTHKBTOFT. 67 
 
 " Go home and wait," says Ben Franklin, a 
 shrewd old Boston-boy, — fond of tricks with kites, 
 keys, and kerchiefs, — who was at that time resi- 
 dent in London. " Wait awhile ! I have not 
 been fingering thunderbolts so long, without 
 learning that people may pooh-pooh at the cloudd, 
 and say the flashes are only heat-lightning ; but 
 by and by they '11 be calling upon the cellars to 
 take 'em in, and the feather-beds to cover 'em." 
 
 The Brothertofts went home. England forgot 
 them, and relapsed into its belief, — 
 
 .That on the new continent the English colo- 
 nists could not remain even half-civilized Yen- 
 geese, but sank to absolute Yankees, — 
 
 Whose bows were contortions, and smiles 
 grimaces ; 
 
 Whose language was a nasal whoop of Anglo- 
 Iroquois ; 
 
 And who needed to be bolused with Stamp 
 Acts and drenched with Tea Duties, while Tom 
 Gage and Jack Burgoyne pried open their teeth 
 with the sword. 
 
 There was one visible, tangible, ponderable re- 
 sult of the Brothertofts' visit to England. 
 
 Lucy Brothertoft, an only child, was born, — 
 a token of love revived, — alas ! a monument of 
 love revived to die and be dismissed among 
 memories. 
 
 If the wife had been a true wife, how swoetly 
 
68 EDWIN BKOTHEKTOFT. 
 
 her affection for her husband would have re- 
 doubled for him in his new relation of father. 
 Here was a cradle for rendezvous. Why not clasp 
 hands and renew vows across it ? This smiling, 
 siuless child, — why could it not recall to either 
 parent's face a smile of trust and love ? 
 
 But this bliss was not to be. 
 
 Ring sadly, bells of Trinity ! It is the chris- 
 tening day. Alas ! the chimes that welcome the 
 daughter to the bosom of the church are toll- 
 ing the knell of love in the household where 
 she will grow to womanhood. 
 
 The harmonious interlude ended. The old, 
 old story went on. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the 
 wife grew to hate her husband. Sadly, sadly, 
 sadly, he learned to only pity her. 
 
 The visit to England had only more com- 
 pletely enamored her of worldliness. She 
 missed the adulation of My Lord and Sir Harry. 
 Her husband's love and approval ceased to be 
 sufficient for her. And when this is said, all is 
 said. 
 
 It was a refinement of cruelty in the torture 
 days to bind a living man to a corpse. Dead 
 lips on living lips. Lumpish heart at throbbing 
 heart. Glazed eyes so close that their stare 
 could be felt, not seen, by eyes set in horror. 
 Death grappUng, and Life wrestling itself to 
 Death. Have we never seen this, now that the 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEKTOFT. 69 
 
 days of bodily torture are over ? Have we seen 
 no delicate spirit of a woman quelled by the em- 
 braces of a brute ? Have we seen no high and 
 gentle-hearted man bound to a coarse, base wife, 
 and slain by that body of death ? 
 
 The world, the oyster, sulked when the young 
 man it had so generously gaped for quite lost his 
 appetite for fat things. 
 
 " Shame ! " said the indignant Province. 
 " We had unanimously voted Edwin Brothertoft 
 our representative gentleman. He was ardent 
 and visionary, and we forgave him. He was 
 mellifluous, grammatical, ornamental, and we 
 petted him. We were a little plebeian, and 
 needed an utterly brave young aristocrat to 
 carry our oriflamme, and we thrust the staff 
 into his hand. Shame, Brothertoft! you have 
 gulled us. It is the old story, — premature blos- 
 som, premature decay. The hare sleeps. The 
 tortoise swallows the prize! To the front, ye 
 plodders, slow, but sure ! And you, broken- 
 down Brothertoft, retire to the back streets ! 
 wear the old clothes ! and thank your stars, if we 
 consent to pay you even a starvation salary ! " 
 
 " Poor Jane Billop ! " said Julia Peartree 
 Smith, who was now very intimate with that 
 lady. " I always said it would be so. I knew 
 she would come to disappointment and grief. 
 The Brothertofts were always weak as water. 
 
70 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 And this mercenary fellow hurried her into a 
 marriage, a mere child, after an engagement of 
 a few weeks. No wonder she despises him. I 
 do, heartily. What lovely lace this is. I won- 
 der if she could n't give me another yard ! 
 Heigh ho ! Nobody smuggles for me ! " 
 
 Brother patriots, too, had their opinion on 
 the subject of Brothertoft's withdrawal into ob- 
 scurity. 
 
 "These delicate, poetical natures," said our 
 old friend, Patroon Livingston, " feel very 
 keenly the blight of political enslavement. 
 Well may a leader droop, when his comrades 
 skulk ! I tell you, gentlemen, that it is our 
 non-committal policy which has disheartened 
 our friend. When we dare to stand by him, 
 and say, ' Liberty or death ! ' the man will be 
 a man again, — yes, a better man than the best 
 of us. I long to see his eye kindle, and hear his 
 voice ring again. I love a gentleman, when he 
 is man enough to be free." 
 
 But whoever could have looked into this 
 weary heart would have read there a sadder 
 story than premature decay, a deadlier blight 
 than political enslavement, a crueller and closer 
 wrong than the desertion of comrades. 
 
 Wrong! it had come to that, — the final 
 wrong between man and woman, — the catas- 
 trophe of the first act of the old, old tragedy. 
 
EbWiN BEOTHEKTOFt. tl 
 
 These pages do not tolerate the details of 
 this bitter wrong. 
 
 The mere facts of guilt are of little value 
 except to the gossip and the tipstaff; but how 
 the wounded and the wounding soul bear them- 
 selves after the crime, that is one of the needful 
 lessons of life. 
 
IX. 
 
 Red. 
 
 That was the color now master in Mrs. Broth- 
 
 ertoft's houses, town and country. 
 
 Supercilious officers, in red coats, who were 
 addressed as General or My Lord, insolent of- 
 ficers, in red coats, hight Colonel or Sir Har- 
 ry, arranged their laced cravats at the mirror 
 under the rampant eagle, or lounged on the 
 sofas. 
 
 There were plenty of such personages now in 
 New York, and Mrs. Brothertoft's house made 
 them all welcome. Regimental talk, the dullest 
 and thinnest of all the shop talks talked among 
 men, was the staple of conversation over her 
 Madeira at her dinners, grand, or enfamille, Men 
 
 Now and then a nasal patriot from Down East, 
 or a patriot Thee-and-Thouer from Philadelphia, 
 knocked at the door and inquired for Mr. Broth- 
 ertoft. 
 
 " Out of town, Sir," was the reply of the wiggy 
 uegro. 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT. 73 
 
 " Wlien do you expect him back ? " 
 
 " Don't know, Sir," the porter replied, rather 
 sadly. 
 
 The patriot retired, and the negro closed the 
 door with a sigh, — the pompous sigh of an old 
 family servant. 
 
 " No," muttered he, " I don't know when he'll 
 be back. He never would come back if he knew 
 about the goings on in this house. He never 
 would anyhow, if it wasn't to look after Miss 
 Lucy. There she comes down stairs, I '11 ask 
 her. Miss Lucy ! " 
 
 A gentle, graceful little girl, of the Brother- 
 toft type, turned at the foot of the stairs and 
 answered, " What, Voltaire ? " 
 
 "Do you know. Miss, where your father is, 
 now ? " 
 
 " No," she replied, half sadly, half coldly. 
 
 " A gentleman was just asking when he would 
 be back." 
 
 " He does not inform us of his motions." 
 
 She seemed to shrink from the subject, as if 
 there were guilt in touching it. 
 
 Voltaire looked forlornly after her, as she 
 passed into the parlor. Then he shook his fist 
 indignantly at a great palmated pair of moose- 
 horna, mounted as a hat-stand in the hall. On 
 die right-brow antler hung a military cockad 
 
74 EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 hat. On the left bezantler, a pert little fatigue 
 cap was suspended. 
 
 " It 's too bad," Voltaire began. 
 
 Black babble has become rather a bore in liter- 
 ature. Voltaire, therefore, will try not to talk 
 Tombigbee. 
 
 " It 's too bad," muttered the negro, in futile 
 protest, " to see them fellows hanging up their 
 hats here, and the real master — the real gentle- 
 man — shamed out of house and home. 
 
 " It 's too bad," he continued despohdingly, 
 " to see Miss Lucy, as sweet a little lady as ever 
 stepped, taught to think her father a good-for- 
 nothing spendthrift and idler, if not worse. Tlie 
 madam will never let her see him alone. The 
 poor child is one of the kind that believes what is 
 told to 'em. No wonder she is solemn as Sunday 
 all the time. I don't see anything to be done. 
 But I '11 go down and ask Sappho." 
 
 Again he shook his fist at those enormous 
 excrescences from the brow of a bold Cervus 
 alces, — a moose that once walked the High- 
 lands near Brothertoft Manor. Then he sham- 
 bled down stairs to his wife Sappho's boudoir, 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Blacker than Sappho of Lesbos ever looked 
 when Phaon cried, Avaunt ! was this namesake 
 of the female Sam Patch of Leucadia. But 
 through her eyes and mouth good-humor shone, 
 
EDWIN B80THERT0FT. 75 
 
 as the jolly fire shines through the chinks of the 
 black funiace-doors under a boiler. 
 
 "Things goes wrong in this house, all but 
 your cooking department, Sappho, and my but- 
 ler department," says Voltaire. " The master is 
 shamed away, and is oflF properogaling liberty. 
 The mistress, — I suppose we 'd better not say 
 nothing about her." 
 
 Sappho shook her head, and stirred her soup. 
 
 " But Miss Lucy is going to be a big girl pretty 
 soon. Her mother is making her mistrust her 
 father. She 's got no friends. What will come 
 of her?" 
 
 Sappho tasted her soup. It was savory. 
 
 " Voltaire," says she, striving to talk a dialect 
 worthy of her name, and hitting half-way to 
 English, "Voltaire, Faith is what you wants. 
 You is not got the Faith of a free colored gen- 
 tleman, member of one of de oldest families in 
 all Westchester. You is got no more Faith than 
 them Mumbo Jumbo Billop niggers what immi- 
 grated in the Red Rover. You jess let de Lord 
 look after Miss Lucy. She is one after de Lord's 
 own heart." 
 
 "But the Devil has put his huf into this 
 house." 
 
 " If you was a cook, you 'd have more Faith. 
 Jest you taste that soup now. How is it ? " 
 
 " Prime," says Voltaire, blowing and sipping. 
 
76 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 "You taste it, Plato," she repeated, dipping 
 another ladle from the pot, and offering to her 
 son, heir of his father's philosophic dignity, and 
 his mother's Socratic visage. " How is it ? " 
 
 " Prime ! " says this second connoisseur. ' 
 
 " Now, what you guess is the most important- 
 est thing in this soup ? " 
 
 " Conundrums is vulgar, particular for ladies," 
 says Voltaire, loftily. 
 
 " That 's because you can't guess." 
 
 " Poh ! it 's easy enough," says he. " Beef! " 
 
 " No. You guess, Plato." 
 
 " B'ilin' water," cries he, sure of his solution. 
 
 Sappho shook her head. 
 
 " Turkey carcasses," propounded Voltaire, with 
 excitement. 
 
 " Onions," offered Plato, with eagerness. 
 
 " No," says Sappho, " it 's Faith ! " 
 
 " I was jest a goin' to say Faith," Plato un- 
 blushingly asserted. 
 
 " You see," Sappho explained, " I takes beef, 
 — bery well ! and b'ilin' water, — bery well ! and 
 turkey carcasses, and onions, and heaps of things, 
 and puts 'em into a pot on the fire. Then I has 
 Faith." 
 
 « Poh ! " cried Voltaire. « 'T was n't a fair 
 conundrum ; you has the Faith into yourself." 
 
 " Then I takes Faith," repeated Sappho, with- 
 out ivoticing this interruption, " Faith, that these 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT. 77 
 
 'gredients which is not soup is comin' soup in 
 de Lord's time, an dey aliuz comes soup." 
 
 " And the primest kind ! " Plato interjected, 
 authoritatively. 
 
 " So," continued Sappho, improving the les- 
 son, " soup and roast geese, and pies and pan- 
 cakes risin' over night, has taught me disyer 
 proverb, ' Wait, and things comes out right at 
 last.' So it 's boun' to be with Miss Lucy." 
 
 This logic convinced the two namesakes of 
 philosophers, and they carried up dinner, in a 
 perplexed but patient mood. 
 
 My Lord and Sir Harry were both dining there 
 that day. 
 
 " Do you know what has become of our host- 
 ess's husband ? " asked My Lord, as they lounged 
 off after dinner. 
 
 " He 's going about the Provinces, stirring up 
 rebellion after a feeble fashion," said Sir Harry. 
 "I believe that fellow Gaine pays him a few 
 shillings a week for editing his ^ Mercury,' when 
 he is in New York." 
 
 " If I was Governor Tryon I'd have that dirty 
 sheet stopped. He's a new broom. He ought 
 to make a clean sweep of all these Freedom 
 Shriekers." 
 
 Such then was the condition of things in the 
 Brothertoft family at the beginning of Tryon's 
 administration. 
 
78 EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT. 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft had not become an absolute 
 stranger to his old home, for two reasons. He 
 pitied his guilty wife. He loved liis innocent 
 daughter. He could not quite give up the hope 
 that his wife might need his pardon, by and by, 
 wlien sin soured to her taste. He must never 
 totally abandon his child to the debasing influ- 
 ences about her, though he had no power or in- 
 fluence to rescue her now, — that disheartened 
 and broken-down man, contemned by the world 
 as a purposeless idler. 
 
 Matters had net reached this pass in one year 
 nor until many years, — dreary to imagine, far 
 too dreary to describe. 
 
 Who shall enumerate the daily miseries in that 
 hapless house ? Who shall count the cruel little 
 scratches of the poniard, with which the wife 
 practised for her final stab ? What Recording 
 Angel kept tally of the method she took to mur- 
 der his peace, that he might know it was mur- 
 dered, dead, dead, dead, and not exasperate hej 
 with his patient hope that it might recover ? 
 
 Her fortune gave her one weapon, — a savage 
 one in those vulgar hands. She used this power 
 insolently, as baser spirits may. She would have 
 been happy to believe, what she pretended, that 
 her husband married her for money. Often sho 
 told him so. Often she reproached him with her 
 own disappointment. 
 
EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 79 
 
 " Did 1 marry you," she would say, " to be in- 
 efficient and obscure, — a mere nobody in the 
 world? You were to be a great man, — that 
 was your part of the bargain. You knew I was 
 ambitious. I had a right to be. You have had 
 everything to give you success, — everytliing ! " 
 
 " Not quite everything," he said sadly. " Not 
 Love ! " 
 
 Ah miserable woman ! as she grew practised 
 in deceit and wrong, she hated her husband more 
 and more. 
 
 She maddened herself against him. She 
 blamed him as the cause of her evil choices. 
 
 " It is his fault, not mine," she said to herself. 
 " He ought to have controlled me, and then I 
 should not have done what makes me ashamed 
 to face his puny face. He ought to have said, 
 ' You shaU and you shall not,' instead of his 
 feeble, ' Is this wise, Jane ? Is this delicate ? Is 
 tliis according to your nobler nature ? ' I don't 
 like to be pleaded with. A despot was what I 
 needed. If he was half a man, he would take a 
 whip to me, — yes, beat me, and kick all my 
 friends out of doors and be master in the house. 
 That I could understand." 
 
 She maddened herself against him more and 
 more. Slie so yielded to an insolent hate, that 
 she was no better than a mad woman while he 
 was by to enrage her with his patient, crushed. 
 
80 EDWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 
 
 and yet always courteous demeanor, — a sorrow 
 ful shadow of the ardent, chivalric Edwm Broth- 
 ertoft of yore. 
 
 " Why not kill the craven-spirited wretch ? " 
 she thought, " or have him killed ? He would 
 be better dead, than living and scorned ? Once 
 rid of him, and I could take my beauty and my 
 wealth to England, and be a grand lady after all. 
 Lady Brothertoft of Brothertoft Hall ! that was 
 what I had a right to expect. He could have 
 given it to me. The fool was capable enough. 
 Everybody said he might be what ho pleased. 
 Why could he not love real things ? a splendid 
 house, plenty of slaves, a name, a title, instead 
 of this ridiculous dream of Liberty. Liberty ! if 
 he and his weak-minded friends only dared strike 
 a blow, — if they only would rebel, — he might be 
 got rid of. Then I should be free. Ah, I will 
 have my triumphs yet ! Kings have loved wo- 
 men not half so handsome ! " 
 
 And with red, unblushing cheeks she looked 
 at herself in the mirror, and hated that obstruc- 
 tion, her husband, more and more. 
 
 A mad hate, which she would gladly have 
 gratified with murder. The air often seemed to 
 her full of Furies, scourging her on to do the 
 deed. Furius flitted before lier, proffering pal- 
 pable weapons, — weapons always of strange and 
 Antique fashion, such as she had seen aiid ban- 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEKTOFX. 81 
 
 died in old museums in England. She re- 
 membered now with what pleasure she used to 
 play with them, while she listened quietly to 
 some sinister legend, and knew how the stain 
 came on the blade. 
 
 " Kill him ! " the Furies cried to her. It was 
 a sound like the faint, distant cry one hears in 
 a benighted forest, and wonders whether the 
 creature be beast or man. 
 
 " Not yet," she answered, aloud, to this hail 
 in the far background of her purposes. 
 
 The postponement seemed to imply a promise, 
 and she perceived the circle of shadowy Furies 
 draw a little step nearer, and shout to each 
 other in triumph, " ' Not yet ' ; she says, ' Not 
 yet.' " 
 
 So her hate grew more and more akin to a 
 madness, as every cruel or base passion, even 
 the silliest and most trifling, will, if fondled. 
 
 Slie found, by and by, that the cruellest stab 
 she could give to the man she had wronged was 
 through his daugliter. 
 
 " Lucy is all Brothertoft, and no Billop," Julia 
 Peartree Smith often said. " It 's all wrong ; she 
 ought to take after her strong parent, not her 
 weak one." 
 
 There was a kind of strength incomprehensible 
 to the old tabby. Nor did she know the law of 
 the transmission of spiritual traits, — with what 
 
82 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 fine subtlety they get themselves propagated, and 
 prevail over coarser and cruder forces. 
 
 Lucy was all Brothertoft. In her early days 
 she did not show one atom of the maternal char- 
 acter. That made the mother's uifluence more 
 commanding. The child loved the mother with 
 a modification of the same passion that the father 
 had felt for a nature he deemed his nobler coun- 
 terpart. The father was so much like his daugh- 
 ter that she could not comprehend him, until 
 she was ripe enough to comprehend herself. 
 Crude contrasts are earliest perceived, earliest 
 appreciated, and earliest admired, in character 
 as in art. 
 
 So without any resistance Mrs. Brothertoft 
 wielded Lucy. She let the child love her and 
 confide in her exclusively. But she hated he- 
 She hated Edwin Brothertoft's daughter. There 
 was the girl growing more and more like him, 
 day by day. There were the father's smile, the 
 father's manner, the father's voice, even the 
 father's very expressions of endearment, forever 
 reproaching the mother with old memories re- 
 vived. 
 
 Ah this miserable woman ! She learnt to fear 
 her daughter, — to dread the inevitable day when 
 that pure nature would recoil from liers. She 
 ivatched the gentle face covertly. When would 
 that look of almost lover-like admiration depart ? 
 
EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 88 
 
 Wlien would disgust be visible ? When would 
 the mild hazel eyes perceive that the bold black 
 eyes could not meet them ? When would the 
 fair obeeks burn with an agonizing blush of 
 shame '? 
 
 " Whfin will the girl dare to pity me, as that 
 poor wretch her father does ? " she thought. 
 
 This gentle, yielding, timid creature became 
 her mothor's angel of vengeance. Mrs. Brother- 
 toft never met her after an hour of separation 
 without a wild emotion of terror. 
 
 "Has she discovered 'r Does she know what 
 I am? Did some tattler whisper it to her in 
 the street ? The winds are always uttering a 
 name to mo Has she heard it, too ? Did she 
 dream last night ? Has her dream told her what 
 her mother is ? If she kisses me, I am safe." 
 
 Yes. Sweet Lucy always had the same eager 
 caress ready. She so overflowed with love to 
 those she trusted, that she was content with her 
 own emotion, and did not measure the tempera- 
 ture of the answering caress. 
 
 Ah this miserable mother! as false to mater- 
 nal as to marital love. It became her task to 
 poison the daughter against her father. If these 
 two should ever imderstand each other, if there 
 should ever be one little whisper of confidence 
 between them, if she should ever have to face 
 the thought of their contempt, — what then ? 
 
84 EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT 
 
 Agony would not let her think, " What then ? " 
 She must prevent the understanding, make the 
 confidence impossible ; it must be her business 
 to educate and aim the contempt. 
 
 How perseveringly, craftily, ably she accom- 
 plished this ! How slowly she mstilled into her 
 child's mind the cumulative poison of distrust. 
 Often the innocent lips shrank from the bitter 
 potion. One day she might reject it. But the 
 next, there was the skilful poisoner, — her 
 mother. 
 
 " You cannot doubt me, Lucy," the woman 
 would say, looking aside as she commended her 
 chalice. " If it distresses you to hear such 
 things of your father, how much bitterer must 
 it be for me to say them!" 
 
 These pages again refuse to tolerate the de- 
 tails of this second crime. Let that too pass 
 behind the curtain. 
 
 Closed doors then ! for the mother is at last 
 saying that her husband has grown baser and 
 baser, — so utterly lost to all sense of honor that 
 she must exclude him from her house, and that 
 her daughter must herself tell him that she will 
 never see him again. 
 
 Closed doors, while the innocent girl tiings 
 herself into the guilty woman's arms, and, weep- 
 ing, promises to obey. 
 
 Closed doors, and only God to see and listen, 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEETOFT. 85 
 
 while Lucy, alone in her chamber, prays forgive- 
 ness for her father, and pity for his desolate 
 and heart-weary child. 
 
 Closed doors upon the picture of this fair girl, 
 worn out with agony and asleep. And walking 
 through her dreams that grisly spectre Sin, who 
 haunts and harms .the nights and days of those 
 who repel, hardly less cruelly than he haunts 
 and harms them who embrace him. 
 
 It was a tearful April morning of 1775, when 
 this final interview took place. 
 
 " Let me understand this," said Edwin Broth- 
 ertoft, with the calmness of a practised sufferer. 
 " My daughter has made up her mind never to 
 see me again ? " 
 
 " She has," said Mrs. Brothertoft. 
 
 With what quiet, cruel exultation she spoke 
 these words ! Exultation mixed witli terror for 
 the thought, " I have schooled the girl. But she 
 may still rebel. She may spring to him, and 
 throw herself into his arms, and then the two 
 will turn upon me, and point with their fingers, 
 and triumph." 
 
 " I cannot take my answer from you, madam," 
 he said. 
 
 " I have no other answer to give," said Lucy. 
 
 " None ? " he asked again. 
 
 " None," she replied. 
 
86 EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 
 
 Her coldness was the result of utter bewilder- 
 ment and exhaustion. It seemed to him irreme- 
 diable hardness and coarseness of heart. 
 
 " She is her bad mother's base daughter," he 
 thought. " I will think of her no more." 
 
 Does this seem unnatural ? Remember how 
 easily a lesser faith is slain, when the first great 
 faith has perished. The person trusted with the 
 whole heart proves a Lie ; then for a time all 
 persons seem liars ; then for a time the deceived, 
 if they are selfish, go cynical ; if they are gen- 
 erous, they give their faith to great causes, 
 to great ideas, and to impersonal multitudes. 
 Household treachery keeps the great army of 
 Reform recruited. 
 
 " Tliis girl," thought Edwin Brothertoft, " can- 
 not be so blind as not to know why her mother 
 and I are separated. And yet she chooses her, 
 and discards me. I knew that the woman once 
 my wife could never be my wife again. I knew 
 that our lips could never meet, our hands never 
 touch. But I hoped — yes, I was weak enough 
 to hope — that, when sin and sorrow had taught 
 us their lessons, and the day for repentance and 
 pardon came, we might approach each other in 
 the person of our daughter, beloved by both 
 alike. I was father and my wife mother in the 
 honorable days gone by. Our child might teach 
 the father and the mother a different love, not of 
 
KDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 87 
 
 the flesh, but of the spirit. This was my hope. 
 I let it go. Why should I louger keep up this 
 feeble struggle with these base people, who have 
 ruined my life ? I have no daughter. I never 
 had a wife. I forget the past. God forgive me 
 if I abandon a duty ! God give me opportunity, 
 if he wills that I ever resume it again ! " 
 
 As he walked up Wall Street, moodily re- 
 flecting after this fashion, he heard a voice call 
 him. 
 
 « Mr. Brothertoft ! " 
 
 This hail came from the nose of a hurried 
 person who had just turned the corner of Smith 
 — now William — Street, and was making for ' 
 the wife's house, when he saw the husband. 
 
 " Mr. Brothertoft ! " twanged sharp after the 
 retreating figure. There was an odd mixture 
 of alarm and triumph in these nasal notes. 
 
 " Call me by some other name ! " said the one 
 addressed, turning. " What you please, but 
 never that again." 
 
 " Waal ! " says the other, speaking Bostonee, 
 through a nose high Boston, " you might n't like 
 my taste in baptism, so I '11 call you Cap'n, — 
 that 's safe. Cap'n," he continued in a thrilling 
 whisper, through that hautboy he played on, 
 " Cap'n, we've shed and drawed the fust blood 
 fur Independence. Aperel 19 wuz the day. 
 Lexington wuz wher we shed. Comcud wua 
 
88 EDWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 
 
 wher we drawed. Naow, if you'll jest pint and 
 poot fur Bosting, you '11 pint and poot fur a lo- 
 cality wher considdable phlebotomy is ter be 
 expected baout thes'; times, and wher Patriots 
 is wanted jest as fast as they can pile in." 
 
 Clang out your alarums, bells of Trinity! 
 others may need awakening. Not he who was 
 named Edwin Brothertoft. He is gone already to 
 fight in the old, old battle — forever old, forever 
 new — of freedom against tyranny, of the new 
 thoughts against the old facts. 
 
 " So your husband 's on his way to get himself 
 shot or hung. And a good riddance, I suppose, 
 Madam B.," said coarse Sir Harry. 
 
 " The beautiful widow will not cry her eyes 
 out," said My Lord with his usual sneer. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft writhed a little under this 
 familiarity. 
 
 Like many another, who says, "Deteriora se- 
 quar," she wished to go to the bad with a stately 
 step and queenly mien. That is not permitted 
 by the eternal laws. Ah, miserable woman ! she 
 was taught to feel how much the gentleman 
 she had betrayed was above the coarse asso- 
 ciates she had chosen. 
 
 She missed him, now that he was gone irrevo- 
 cably. 
 
 Had there been then in her heart any relics of 
 (he old l(^e ? Had she cherished some vague 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEKTOFT. 89 
 
 purpose of repentance, some thought of tears, 
 some hope of pardon ? 
 
 Had her torture of her husband been only a 
 penance for herself? Was it the hate which is 
 so akin to love ? Could this be a self-hatred for 
 a self that has wasted the power of loving, — a 
 hate that is forever wreaking vengeance for this 
 sad loss upon the object the heart most longs to 
 love, — the only one that can remind that heart 
 of its impotency ? Had she been acting uncon- 
 sciously by the laws of such a passion ? 
 
 And this exasperating influence banished, 
 would she have [leaco at last? Would the 
 Furies let her alone ? Would the hints of mur- 
 der vanish and be still ? Would she be a free 
 woman, now, to follow out htr purposes ? 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft had disappeared. Deserters 
 from the rebel army could give no news of such 
 a person. 
 
 Julia Peartree Smith often suggested to her 
 friend the welcome thought that he was dead. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft could not believe it. Some- 
 thing whispered her that there would .be another 
 act in the drama of her married life. 
 
PART IL 
 
Buff and Blue. 
 
 Dear, faithful old colors ! They never appeared 
 more brave and trusty than in Major Skerrett's 
 coat, — a coat of 1777. 
 
 " White at the seams of the blue, soiled at the 
 edges of the buff," said the Major, inspecting 
 himself in a triangular bit of looking-glass. " I 
 must have a new one, if I can find a tailor who 
 will take an order on the Goddess of Liberty in 
 pay. Good morning, Mrs. Birdsell." 
 
 This salutation he gave as he passed out of the 
 little house in Fishkill where he had been quar- 
 tered last night. 
 
 " Good mornin', Sir," returned Mrs. Birdsell, 
 rushing out of her kitchen, with a rolling-pin in 
 hand, and leaving her pie-crust flat on its back, 
 all dotted with dabs of butter, as an ermine cape 
 is with little black tails. 
 
 She looked after him, as he stepped out into the 
 village street. Her first emotion was feminine 
 admiration, — her second, feminine curiosity. 
 
94 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 " What a beautiful young man ! " she said to 
 her respectable self. " Sech legs ! Sech hair, 
 — jest the color of ripe chesnut burrs, — only I 
 don't like that streak of it on his upper lip. 
 I 've oUuz understood from Deacons that the 
 baird of a man cum in with Adam's fall and waz 
 to be shaved off. Naow I 'd give a hul pie to 
 know what Gineral Washington 's sent him on 
 here for. It's the greatest kind of a pity he 
 did n't come a few days before. That old granny, 
 Gineral Putnam, would n't hev let Sirr Henery 
 Clinton grab them forts down to the Highlands, 
 if he'd bed, sech a young man as this to look 
 arter him and spry him up." 
 
 Before he continued his walk. Major Skerrett 
 paused a moment for a long hearty draught of 
 new October, — new American, a finer tipple than 
 old English October. 
 
 Finer and cheaper ! In fact it was on free tap. 
 
 No cask to bore. No spigot to turn. No 
 pewter pot to fill. Major Skerrett had but to 
 open his mouth and breathe. He inhaled, and 
 he had swallowed Science knows how many 
 quarts of that mellow golden nectar, the air of 
 an American October morning. It was the per- 
 fection of potables, — as much so then in 1777, 
 as it is now in 1860. 
 
 " I have seen the lands of many men, and 
 drained their taps," soliloquized the Major, paro- 
 
EDWIN BBaXHEETOFT. wS 
 
 dying the Odyssey ; " but never, in the bottle 
 or out of the bottle, tasted I such divine stuff 
 as this. lilies and roses, what a bouquet ! 
 peaches and pippins, what a flavor! hickory- 
 nuts and chinkapins, what an aroma ! More, 
 Hebe, more ! Let me swig ! — forgive the word ! 
 But one drinks pints ; and I want gallons, pun- 
 cheons." 
 
 While he is indulging in this harmless de- 
 bauch, let Mrs. Birdsell's question, " What did 
 General Washington send him on for ? " be 
 answered. 
 
 " Peter," said Washington familiarly to Major 
 Skerrett, his aide-de-camp, " I have written pe- 
 remptorily several times to General Putnam to 
 send me reinforcements. They do not come." 
 
 The chief was evidently somewhat in the dumps 
 there at his camp, near Pennibecker's Mill, on 
 the Perkiomy Creek, twenty miles from Phila- 
 delphia, at the end of September, 1777. 
 
 " T suppose," the Major suggested, " that Put- 
 nam cannot get out of his head his idle scheme 
 for the recapture of New York, — that ' suicidal 
 parade,' as Aleck Hamilton calls it." 
 
 " I must have the men. Our miserable busi- 
 ness of the Brandywine must be done over." 
 
 " Yes ; Sir William Howe is bored enough 
 in Philadelphia by this time. Everybody always 
 is there. It would be only the courtesy of war 
 
96 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 to challenge him out, and then beat him awaj 
 to jollier quarters." 
 
 " I do not like to challenge him unless I have 
 a couple of thousand more men. You must 
 take a little ride, Major, up to Old Put at Peeks- 
 kill, and see that they start." 
 
 " The soldier obeys. But he sighs that he 
 may miss a battle or an adventure." 
 
 " Adventures sprout under the heels of knights- 
 errant like you, Peter. Peekskill is not many 
 miles away from the spot of one of my young 
 romances." 
 
 The noble old boy paused an instant, senti- 
 mental with the recollection of handsome Mary 
 Phillipse and nineteen years ago. 
 
 " The men will come like drawing teeth," 
 he resumed. " Old Put is — what was that Latin 
 phrase you used about him to Lafayette the other 
 day ? " 
 
 " Tenax propositi," Skerrett replied. 
 
 " Anglice, obstinate as a mule. Ah, Skerrett! 
 we poor land-surveyors, that had to lug levels 
 and compasses through the woods, know little 
 Latin and less Greek. But there was more of 
 your quotation, to express the valuable side of 
 Putnam's character." 
 
 "Nee vultus instautis tyranni, Mente quatit 
 solida," quoted the Major ; and then translated 
 impromptu, " Never a scowl, o'er tyrant's jowl, 
 His stifiF old heart can shake." 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 97 
 
 Washington laughed. Skerrett laughed loud- 
 ei. He was at that ebullient age when life is 
 letting oif its overcharge of laughter. Young 
 fellows at that period are a bore or an exhilara- 
 tion ; — a bore, to say the least, if their animal 
 spirits are brutal spirits, — no bore, even if not 
 quite the ripest company, provided their glee 
 does not degenerate into uproar. 
 
 " I don't know what I should do, Peter, in these 
 dark times, without your irrepressible good spir- 
 its," said the chief. " My boys — you and Hamil- 
 ton and Lafayette and Harry Lee — keep me up. 
 I get tired to death of the despondencies and 
 prejudices and jealousies of some of these old wo- 
 men iu breeches who wear swords or cast votes." 
 
 " Perhaps you cannot spare me then to go to 
 Peekskill," the Major said, slyly. 
 
 His Country's Father smiled. " Be off, my 
 boy; but don't stay too long. Your head will 
 be worth more to Old Put than a regiment. 
 He 's growing old. He shows the effects of 
 tough campaigning in his youth. Besides, keep- 
 ing a tavern was not the best business for a man 
 of his convivial habits." 
 
 " We youngsters found that out at the siege 
 of Boston, when you. General, were keeping your 
 head cool on baked apples and milk." 
 
 " I ate 'em because I liked 'em, my boy. My 
 head keeps itself cool. By the way, you will be 
 
98 EDWIN BKOTHEKTOFT. 
 
 able to help General Putnam with that hot-tem 
 pered La Radi^re. The old gentleman never 
 can forget how the Frenchmen and their Indians 
 mangled him in Canada in '58." 
 
 " He never can let anybody else forget it. I 
 would give odds that he '11 oflFer to tell that storj 
 before I 've been with him fifteen minutes." 
 
 " Well, good bye ! Hurry on the regulars ! 
 Let him call in the militia in their places ! Tell 
 him he must hold the Highlands ! If he cannot 
 keep Sir Henry Clinton back until Gates tak-is 
 Jack Burgoyne, you and I, Peter, will have tr 
 paint ourselves vermilion and join the Tusca- 
 roras." 
 
 After such a talk with our chief, — who was 
 not the stilted prig that modem muffs have made 
 him, — Major Skerrett departed on his mission. 
 He left head-quarters a few days before that hit- 
 and-miss battle of Germantown. 
 
 Skerrett was young and a hard rider. He 
 lamed his horse the first day. He lost time in 
 getting another. It was the evening of October 
 eighth, when, as he approached the North River 
 to cross to Peekskill, the country people warned 
 him back with the news that on the sixth Sir 
 Henry Clinton had taken the Highland forts, 
 and Putnam had run away to Pishkill. 
 
 " Black news ! " thought Skerrett. " General 
 Washington will turn Tuscaropa now, if evey," 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 99 
 
 Skcrrett made a circuit northward, crossed the 
 Hudson at Newburgh, and reported to General 
 Putnam, October 9, sunset, at the Van Wyck 
 farm-house, on the plain, half a mile north of the 
 Fishkill Mountains. The heights rose in front, a 
 rampart a thousand feet high. 
 
 Old Put limped out to meet Washington's 
 aide-de-camp. He was a battered veteran, lame 
 with a fractured thigh, stiff with coming paraly- 
 sis and now despondent after recent blunders. 
 
 "Dusky times, Skerrett," says he, forlornly. 
 " I suppose the Chief sent you for men. He 's 
 a cannibal after human flesh. But don't worry 
 me to-night. To-morrow we 're to have a Coun- 
 cil of War, and I'll see what can be done. I 
 suppose you know what's happened." 
 
 " Yes, — generally." 
 
 " Well ; it 's all clear for Clinton to go up and 
 join that mountebank. Jack Burgoyne. I might 
 just as well go home, and set up tahvern again to 
 Pomfret for anything I can do here. God save 
 the King is going to make Yankee Doodle sing 
 small from yesterday on. It was all the fault of 
 that cursed fog, — we had a fog, thick as mush, 
 all day on the sixth. I believe them British 
 ships brought it with 'em in bags, from the Chan- 
 nel. They chocked up the river with their fog, 
 and while I was waitin' for 'em over to Peekskill, 
 they crep across and took the forts. Darn it 
 alll" 
 
100 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 Putnam paused to take an indignant breath. 
 Skerrett smiled at the old hero's manner. When 
 he was excited, the Yankeeisms of his youth 
 came back to him. His lisp also grew more 
 decided. Nobody knows whether the lisp was 
 natural, or artificial, and caused by a jaw-breaker 
 with the butt of a musket he got from an uncivil 
 Gaul at Fort Ti in '68. His Yankeeisms, his 
 lisp, his drollery, his muddy schenies, made the 
 jolly old boy the chief comic character of our 
 early Revolutionary days. 
 
 " How Jack Burgoyne will stick out that great 
 under-lip of his, — the ugly pelican! " continued 
 old Put, " when he hears of this. He '11 stop 
 fightin', while he goes at his proper trade, and 
 writes a farce with a Yankee in it, who '11 never 
 say anything but, ' I veouw ! By dollars, we *re 
 chawed up ! ' " 
 
 "Don't you remember, General," says Sker- 
 rett, " how Bunker Hill interrupted the acting 
 of a farce of his ? Perhaps Gates will make him 
 pout his lip, as he did when he saw you pointing 
 the old mortar Congress at him and Boston from 
 Prospect Hill. Don't you recollect? We saw 
 him with a spy-glass, and you said he looked like 
 a pelican with a mullet in his pouch. By the 
 way, wheie did you ever see pelicans ?" 
 
 " When I was down to take Cuba in '62, and 
 we did n't take it. I '11 tell you the story when 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 101 
 
 I feel brighter. We were wrecked, and had not 
 a thing but pelicans to eat for two days, — and 
 fishy grub they are ! " 
 
 " Well, we must not despair," says Skerrett 
 cheerily, seeing that the old brave began to 
 brighten. 
 
 " Dethpair ? " lisped Putnam, " who 's a goin' 
 to despair ? I tell you, my boy, you '11 eat a 
 Connecticut punkin-pie with me, yet, in peace 
 and Pomfret. I wish we had one now, for 
 supper." 
 
 " There 's raw material enough about," Sker- 
 rett said, glancing at tlie piles of that pomaceous 
 berry whicli wallowed among the corn shocks 
 and smiled at the sugary sunset. 
 
 " Yes ; but this is York State, and punkin- 
 pies off their native Connecticut soil are always 
 a mushy mess, or else tough as buckskin. Never 
 mind, my boy, we '11 sit every man under his own 
 corn-stalk, on his own squasli, and whistle Yan- 
 kee Doodle and call it macaroni, yet. It don't 
 look half so dark to me now as it did in the Ti- 
 conderogy times. Did I ever tell you the story 
 how the Frenchmen and their cussed Indians 
 mauled me there ? " 
 
 " It 's coming. I knew it would," thought 
 Peter, at the beginning of this sentence, " and I 
 did not bring any cotton to plug my ears ! " 
 
 "Well," continued Put, without waiting for 
 
102 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 
 
 his companion's answer, " I shall have to tell my 
 tale another time, for here comes my orderly, 
 with pajjers to sign. You remember Sergeant 
 Lincoln, don't you, Skerrett ? " 
 
 " I should not remember much in this world, 
 if he had not saved my life and my memory for 
 me. Shall I tell you my story, short ? Scene I. 
 Bunker Hill. A British beggar with a baggonet 
 makes a point at Peter Skorrett's rebel buttons 
 on his left breast. Eebel Sergeant Lincoln twigs, 
 describes a circle with a musket's butt. Scene 
 II. Bunker Hill. A British beggar on his back 
 sees stars and points upward with his baggonet 
 at those brass buttons on the blue sky. In the 
 distance two pairs of heels are seen, — these," 
 says Peter, lifting his own, " and yours. Sergeant 
 Lincoln. And that 's what I call a model story." 
 
 " Ne quid nimis, certainly. Not a word to 
 spare. Sir," says the Sergeant, taking Peter's 
 proffered hand. 
 
 He was a slender, quiet, elderly man. Per- 
 haps prematurely aged by care or campaigning 
 or a wound, rather than old. He handed liis 
 papers to the General, and withdrew. 
 
 " I guess I 've got the only orderly in the Con- 
 tinental Army that can talk Latin," says Put, 
 proud as if this possession made a Julius Csesar 
 of himself. " Lincoln must have been a school- 
 D»aster before he 'listed." 
 
EDWIN BROTfiERTOFT. 103 
 
 " There 's no flavor of birch about hiiQ," Sker- 
 rett rejoined, " Perhaps he stepped out of a 
 pulpit to take the sword." 
 
 " He don't handle the sword very kindly. 
 He 's brave enough." 
 
 " But not bloody," interjected Peter. 
 
 " No. There 's men enough that can squint 
 along a barrel, and drop a redcoat, and sing out, 
 ' Hooray ! another bully gone ! ' — but not many, 
 like my orderly, that can tell you why a redcoat 
 has got to be a bully, and why we 're doing our 
 duty to God and man by a droppin' on 'em. I 
 tell you, he in the ranks to keep up the men's 
 sperits is wuth more than generals I could name 
 with big appleettes on their backs." 
 
 " Is that the reason why he stays in the ranks, 
 and does not ask for epaulettes ? " 
 
 " He might have had them long ago ; but he 's 
 shy of standing up for himself. I guess he 's 
 some time or other ben wownded in his mind, and 
 all the impudence has run out at the wownd." 
 
 " Liberty, preserve me from such phleboto- 
 my ! " devoutly ejaculated Peter. " But has the 
 Sergeant been with you all this time ? " 
 
 " With my division. But I did not have him 
 with me in Westchester. I stationed him here 
 to look after the stores, and put recruits through 
 the motions. Now, Major, I must look at these 
 papers. Come to the Council of War to-morrow, 
 
104 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 
 
 and give us a good word. We shall want all we 
 can get. The news gets worse and worse. This 
 very morning General Tryon — spiteful dog — 
 has been marauding this side of Peekskill, and 
 burning up a poor devil of a village at the lower 
 edge of the Highlands." 
 
 " Arson is shabby warfare," said Peter, taking 
 leave. 
 
II. 
 
 It was in the Skerrett blood to come out red 
 at a pinch. 
 
 " Things do look a little dusky for the good 
 cause," thought Skerrett, as, wearing his buff 
 and blue coat, — far too dull a coat for so bright 
 a fellow, — he stood drinking October next morn- 
 ing, as we have seen him, before Mrs. BirdseU's 
 cottage. 
 
 " The Liberty-tree is a little nipped," he con- 
 tinued. "I suppose all the worm-eaten people 
 will drop off now. Let 'em go ! and be food for 
 pigs ! We sound chestnuts will stick to the 
 boughs, and wear our burrs till Thanksgiving. 
 
 " Fine figure that ! quite poetic ! Who would 
 n't be a poet in such a poem of a morning ? 
 Lucullus, yoii base old glutton, with your feasts 
 and your emetics ! see here, how I breathe and 
 blow, breathe and blow, — that/s a dodge you 
 were not up to ! 
 
 " Hooray ! now I 'm full of gold air and go- 
 ahead spirits." 
 
 He marched off, — the gallant, buoyant yoimg 
 
 5* 
 
106 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 braye. No finer figure of a Rebel walked the 
 Continental soil unhung. On his nut-brown 
 face his blonde moustache lay lovingly curling. 
 
 The Marquis de Chastellux, the chief, if not 
 the only, authority on the Revolutionary mous- 
 tache, does not specify Sijerrett's in his " Trav- 
 els in America." The distinction might have 
 been invidious. But it was understood that, 
 take it " by and large," color and curl, Sker- 
 rett's was the Moustache (with a big M) of its 
 era. Many brother officers shaved in despair 
 when they beheld it. Hence, perhaps, the num- 
 ber of shorn lips in the portraits of our heroes 
 of that time. 
 
 " Something is going to happen to-day," 
 thought the Major. "I bubble.' I shall boil 
 over, and make a fool of myself before night. 
 I am in that ridiculous mood when a man loves 
 his neighbor as himself, believes in success, wants 
 to tilt at windmills. October! you have in- 
 toxicated me ! I challenge the world. Hold 
 me, somebody, or I shall jump over the High- 
 lands and take Sir Henry Clinton by the hair, 
 then up to Saratoga and pick up Jack Bur- 
 goyne, knock their pates together, and fling them 
 over the Atlantic." 
 
 A man's legs gallop when his blood and spirits 
 are boiling after such a fashion. It did not take 
 the Major any considerable portion of eternity 
 
EDWIN BROTHEItTOFT. 107 
 
 to measure off the furlongs of cultivated plain 
 between Fishkill village and Putnam's head-quar 
 ters. In fact, he had need to despatch. He had 
 slept late after his journey. The Council would 
 be assembled, and already muddling their brains 
 over the situation. 
 
 The Van Wyck farm-house stood, and still 
 stands, with its flank to the road and its front to 
 the Highlands. 
 
 " Not much clank and pomp and pageantry 
 in this army of Israel Putnam,"_ thought Sker- 
 rett. " No tents ! Men are barracked in barns, 
 I suppose, or sleep under corn-stalks, with pump- 
 kins for pillows. No sentinels ! But probably 
 every man keeps his eyes peeled and his ears 
 priuked up for the tramp of British brogans or 
 Hessian boots on the soil." 
 
 There was, however, a sentry standing at the 
 unhinged gate in the decimated paling of the 
 farm-yard. 
 
 He turned his back, and paced to the end of 
 his beat, as Major Skerrett approached. 
 
 " Aha ! " thought the latter, « Jierck Dewitt 
 is as quick-sighted as ever. He wants to dodge 
 me. Poor fellow ! Bottle has got him again, I 
 fear. Why can't man be satisfied with atmos- 
 phere, and cut alcohol ? " 
 
 Skerrett entered the gate, and hailed, " Jierck ! " 
 
 The sentinel turned and saluted. 
 
108 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 A clear case of Bottle ! The Colony of Ja- 
 maica was a more important ally to Great 
 Britain in the Revolution than is generally 
 known. Ah! if people would only take their 
 rum latent in its molasses, and pour out their 
 undistilled toddies on their bitckwheat cakes ! 
 
 " Jierck," said the Major kindly, " you prom- 
 ised me you would not touch it." 
 
 " So I did," says the man, inflicting on him- 
 self the capital punishment of hanging his head ; 
 " and I kep stiff as the Lord Chancellor, till I 
 got back home to Peekskill below here. There 
 I found my wife had gone wrong." 
 
 The poor fellow choked. A bad wife is a 
 black dose. 
 
 " We grew up together, sir, on the Brothertoft 
 Manor lands. She was a Bilsby, one of the old 
 families, — as brisk and bright a gal as ever 
 stepped. We were married, and travelled just 
 right, she alongside of me, and I alongside of 
 her, puUin' well and keepin' everything drawin'. 
 Well, when I shouldered arms. Lady Brother- 
 toft — that's the Patroon's widow — got my wife 
 to go down to York and be her maid. It was 
 lettin' down for Squire Dewitt's son's wife to 
 eat in anybody's kitchen. But that's noth- 
 ing. The harm is that Lady Brothertoft's house 
 is unlucky. Women don't go into it and stay 
 straight. There 's too much red iu the parlors, — 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 109 
 
 too many redcoats round. They say that's why 
 the Patroon cleared out, and got himself killed, 
 if he is killed. That 's what spoilt my wife." 
 
 Skerrett's supernatural spirits sank a little at 
 this. There was an undeveloped true lover in 
 the young man, — developed enough to show him 
 what misery may come from such a wrong as 
 Jierck's. 
 
 " That 's why I took to rum," continued the 
 man, dismally. " When my company was or- 
 dered to join Old Put at Peekskill, and I saw all 
 the old places where my wife and I used to do 
 our courtin', and saw my sister Kate smilin' at 
 her sweetheart and makin' comforters for him, I 
 couldn't stand it. They all told me to keep 
 away from the woman. But I did n't quite be- 
 lieve it, you know. So I went down to the 
 Manor-House and saw her. She did n't dare to 
 look me in the face. That had to be drownded 
 somehow. I drownded it in rum. I can't get 
 drunk like a beast, — that is n't into me, — but I 
 haven't been sober one hour since until we 
 came up here to Fishkill." 
 
 " Stop it now, Jierck, and try to forget." 
 • " What 's the use ? " 
 
 " The use is this. We were all proud of you, 
 as a crack man. We cannot spare you. You 
 know as well as I do what we are fighting for. 
 The Cause cannot spare you. Stand to youl 
 
llO EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 ^ns no-w, like a man, against King George and 
 Old Jamaica." 
 
 The sentinel was manned by these hearty 
 words and tones. 
 
 " I '11 try," said he, " to please you. Major 
 Bkerrett." 
 
 Up went his head and his courage. 
 
 " That 's right," says the Major ; " and we '11 
 have a fling at the enemy together before I go, 
 and spike a gun for him." 
 
 " I must take another sip of October, after 
 that," thought Skerrett, as he walked on toward 
 the farm-house. 
 
 He halted on the steps, and inspected the 
 scone. 
 
 October was quite as gorgeous to see, as it was 
 glorious to tipple. It was in the Skerrett blood 
 to love color. 
 
 " Color ! blazes, what a conflagration of a 
 landscape ! " thought the Major ; " rainbows, 
 what delicious blending ! V. I. B. G. Y. 0. R. 
 Violet hills far away, indigo zenith, blue sky on 
 the hill-tops, green pastures, yellow elms, chest- 
 nuts, and ashes, orange pumpkins, red maples ! 
 Flames ! Rainbows ! Splendors ! Take my blood, 
 my dear country ! and cheap, too, for such a 
 pageant ! " 
 
 There were two parts to the scene he was re- 
 garding with this exhilaration, — a flat part and 
 
EDWIN BKOTHEETOli'T. Ill 
 
 an upright part. All around was a great scope 
 of fertile plain, gerrymandered into farms. Half 
 a mile away in front, the sudden mountains set 
 up their backs to show their many-colored gaber- 
 dines, crimson, purple, and gold at the bottom 
 flounce, belted with different shades of the same 
 in regular gradation above, and sprigged all over 
 with pines and cedars, green as May. 
 
 The morning sun winked at the Major over 
 the summits, saying, as plain as a wink can speak, 
 " Beat this, my Skerrett, in any clime, on any 
 continent, if you can ! " 
 
 The Major, with both his eyes," blinked back 
 ecstatically, " It can't be beat ! Sol ! It can't 
 be beat ! " 
 
 When he opened his dazzled eyes, and glanced 
 again about him, he seemed to see thousands of 
 little suns rollicking over the fields, and congeries 
 of suns piling themselves like golden bombs here 
 and there. They were not suns, but pumpkins, 
 rollicking in the furrows, and every congeries was 
 a heap of the same, putting their plump cheeks 
 together and playing " sugar my neighbor." 
 
 " We must keep war out of this," thought the 
 Major. " Nerve my good right arm, Liberty, 
 to protect this pie-patch ! " 
 
 His earnest prayer was disturbed by the sound 
 of voices close at hand. 
 
 Immediately Sergeant Lincoln appeared at the 
 
112 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 corner of the house. A wondrously wiggy negio 
 accompanied him. 
 
 " Make way for the Lord Chancellor ! " says 
 Skerrett to himself, as this gray-headed, dusky 
 dignitary loomed up. " If I am ever elected 
 Judge, I shall take that old fellow's scalp for a 
 wig. And his manners, too! He seems to be 
 laying down the law to the Sergeant, so flat that 
 it will never stir again. Mysterious fellow, this 
 orderly who quotes Latin ! I 'd like to solve him, 
 and offer him sympathy, if he has had the ' wownd ' 
 old Put talks of. I owe him a cure for saving 
 me from a kill." 
 
 The two passed by, in eager conversation. 
 Skerrett turned, and entered the farm-house, 
 where the ofl&cers of Putnam's army were sigh- 
 ing over blunders past, and elaborating schemes 
 for the future. 
 
 Peter's seedy coat was freshness and elegance 
 compared to the scarecrow uniforms it now 
 encountered. Our Revolutionary officers were 
 braves at heart, but mostly Guys in costume. 
 
III. 
 
 " Ah mon camarade ! ma belle Moustache ! 
 My Petare ! " cried Colonel La Radiere, as Sker- 
 rett entered. " Soyez le bienvenu ! " 
 
 The ardent Parisian oflScer of engineers rushed 
 forward, and embraced his young friend with ef- 
 fusion. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Peter ! " says Captain Liv- 
 ingston, a dry fellow, son of the Patroon. " Now, 
 Radidre, there 's a second man who talks French, 
 to fire back your sacrebleus. Moi et Anlhoni/s 
 Nose sommes fatiguSs a vousfaire echo." 
 
 " Come, boys," says old Put, " talk Continen- 
 tal!" 
 
 The other officers in turn made Skerrett 
 welcome, and the business of brewing blunders 
 went on. 
 
 Does any one want a historic account of that 
 Council of War, and what it did not do ? 
 
 The want is easily suppUed. Rap for the spirit 
 of Colonel Humphreys, then late of Derby, Con- 
 necticut, late of Yale College, late tutor at Phil- 
 lipse-Manor. He was Putnam's aide, and wrote 
 
114 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 his biography. He was an inexorable poetaster. 
 He was afterwards pompous gold-stick to Mr. 
 President Washington. He went as Plenipo to 
 Madrid, returned, became a model of deportment, 
 and was known to his countrymen as the Ambas- 
 sador from Derby. 
 
 (Raps are heard. Enter the Ghost of Hum- 
 phreys. 
 
 " Now then, Ghost, talk short and sharp, not, 
 as you used to, — to borrow two favorite words 
 of yours, — sesquipedalian and stentorophonic ! 
 Tell us what was done at that councilj and be 
 spry about it ! " 
 
 " Young Sir, I shall report your impertinence 
 to George Washington and Christopher Columbus 
 in Elysium. Christopher will say, ' Founder the 
 continent ! ' George will say, ' Perish the coun- 
 try ! ' if its youth have drawn in and absorbed 
 their bump of reverence." 
 
 " 0, belay that, old boy ! Tell us what you 
 did at the Council ! " 
 
 " Nothing, your nineteenth-centuryship ! " re- 
 sponds Ghost, quelled and humble. " We pon- 
 dered, and propounded, and finally concluded to 
 do nothing, and let the enemy make the next 
 move." 
 
 " Which he proceeded to do by sending up 
 General Vaughan to burn Kingston. That's 
 aough! Araunt, Ghost!" 
 
KDWIN BSOTHERTOFT. 116 
 
 Exit Humphreys to tell Chris and George 
 that America is going to the dogs.) 
 
 " Well," said Putnam at last, " we 've discussed 
 and discussed, and I dou't see that there's any 
 way of getting a crack at the enemy, unless one 
 of you boys wants to swim down the river, with 
 a" torch in his teeth, and set one of those frigates 
 below the Highlands on fire. Who speaks ? " 
 
 " Cold weather for swimming ! " says Living- 
 ston. 
 
 " Well, boys, you must contrive somethiag to 
 keep our spirits up," Putnam resumed. " When 
 I was up to Fort Ti in '58, and fighting was dull, 
 we used to go out alone and bushwhack for a 
 private particular Indian." 
 
 " Perhaps I can offer a suggestion," said Major 
 Scrammel, Putnam's other aide, re-entering the 
 room after a brief absence. 
 
 Scrammel was a handsomish man with a bad- 
 dish face. A man with his cut of jib and shape 
 of beak hardly ever weathers the lee shore of 
 perdition. For want of a moustache to twirl, he 
 had a trick of pulling his nose. Perhaps he was 
 training that feature for tweaks to come. 
 
 " Blaze away, Scrammel ! " said his General ; 
 " you always have some ambush or other in your 
 head." 
 
 " Lady Brothertoft's nigger, the butler, is up 
 here with tlie latest news from below. I have 
 Just been out to speak to him-" 
 
116 EDWIN BEOTHEKTOFT. 
 
 " What, Scrammel ! " says Livingstou, sotto 
 voce. "A billet-doux from the fair Lucy?" 
 
 " La plus beUe personne en Amerique ! " Ra- 
 di^re sighs. 
 
 " You dou't except the mother ? " Living 
 ston inquired ; " that mature, magnificent Ama- 
 zon ! " 
 
 "No," replied the Frenchman, laboriously 
 building, brick by brick, a Gallo-American sen- 
 tence. "The mother of the daughtare is too 
 much in the Ladie Macquebeth. I figure to my- 
 self a poniard, enormous sharpe, in her fine 
 ouhite hand, and at my heart. I seem to see 
 her poot ze-pardon ! the poison in the basin — 
 the bowl — the gobbelit. I say, ' Radi^re, care 
 thyself! It is a dame who knows to stab.' Mais, 
 Mees Lucie ! Ah, c'est autre chose ! " 
 
 " Come, Scrammel ! " Putnam said, impa- 
 tiently ; " we are waiting for your news." 
 
 " The nigger stole away on some business of 
 his own, which he is mysterious about ; but he 
 tells me that his mistress consoled herself at 
 once for our retirement from Peekskill after we 
 lost tlie forts. She had some of her friends 
 from the British ships and Clinton's army at her 
 house as soon as we were gone." 
 
 " I believe she is as dangerous a Tory as lives 
 in all Westchester," said the General. " She 
 ought to be put in security." 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT. Ill 
 
 "What! after all those dinners of hers we 
 have eaten, General ? " says Livingston. 
 
 " I wish the dinners were out of me, and had 
 never been in me," Old Put rejoined, sheepishly. 
 " I 'm afraid we used to talk too much after her 
 Madeira." 
 
 The Council was evidently of that opinion, ai 
 a look whisking about the circle testified. 
 
 A very significant look, with a great basis of 
 facts behuid it. Suppose we dig into the brain of 
 one of these officers, — say that keen Living- 
 ston's, — and unearth a few facts about Mrs. 
 Brothertoft, as she is at the beginning of Part 
 II. of this history. 
 
 Now, then, off with Livingston's scalp, and the 
 top of his skull! and here we go rummaging 
 among the convolutions of his brain for impres- 
 sions branded, " Brothertoft, Mrs." We strike 
 a lead. We find a pocket. How compact this 
 brain stows its thoughts! It must, for it has 
 the millions on millions of a lifetime to contain. 
 We have read of a thousand leagues of lace 
 packed into a nut-shell. We have seen the Dec- 
 laration of Independence photographed within 
 the periphery of a picayune. Here 's closer 
 stowage, — a packet of thoughts of actual mate- 
 rial dimensions, but so infinitesimal that we shall 
 have to bring a microscope to bear before we 
 can apply the micrometer. Come, Sirius, near- 
 
118 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 est neighbor among the suns of eternity, pour 
 thy beams through our lens and magnify this 
 record ! Thanks, Sirius ! Quito plain now ! 
 That little black point has taken length and 
 breadth, and here 's the whole damnation in 
 large pica, — Heaven save us from the like ! 
 
 Livingston Junior on Mrs. Brothertoft. Ab- 
 stract of Eecord : — 
 
 "By scalps and tomahawks, what a splendid 
 virago! She must be, this summer of 1777, 
 some thirty-five or thirty-six, and in her primest 
 prime. Heart 's as black as her hair, some say. 
 Crushed her husband's spirit, and he took him- 
 self off to kingdom come. Ambitious ? I should 
 think so. Tory, and peaches to the enemy ? Of 
 course. She uses her womanhood as a blind, 
 and her beauty as a snare. Very well for her to 
 say, ' My business is to protect my property, and 
 establish my daughter. Women don't under- 
 stand politics, and hate bloodshed.' Bah ! she 
 understands her kind of politics, like a Catherine 
 de' Medici. Bloodshed ! She could stab a man 
 and see him writhe. But she gives capital din- 
 ners, — more like England than any others in 
 America. Poor old Put, honest, frank, simple- 
 hearted fellow! look at him on the sofa ther& 
 with her, and a pint too much of her Madeira 
 under his belt ! She knows just how near to let 
 his bine sleeve and buff cuff come to that shoul- 
 
EDWIN BROtHEKTOFt. 119 
 
 der of hers. He '11 tell all his plans to her, shfc 
 'U whisper 'em to a little bird, and pounce ! one 
 of these fine days the redcoats will be upon us. 
 Upon us and on her sofa! Yes, and a good 
 many inches nearer than Old Put is allowed 
 to sit. For they do whisper scandal about Mad- 
 am. When she dropped Julia Peartree Smith, 
 the old tabby talked as old cats always talk about 
 their ex-friends. Scandal ! Yes, by the acre ; 
 but it 's splendid to see how she walks right over 
 it. And several of us fine fellows will not hear 
 or speak scandal of a house where that lovely 
 Lucy lives, — the sweet, pure, innocent angel. 
 They say the mother means to trade her off to 
 a redcoat as soon as she can find one to suit. 
 Mamma wants a son-in-law who will give her, 
 scandal and all, a footing among stars and gar- 
 ters in England, when she has seen her estates 
 safe through the war. It 's too bad. I 'd go 
 down and kidnap that guileless, trustful victim 
 myself, if I was n't so desperately lazy. There 's 
 Scrammel too, — he would play one of his mean- 
 est tricks to get her. Scrammel was almost the 
 only one of us boys in buff and blue that was 
 not taboo from Miss Lucy's side. Mamma was 
 not over cordial to our color unless it was but- 
 toned over breasts that held secrets. Her black 
 eyes very likely saw scoundrel in Scrammel's 
 face, and used him. Poor Lucy ! It looks dark 
 
120 EDVflN BROTSEBTOli'T. 
 
 for her. And yet her love will never let her see 
 what her mother is." 
 
 Enough, Livingston ! Thanks for this bit of 
 character ! Here 's your dot of a record, labelled 
 " Brothertoft, Mrs." ! Now trepan your self with 
 your own skull, clap your scalp back again on 
 your sinciput, and listen to what Scrammel is 
 saying ! 
 
 " The old nigger tells me," he was saying, 
 " that Sir Henry Clinton and his Adjutant spent 
 the night after Forts Clinton and Montgomery 
 were taken quietly at Brothertoft Manor-House." 
 
 " Well," said the General, " then they had a 
 better night than we had, running away through 
 the Highlands. We can't protect our friends. 
 If the enemy have only made themselves wel- 
 come at the Manor-House, instead of burning it 
 for its hospitality to us, Madam is lucky." 
 
 " She seems to have made her new guests 
 welcome. The nigger thinks she knew they 
 were coming." 
 
 " By George ! — by Congress ! I mean," says 
 Put, wincing, " if I ever get back to Peekskill — " 
 
 " She seems to think, according to her butler's 
 story, that you are never to come back," Scram- 
 mel struck in. 
 
 " If that is all the news you have to tell, by 
 way of keeping our spirits up, you might as well 
 have been silent, sir ! " growls Putnam, 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 121 
 
 " It 's not all," Scrammel resumed. " The 
 nigger thinks they are getting up some new 
 expedition. But whether they do or not, the 
 adjutant don't go. He is to stay some days at 
 the Manor." 
 
 " Lord Eawdon, is n't it ? " Put asked. " Well, 
 lie is a gentleman and a fine fellow, — not one of 
 those arrogant, insolent dogs that rile us so." 
 
 " Not Rawdon. He was to be. But Major 
 Kerr got the appointment by family influence." 
 
 " Kurr ! c'est chien, n'est ce pas ? " whispered 
 Radi^re to Livingston. 
 
 " Yes," returned the Captain ; " and this Kerr 
 IS a sad dog. He bit Scrammel once badly at 
 cards in New York, before the war. Scrammel 
 don't forgive. He hates Kerr, and means to bite 
 back. Hear him snarl now!" 
 
 " The Honorable Major Kerr," Scrammel con- 
 tinued, " third son of the Earl of Bendigh, Ad- 
 jutant-General to Clinton's forces, a fellow who 
 hates us and abuses us and maltreats our prison- 
 ers, but an oflScer of importance, is staying and 
 to stay several days, the only guest, at Brother- 
 tofl Manor-House. Let me see ; it can't be 
 more than twenty miles away." 
 
 He marked his words, and glanced about the 
 circle. His eyes rested upon Livingston last. 
 
 " Oho ! " says that gentleman. " I begin to 
 comprehend. You mean to use the Brother- 
 
 6 
 
122 fiDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 toft majordomo as Colonel Barton did his mau 
 Prince at Newport. Woolly-head's skull is to 
 butt through Kerr's bedroom door, at dead of 
 night. Then, enter Scrammel, puts a pistol to 
 his captive's temple and marches him off to Fish- 
 kill. Bravo! Belle ide^, n'est ce pas, mon 
 Colonel ? " 
 
 " Magnifique ! " rejoined RadiSre. " I felicit 
 thee of it, my Scaramelle." 
 
 " Now, boys ! " says Put, " this begins to 
 sound like business. We need some important 
 fellow, like Kerr, taken prisoner and broiight 
 liere, to keep our spirits up. The thing 's easy 
 enough and safe enough. If I was twenty years 
 younger, general or no general, I 'd make a dash 
 to cut him out. Who volunteers to capture the 
 Adjutant ? " 
 
 " I remember myself," said Radi^re, gravely, 
 " of a billet, very short, very sharp, which our 
 Chief wrote to Sir Clinton, lately. It was of 
 one Edmund Palmer, taken — so this billet said — 
 as one espy, condemned as one espy, and hang- 
 ged as espy. Sir Chnton waits to answer that 
 little billet. But I do not wish to read in his 
 response the name of one of my young friends, 
 taken as espy and hang-ged." 
 
 " Why does not Scrammel execute Scrammel's 
 plan ? " asked Livingston. 
 
 "I cannot be spared," the aide-de-camp re- 
 sponded. 
 
fiftWlN BROTHERTOlfT. 123 
 
 " yeb ! never mind me ! " cried the General 
 " Skerrett, here, can fill your place. Or Hum 
 phreys can stop writing doggerel and do double 
 duty." 
 
 Scrammel evidently was not eager to leave a 
 vacancy, or to gag his brother aide-de-camp's 
 muse. 
 
 " Why don't you volunteer yourself, Living- 
 ston ? " he said. " You know the country and 
 the house, and seemed to be well up in the 
 method of Prescott's capture at Newport." 
 
 " I have not my reputation to make," said the 
 other, haughtily. Indeed, his reckless pluck waa 
 well known. "But I'm desperately lazy," which 
 was equally a notorious fact. 
 
 No other spoke, and presently all eyes were 
 making focus upon that blonde Moustache, which 
 the Marquis de Chastellux does not, and these 
 pages do, endow with a big M, and make his- 
 toric. 
 
 It was only the other day that the wearer of 
 that decoration had become the hero of a famous 
 ballad, beginning, — 
 
 " 'T was night, rain poured; when British blades, 
 In number twelve or more, 
 As they sat tippling apple-jack, 
 Heard some one at the door. 
 
 " ' Arise,' he cried, — 't was Skerrett spoke, ^ 
 * And trudge, or will or nill. 
 Twelve mUes to General Washington,- 
 At Pennibecker's Mill." 
 
124 EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 
 
 Then the ballad went on to state, in stanzas 
 many and melodious, how it happened that the 
 '' blades" of his Majesty's great knife, the Army, 
 were sheathed in a carouse, at an outposv. near 
 Philadelphia, without sentries. Apple-jack, too, 
 — why they condescended to apple-jack, — that 
 required explanation : " And apple-jack, that tip- 
 ple base. Why did these heroes drain ? 0, where 
 were nobler taps that night, — Port, sherry, and 
 champagne?" Then the forced march of the un- 
 lucky captives was depicted: "It rained. The 
 red coats on their backs Their skins did purple, 
 olue ; The powder on their heads grew paste ; 
 Each toe its boot wore through." The poem 
 closed with Washington's verdict on the exploit : 
 " Skerrett, my lad, thou art a Trump, The ace of 
 all the pack ; Come into Pennibecker's Mill, And 
 share my apple-jack ! " 
 
 Hero once, hero always! When a man has 
 fairly compromised himself to heroism, there is 
 no let-up for him. The world looks to him at 
 once, when it wants its " deus ex machina." 
 
 In the present quandary, all eyes turned to 
 Peter Skerrett, Captor of Captives and Washing- 
 ton's Ace of Trumps. 
 
 " General," said he, " I seem to be the only 
 unattached officer present. Nothing can be done 
 now about my mission. I do not love to be idle. 
 A.II0W me to volunteer in this service, if yon 
 Uiink it important-" 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 125 
 
 Old Put began to look grave. " You risk your 
 life. If they catch you in their lines, it is hang- 
 ing business." 
 
 " I knew this morning," thought the Major, 
 "that I should make a fool of myself before 
 night. I have ! " 
 
 " No danger, General ! " he said aloud. " I 've 
 got the knack of this work. I like it better than 
 the decapitation part of my trade." 
 
 " Ah, Skerrett ! " Livingston says, " that bal- 
 lad will be the death of you. You will be adding 
 Fitte after Fitte, until you get yourself discom- 
 fitted at last. Pun ! " 
 
 Mfcrk this ! It was the Continental Pun at its 
 point of development reached one year after the 
 Declaration of Independence. let us be joy- 
 ful ! Let us cry aloud with joy at our progress 
 since. Puns like the above are now deemed 
 senile, and tolerated only in the weekly news- 
 papers. 
 
 No doggerel had been written about Scram- 
 mel. No lyric named him hero. " Your friend 
 seems to have a taste for the ofiBce of kidnapper," 
 he caitiffly sneered to Livingston, under cover of 
 his own hand, which tweaked the Scrammel nose 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " He has "a taste for doing what no one else 
 dares," rejoined the other. " Your nose is safe 
 from him, even if he overhears you. I say, 
 
126 fcDWtN finoTHERTOFT. 
 
 Skerrett, I don't feel so lazy as I did. Ttike 
 me with you. I know this country by leagues 
 and by inches." 
 
 " No, Harry ; General Putnam cannot spare 
 his Punster. One officer is enough. I shall 
 take Jierck Dewitt for my aide-de-camp. He 
 knows the Brothertoft-Manor country." 
 
 " Empty Jierck of rum, cork him and green- 
 seal him, mouth and nose, and there cannot be 
 a better man." 
 
 " Since you will go, you must," says Put. '' By 
 the way, if you want a stanch, steady man, take 
 Sergeant Lincoln. He somehow knows this 
 country as if he had crept over it from the 
 cradle. "Where is that negro of Lady Brother- 
 toft's, Scrammel ? " 
 
 " I left him talking to Lincoln. Major Sker- 
 rett will easily find him." 
 
 " He was my wiggy friend," thought Skerrett. 
 
 " Don't fail to bag Kerr," says Livingston. 
 " He wants a Yankee education, — so does all 
 England." 
 
 "Yes," says Radi^re, "we must have these 
 Kurr at school. We must teach to them civility 
 through our noses of rebels. We must flogge 
 them with roddes from the Liberty-Tree. They 
 shall partake our pork and bean. Yankee 
 Doodle shall play itself to them on our two 
 whistles and a tambour. Go, my Skerrett J 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 127 
 
 Liberty despatch thee ! Be the good, luckj 
 boy!" 
 
 All the officers gave him Good speed! and 
 Humphreys, Poetaster-General, began to bang 
 the two lobes of his brain together, like a pair 
 of cymbals, to strike out rhymes in advance 
 for a paean on the conquering hero's return. 
 
 " You won't stay to dinner," cries Put. 
 " There 's corned beef and apple-sauce, and a 
 York State buckskin pumpkin-pie, — I wish it 
 was a Connecticut one ! " 
 
 " Yes," says Livingston, " and I watched the 
 cook this morning coursing that dumb rooster 
 of yours, General, until he breathed his last." 
 
 " Ah, my Skerrett ! " sighed Radi^re. " Will 
 posterity appreciate our sacrifices? Will they re- 
 member themselves — these oblivious posterity 
 — of the Frenchmen who abandoned the cui- 
 sines of Paris to feed xipon the swine and the 
 bean a discretion, to swallow the mush sans 
 melasse, to drink the Appel Jacque ? Will they 
 build the marble mausoleum, inscribed, ' Ci- 
 GiT La Radiere, Colonel. He was a Good 
 Heart and a Bad Stomach, and He shed his 
 Digestion fob Liberty ? ' " 
 
 Skerrett laughed. " I will mention it to pos- 
 terity. Colonel," he said, — and this page re- 
 deems his promise. 
 
 Then, lest weeds might sprout under his feet, 
 
128 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 the Major turned his back upon dinner, — that 
 moment announced, — and launched himself 
 upon the current of his new adventure. 
 
 " Down ! " he soliloquized ; " down, my long- 
 ings for buckskin pie, and for rooster dead of 
 congestion of the lungs from over coursing! 
 Tempt me not, ye banquets of Sybaris, until 
 my train is laid and waiting for the fusee." 
 
IV. 
 
 Major Skebbett paused on the farm-house 
 Eteps. 
 
 " Jierck Dewitt, I want," he thought. " And 
 there he is on guard, looking every inch a soldier 
 again. My good word has quite set him up. 
 Mem. — A word of cheer costs little, and may 
 help much. Now for Sergeant Lincoln and the 
 negro ! " 
 
 Just at the edge of the bank, in front of 
 the farm-house, Skerrett perceived the Sergeant 
 sitting. 
 
 His head was resting on his hands. The physi 
 ognomy of his back revealed despondency. An 
 old well-sweep bent over him, and seemed to 
 long to comfort him with a douse of balm from 
 its bucket. 
 
 The landscape' glowed, as before. The jolly 
 pumpkins grinned, as before. The Major's spirits 
 were still at bubble and boil. " Every prospect 
 was pleasing, and only man " — that is only 
 Sergeant — seemed woe-begone. 
 
 " He is feeling his wound, — the ' wownd ' Put 
 
 6* I 
 
130 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 talked of, — I fear," tlio\iglit Skerrett. "I m^}M 
 cheer him. Unhappy people arc not allowed in 
 the Skerrett precinct." 
 
 " Why, Orderly ! " says the Major, approach- 
 ing, and laying his hand on the other's shoulder ; 
 " you must not be down-hearted, man ! Wliat 
 has happened ? What can I do for you ? " 
 
 The Sergeant raised his head, and shook it 
 despairingly. 
 
 " Thank you," said he. " Nothing ! It is too 
 late ! " 
 
 " Too late ! That is a point of time my time- 
 piece has not learnt how to mark." 
 
 Indeed, the Skerrett movement was too elastic 
 in springs, and too regular with its balance-wheel, 
 to strike any hour but " Just in time ! " 
 
 The Sergeant thanked him, with a smile and 
 manner of singular grace, and repeated, sorrow- 
 fully, " It is too late." 
 
 " Too late is suicide," says Peter. " We will 
 not cut our throats till after Indian summer. 
 Presently you shall tell me what is and is not 
 too late. First, I have a question or two to 
 ask. The General tells me you know this coun- 
 try thoroughly." 
 
 " I do by heart, — by sad heart." 
 
 " I have undertaken to cut in, and cut out, 
 where the enemy is, twenty miles below on the 
 
EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 131 
 
 The Orderly at once seemed greatly interested. 
 
 " Twenty miles below ? No one can know that 
 region better than I." 
 
 " Was it there his heart was wounded ? " 
 thought the Major. 
 
 " Ah, then ! you 're just my man," Skerrett 
 continued, ignoring the other's depression. " I 
 have volunteered on a wild-goose chase. I may 
 need to know every fox-track through all the 
 Highlands to get away safe with my goose, if 
 I catch him." 
 
 Major Skerrett, surprised at a sudden air of 
 eager attention and almost excitement n the 
 older man, paused a moment. 
 
 " Go on ! " said the other authoritatively, with 
 a voice and manner more of Commander-in- 
 Chief than Sergeant. 
 
 Skerrett felt, as he had done before, the pecu- 
 liar magnetism of this mysterious Orderly, who 
 quoted Latin and bowed like a courtier. 
 
 " I have taken upon myself," said he, " to cut 
 out a British officer of distinction, now staying 
 at a country house twenty miles below. I may 
 want you of my party. General Putnam rec- 
 ommends you." 
 
 The Orderly sprang up and grasped Major 
 Skcrrett's arm with both his hands. 
 
 " Who is the man ? Name ! Name ! " he 
 gasped. 
 
182 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 " Major Kerr," replied Skerrett, coolly. 
 
 "Wait! wait a moment!" cried the otner, 
 in wild excitement. 
 
 He ruslied to the edge of the bank, where a 
 path plunged off, leading to the Highland road, 
 and was lost among the glowing recesses of a 
 wood skirting the base of the heights. He 
 halted there, and screamed, in a frantic voice, 
 " Voltaire ! Voltaire ! " 
 
 And neither the original destructive thinker 
 thus entitled, nor any American namesake of his 
 answering the call, the Orderly raced down the 
 slope, with hat gone and gray ciie bobbing 
 against his coat-collar. 
 
 He disappeared in the grove, and the Major 
 could hear his feet upon the dry leaves, and his 
 voice still crying loudly, " Voltaire ! Voltaire ! " 
 
 " Has the old man gone mad? " thought Sker- 
 rett. " Voltaire the Great is getting too ancient 
 to travel. It is hardly fair to disturb him. He 
 is a soldier 'emeritus' of our Good Cause. He 
 waked France up. We have to thank him 
 largely that Prance bias an appetite for free- 
 dom, and sends her sons over to help us fight 
 for it. But he cannot hear this hullaballoo at 
 Ferney ; Lafayette, Radi^re, and the others, rep- 
 resent their master, with such heart and stom- 
 ach as they can. 
 
 " I must not lose sight of my runaway," con- 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT, 133 
 
 tiuued he to himself. " The name of Kerr struck 
 him like a shot. He may have a grudge there. 
 Some private vendetta in the case. And yet this 
 mild old man always seemed to me to have en- 
 tirely merged his personality in patriotism. 1 
 fancied that he had forgotten all his likes, dis- 
 likes, loves, and hates, and given up all ties ex- 
 cept his allegiance to an idea." 
 
 Major Skerrett walked rapidly to the edge of 
 the bank, where Sergeant Lincoln had first given 
 tongue for an absent philosopher. 
 
 As he was about to follow the path, he heard 
 steps again in the wood. In a moment the Or- 
 derly reappeared, and ran up the slope, panting. 
 He was followed by a person who moved slower, 
 and blew harder, the same old wiggy negro 
 whom Major Skerrett had observed laying down 
 the law to his companion. 
 
 " So that is Voltaire ! " thought the Major. 
 " Well, it is the first time I have ever found the 
 devil blacker than he is painted." 
 
 The Orderly sank, agitated and out of breath, 
 on the ground. 
 
 Voltaire came up the hill, and, being hatless, 
 pulled hard at his gray wig, by way of salute. 
 The wig was rooted to the scalp. Voltaire left 
 it in situ, and bowed as grandly as a black 
 dignitary may when he is blown by a good 
 rur. 
 
134 EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 " I was in despair just now," said Sergeant 
 Lincoln. " In despair when I said it was too 
 late to help me. Perhaps it is not so. I trust 
 God sends you, Major Skerrett, to show us the 
 way out of our troubles." 
 
 "This is sound Gospel," thought Skerrett. 
 " This black Voltaire may be the Evangelist ; 
 but the Gospel is unimpeachable." 
 
 " Come, Sergeant," continued he aloud, " tell 
 me what all this means, my friend. We must 
 despatch. My bird down the river may take 
 wing, if I waste time." 
 
 " I am pained, my dear young friend," said 
 the senior, rising, " to acknowledge to you an 
 unwilling deceit of mine. But I must do so. 
 You have known me always under a false name. 
 I am not Lincoln, but Brothertoft, — Edwin 
 Brothertoft." 
 
 " My father's friend ! " said Skerrett, taking 
 the other's hand. " Mr. Brothertoft, so missed, 
 so desired by the Good Cause. Why " 
 
 Here Major Skerrett mterrupted himself, and 
 went to rummaging in his brain for the discon- 
 nected strips of record stamped, " Brothertofts, 
 The family." The strips pasted themselves to- 
 gether, and he ran his mind's eye rapidly along, 
 as one might read a mile or so of telegram in 
 cipher. 
 
 As he read with one eye introverted and gal- 
 
EbWIN BEOTHEltTOPT. 135 
 
 loping over the record, while it whirled by like 
 a belt on a drum making a miUiou revolutions in 
 a breath, he kept the other eye fixed upon Mr. 
 Brothertoft, alias Lincoln, before him. 
 
 This sad, worn, patient, gentle face supplied a 
 vivid flash of interpretation. It shed light upon 
 all the dusky places in Major Skerrett's knowl- 
 edge of the family. The eye looking outward 
 helped the eye looking inward. ' Instantly, by 
 this new method of utilizing strabismus, he saw 
 what he remembered faintly become distinct. He 
 could now understand why this quiet gentleman 
 had dropped his tools, — forceful mallet and keen 
 chisel, — and let the syllables of his unfinished 
 mark on the world wear out. 
 
 "I have heard and read of these blighting 
 hurts," thought Peter, " and I trifled with their 
 existence, and was merry as before, — God forgive 
 me ! Now I touch the wounded man, and it 
 chills me. I lose heart and hope. But strangely, 
 too, this man who first teaches me to feel the pain, 
 teaches me also that the sufferer needs my love. 
 Seems to me I am more in earnest than I was 
 two minutes ago. I feel older and gentler. I 
 wish I was his son! " 
 
 " Why ? " said Edwin Brothertoft, answering 
 slowly and sadly, while the other's brain read 
 records and forged thoughts at this furious speed. 
 " Would you ask me why my life is what it is, 
 
136 EDWIN BBOTHEKTOFT. 
 
 and not what men would say it might have been ? 
 Ah, my friend, the story is long and dreary, — too 
 dreary to darken the heart of youth." 
 
 Sadly as he spoke, there was no complaint in 
 his tone. He seemed to regard his facts a little 
 dreamily, as if he were mentioning some other 
 man's experience. 
 
 'f But the past is dead," he continued, " and 
 here are present troubles alive and upon me." 
 
 " Troubles alive ! " says the Major, feeling 
 brave, buoyant Peter Skerrett still stirring under 
 the bufl" and blue. " Those I can help floor, 
 perhaps. Name them ! " 
 
 He looked so victorious, and the Moustache, 
 albeit unknown to the pages of De Cbastellux, 
 so underscored his meaning nose, and so drew 
 the cartouche of a hero about his firm mouth, 
 that Brothertoft thrilled with admiration through 
 his sadness. 
 
 Everybody has seen the phantasmagoric shop- 
 sign. " Vinegar," you read upon it, as you ap- 
 proach down the street. You don't want Vinegar, 
 and you gaze reproachfully at the sign. But 
 what is this ? As you advance, a blur crosses 
 your eyes. 'T was Vinegar surely ! 'T is Sugar 
 now. And that you do want; and proceed to 
 purchase a barrel of crushed, a keg of powdered, 
 and a box of loaves wearing foolscaps of Tyrian 
 purple on their conical bald pates. 
 
EDWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 137 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft had seen only Dbspaib 
 ivritteu up before him. He advanced a step, at 
 Skerrett's words, lifted up his eyes, and Despair 
 sliifted to Hope. 
 
 " When you named Major Kerr," he said, 
 " yoii named one who is devising evil to me and 
 mine. Capture him and the harm is stayed. 
 My faithful old friend Voltaire and I will try to 
 tell you the story between us." 
 
 Voltaire considered this his introduction, and 
 bowed pompously. 
 
 " You are too juicy, Voltaire, and too shiny, and 
 not sardonic enough, to bear the name of the 
 weazened Headpiece of France," the Major said. 
 " When I made my pilgrimage to Ferney, I found 
 that Atropos of Bigotry in a night-cap and dress- 
 ing-gown, looking as wrinkled, leathery, and 
 Great as one of Michael Angelo's Sibyls. I hope 
 you are as true to Freedom as he was, and a 
 more wholesome man." 
 
 Skerrett made this talk to give the old fellow 
 time to blow, as well as to stir up a smile to the 
 surface of Brothertoft's sad face. 
 
 "Yes sir," said the negro, bowing again. 
 " Voltaire, sir, omnorum gotherum of Brother- 
 toft Manor-House. Hannibal was my name; 
 but I heard Mr. Ben Franklin say that Mr. Vol- 
 taire was the greatest man he knowed, so I mar' 
 ried to that name, and tuk it." 
 
138 EDWIN BEOTHERtOFT. 
 
 Here he paused and grinned. His white teeth 
 gleamed athwart his face, as the white stocking 
 flashes through, when one slits a varnished boot, 
 too tight across the instep. 
 
 " I have been here at Pishkill some months," 
 said Brothertoft. " At first I did not allow my- 
 self to think of my family. Then neighborhood 
 had its effect. I communicated my whereabouts 
 to this trusty friend. He got my message, and 
 comes to give me the first news I have had 
 since I left home at the news of Lexington." 
 
 " More than two years ago," Skerrett said. 
 
 "And in those two years," contuiued the 
 other, "my daughter has passed from child to 
 woman." 
 
 "Oho!" thought Peter. "His daughter — 
 Radidre's la plus belle — is in this business. 
 My years^ in Europe had made me almost for- 
 get there was such a person. Is she like father, 
 or mother, I wonder ? " 
 
 "Prom child to woman, sir," says Voltaire, 
 " and there 's not such another young lady in 
 the Province, — State, I mean." 
 
 Bravo, Voltaire! You refuse to talk "nig- 
 ger." You still remember that Tombigbee is a 
 dialect taboo to you. Continue to recollect that 
 on these pages you are a type of a race ou whose 
 qualities the world is asking information. Chris- 
 ty's Minstrels dance out their type negro, Jim 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. IS9 
 
 Crow, an impossible buifoon. La Beecher Stowe 
 presents hers, Uncle Tom, an exceptional saint. 
 Mr. Frederick Douglass introduces himself with 
 a courtier's bow and an orator's tongue. The 
 ghost of John 0. Calhoun rushes forward, and 
 points to a stuffed Gorilla. Then souviens toi 
 Voltaire of thy representative position, and don't 
 lapse into lingo ! 
 
 "When I abandoned home," Brothertoft re- 
 sumed, " I believed that I could be of no further 
 use to a daughter who had disowned me. Bat I 
 have found that a man cannot cease to love his 
 own flesh and blood." 
 
 " Nor his flesh and blood him," says the ne- 
 gro. "Other people may do the hating. Miss 
 Lucy only knows how to love." 
 
 Fort Men Voltaire ! except the pronunciation 
 "lub." 
 
 " It was only a day or two before the capture 
 of the forts that my tardy message of good-will 
 reached my friend here," said the ex-Patroon. 
 
 " And just in time," that friend rejoined. 
 
 " I hope so," sighed Putnam's Orderly. 
 
 " Yes sir," the negro said, turning to Skerrett. 
 " It was now or never. So I left my great din- 
 ner-party. Sir Henry Clinton and his suite were 
 to dine with us to-day. ! " 
 
 " Grand company ! " the Major said, seeing 
 that a tribute of respect was wanted 
 
140 EDWIN BKOTHERTOFT. 
 
 " Sirr Henery Clinton ! " repeated the butlei 
 with pride. " I did n't like to leave. My wife 
 Sappho can cook prime. My boy Plato can pass 
 a plate prime. But where 's the style to come 
 from when I 'm away ? Who 's to give the sig- 
 nals ? ' Ground dishes ! Handle covers ! Draw 
 covers ! Forrud march with covers to the pan- 
 try ! ' Who 's to pull the corks and pour the 
 Madeira so it won't blob itself dreggy ? " 
 
 He paused and sighed. 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft was silent. The thought 
 of Red dinner-parties at the Manor was evi- 
 dently not agreeable to him. 
 
 " We are not getting on at a gallop," thought 
 Skerrett. " But we are on the trail. My guides 
 must take their own time. They know the way 
 and the dangers, and I do not. The facts will 
 all come out within five minutes." 
 
 " Well, Voltaire," he said, " a bad appetite 
 to 'em all ! Go on with your story. Yoti make 
 me hungry with your dinner-parties." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " chuckled the butler, — his vision 
 of himself as Ganymede, serving Sir Clinton 
 Tonans with hypernectareous tipple, vanishing. 
 " Ha, ha ! " and with his triumph he lapsed for 
 a moment into Tombigbee : " Dey tinks, down 
 ter de Manor, dat I 'se lyin' sick abed wid de 
 colored mobbus." 
 
 Ajid then the old fellow proceeded to relate 
 
EDWIN BBOTfiEKTOFT. 141 
 
 how he had shammed sick yesterday, dodged 
 away at evening, and tramped all night by by- 
 paths through the Highlands ; how British scouts 
 had challenged his steps and fired at his rustle ; 
 how stumbling-blocks had aifronted his shins,. 
 and many a stub had met his toes ; and how 
 at last, after manifold perils, he had found his 
 old master under the guise of an Orderly, and 
 announced to him a new wrong in the house 
 of Brothertoft, — a new wrong, the climax of an 
 old tyranny. 
 
 No wonder Mr. Brouftertoft had been despond- 
 ent so that even his back showed it, — so de- 
 spondent, that the well-sweep longed to douse 
 him with a bucket of balm. No wonder that 
 he sadly said, " Too late ! " and could see no 
 better hour than that, marked by the Skerrett 
 timepiece. 
 
 Now then for this new wrong! It shall be 
 told condensed, so that indignation can have it, 
 a tough nut to crack with its teeth. 
 
V. 
 
 "In short," says Voltaire, winding up his 
 story, " Madame Brothertoft is going to marry 
 off Miss Lucy to Major Kerr, day after to-morrow 
 evening." 
 
 " To marry off! Then it is nilly the lady ! " 
 Skerrett said. 
 
 " Nilly, sir ! Yes, the nilliest kind ! " 
 
 There, Sir Peter, is a tough nut for your In- 
 dignation to bite on ! 
 
 Peter was an undeveloped True Lover. The 
 " vital spark of heavenly flame " was in him ; 
 but it lay latent under his uniform, as fire 
 lurks in a quartz pebble, until the destined little 
 boy strikes another quartz pebble against it. 
 Now there is a little boy of Destiny whose trade 
 it is to go about knocking hearts together and 
 striking Love, — that pretty pink flash, that rosy 
 flash, which makes cheeks blush sweeter and 
 eyes gleam brighter than they knew how to 
 blush and gleam before, — that potent flash 
 which takes hold of proper hearts and carbo- 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 143 
 
 nizes them into diamonds of gleam unquench- 
 able, with myriad facets and a smile on every 
 one, — that keen flash which commands bad 
 hearts to burn away into ugly little heaps of 
 gray ashes. There is such an urchin, and Cupid, 
 .alias Eros, is his name. He had tapped Peter 
 Skerrett's heart several times with hearts labelled, 
 "Anna's heart," "Belinda's heart," "Clara's 
 heart," " Delia's heart," and so on down the 
 alphabet. No perceptible love had answered 
 these taps. Perhaps the urchin made the female 
 heart impinge upon the male, instead of clash- 
 ing them together in mutual impact. Or per- 
 haps he did not do his tapping in a dark place, 
 — for shadow is needful to show light, — love 
 wants sorrow for a background. 
 
 However this might be, Peter Skerrett was still 
 an undeveloped true lover. He had made no 
 mistakes in love, he had had no disappointments. 
 His illusions were not gone. He still believed 
 love was the one condition of marriage. Mar- 
 riage without it this innocent youth deemed an 
 outrage. 
 
 The latent love in his heart cried, " Shame ! " 
 when he heard Voltaire's story. Indignant blood 
 rushed to his cheeks, to his eyes indignant fire, 
 and curl indignant to his moustache. He dis- 
 charged a drop of ire by skimming a flat stone 
 at a chattering- chipmunk, enthroned on a pump- 
 
144 JfiDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 kin hard by. Then he began to put in trenchant 
 queries. 
 
 " You are sure, Mr. Brothertoft, that your 
 •laughter does not love Kerr." 
 
 " Sure. I have her word for it." 
 
 " Does he love her ? " 
 
 " He wants her." 
 
 " Wliy ? " 
 
 " She is a beauty and an heiress, — those are 
 Jne patent charms." 
 
 " Ah ! But does she know that Keri;' is a fan- 
 fa.on and a rake, — selfish, certainly, probably 
 basj, »nd very likely cruel ? " 
 
 " She knows only what her mother tells her. 
 Prieuds are taboo in that house." 
 
 " But does she divine nothing ? Nothing to 
 base a refusal on ? Pardon me if my tone seems 
 to expreiss a doubt of this young lady, but — " 
 
 " But /ou have seen so many captivated by 
 rank and i red coat. My friend, I have done her 
 greater ii\;ustice than any you can imagine. I 
 believed my own child spoiled by bad influences. 
 We could 1. ot understand each other. An evil- 
 omened figu re held a black curtain between us. 
 I was too sick a^; heart to see the truth. I had 
 lost my faith I thought that my daughter 
 had taken in jjison with lier mother's milk. I 
 fancied tliat she was a willing pupil when her 
 mother taught Wer to hate and despise me. I 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT. ^ 145 
 
 abandoned her. Miserable error, — miserable ! 
 And punished now ! punished most cruelly ! My 
 spleen, my haste, my intemperate despair, are 
 bitterly punished by my daughter's danger. How 
 fatally I misjudged her in my sore-wounded 
 heart! I know her better at last. Better now, 
 when I fear it is too late to save her. I know 
 her at last through this faithful servant and 
 friend. He stood by her when I forsook her. 
 God forgive me ! God forgive me ! " 
 
 He poured out this confession with passion 
 growing as he spoke. Then he turned and 
 grasped Major Skerrett by the shoulder. 
 
 " What is to be done ? " he cried. 
 
 " Much ! " said Skerrett, quietly, command- 
 ing his own eagerness roused by the other's 
 agony. "Remember that this wedding is not 
 to be before day after to-morrow. I have vol- 
 unteered to present tlie intended bridegroom to 
 General Putnam here, by that time. Do you sup- 
 pose I intend to break my engagement, whether 
 it forbids his banns or not ? " 
 
 He assumed more confidence than he felt. 
 The enterprise was growing complicated. While 
 there was merely question of taking or not tak- 
 ing a prisoner, Skerrett could look at the matter 
 coolly. Success was only another laurel in his 
 corona triumphalis I Failure was but a bay the 
 less. If he bagged his man, another canto of 
 7 i 
 
146 EDWIN BROTHEBTOFl. 
 
 doggerel. No bag, no poem. The attempt even 
 would keep Put and his paladins amused until 
 their general decadence of tail was corrected, and 
 their bosoms swelled with valor again, and that 
 was enough. 
 
 But here was a new character behind the 
 scenes. The hero's pulse began to gallop and 
 his heart to prance. A woman's happiness at 
 stake ! 
 
 " Ah ! " reflected the Major, " I was cool 
 enough so long as I thought I was merely enter- 
 taining a circle of downcast braves, bushwhack- 
 ing to steal an exchangeable Adjutant, and giv- 
 ing the enemy an unexpected dig in the ribs. 
 But the new portion of the adventure makes me 
 shaky. If I fail, I lose my laurel, all the same, 
 and a lady has to be bonneted with a wreath of 
 orange-flowers against her will. If I don't bag, 
 Beauty goes to the Kerrs ; I miss my canto and 
 the poem of her life becomes a dirge. I must 
 not think of it, or I shall lose my spirits." 
 
 " Prying into a maiden's heart is new business 
 to me," he resumed to the father, who stood 
 watching him anxiously. "I cannot quite com- 
 prehend this matter. She does not love this 
 man. Her dislike has brought about a reconcili- 
 ation between you. Where is her No ? I have 
 heard that women carry such a weapon, — bran- 
 dish it, too, and strike on much less provocation 
 than she has." 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT. 147 
 
 •' She is not a free agent," replied Brothertoft. 
 " Her mother dominates her. Slie forced her to 
 disown me. Slie will force her to this marriage. 
 Lucy has been quelled all her life. I hope and 
 believe that if she were released, or even support- 
 ed for one moment in rebellion, her character 
 might find it had vigor. But she is still wil- 
 low in her mother's hands. If the mother, for 
 whatever reasons, has made up her mind to this 
 marriage, she will crowd her daughter into it." 
 
 " What reasons are sufficient for such tyran- 
 ny?" 
 
 " I divine metaphysical reasons, that I cannot 
 speak of. It pains me greatly, my dear young 
 friend, to talk harshly of my daughter's mother. 
 Perhaps after all she may mean kindly now. 
 She may be mistaken in Kerr." 
 
 " No," said Peter. " No woman of the world 
 can mistake such a fellow." 
 
 " Still, he is a strong friend to have on the 
 other side." 
 
 "Yes; and this is a moment when the other 
 side is up and we are down. I can see how, 
 with these great estates, a Patrooness may be 
 willing to save herself a confiscation. She can 
 pretend to be neutral, with a leaning to Liberty, 
 and leave her son-in-law to rescue the acres if 
 Liberty goes to the gallows." 
 
 " Such considerations have brought matters to 
 
148 EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 a crisis. Kerr is there on the spot. Clinton la 
 victor. So the poor child is hurried off without 
 giving her time to consider." 
 
 " We must make time for her. I will go at 
 my plans presently. But I should like to hear a 
 little more of Voltaire's story." 
 
 "You are very kind to take this interest in 
 the welfare of a desolate and disheartened man, 
 and those who are dear to him." 
 
 Peter's cheeks were too brown to show blushes, 
 and his cocked hat covered his white forehead ; 
 but he noticed that his heart was brewing a crim- 
 son blush, whether it burst through the valves 
 and came to the surface or not. In fact he be- 
 gan to feel a lively sympathy for this weak girl, 
 into whose orbit he was presently to fling him- 
 self, like a yellow-haired comet, with spoil-sport 
 intent. The more he tried to cork in his blush, 
 the more it would n't be corked. And presently 
 bang it came to the surface. His white forehead 
 tingled at every pore, as the surface of a glass of 
 Clicquot may tingle with its own bursting bub- 
 bles. No such rosy flash had ever showed on his 
 countenance, when Anna's or Belinda's or Clara's 
 or Delia's cheeks challenged him to kindle up. 
 But the mere thought of a name much lower 
 down in the alphabet now made his heart eager 
 to do its share in striking fire and lighting this 
 sorrowful scene about the Lucy in quention. 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT 149 
 
 The sad father was not in the way to observe 
 Dlushes ; nor was Voltaire, who now proceeded 
 to finish his story. 
 
 For fear the worthy fellow might lapse into 
 brogue, — whereupon the ghost of John 0. Cal- 
 houn would hurroo with triumph, and ventrilo- 
 quize derisive niggerisms through the larynx of 
 his type negro, the stuffed Gorilla, — Voltaire's 
 tale shall be transposed into the third person. 
 Then the hiatuses can be filled up, and we shall 
 be able to peer a little into Lucy Brothertoft's 
 heart, and see whether the Heavenly Powers 
 have guarded her, as Sappho the cook long age 
 prophesied they would. 
 
VI. 
 
 No hag is a houri to her fille de chambre. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft, handsome hag, was thoi> 
 oughly comprehended by the Voltaire family. 
 That was no doubt part of their compensation 
 for being black, ^nd below stairs. 
 
 Sweet Lucy was also well understood in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 Many a pitifal colloquy went on about her 
 between those three faithful souls. 
 
 Sappho's conundrum, " What is de most im- 
 portantest 'gredient in soup ? " was often pro- 
 pounded. Voltaire always protested against 
 such vulgar remarks. Plato always guessed 
 " Faith ! " and pretended he 'd never heard the 
 riddle before. 
 
 " Faith is all very well," Voltaire would say, 
 in studied phrase^ as a model to his son. " But 
 where is the Works ? Where is the Works to 
 help Miss Lucy ? " 
 
 "Jess ycu keep yer grip onto de Faith," his 
 wife would respond. " an' de Works will ju8- 
 sumfy, when de day of jussumfication comeB." 
 
EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 151 
 
 So Lucy grew up a grave, sad, lonely young 
 girl. Her heart was undeveloped, for she had 
 no oue but her mother to love. She loved there, 
 with little response. Her mother received, and 
 did not repel, her love. That was enough for 
 this affectionate nature. As to sympathy, they 
 were strangers. 
 
 " She seems to me bitterly cold, when I love 
 her so dearly," Lucy would say to herself; " but 
 how can I wonder? My father's wrong-doing 
 has broken her heart. Her life must be mere 
 endurance. Mine would be, if I were so disap- 
 pointed in one I loved. It is now." 
 
 And the poor child's heart would sink, and 
 her eyes fiU, and thick darkness come over her 
 future. 
 
 She lived a sadly lonely life. She could 
 never be merry as other girls. There was a 
 miserable sense of guilt oppressing her soul. 
 The supposed crimes of her father — those un- 
 known enormities — weighed upon her. These, 
 she thought, were what made many good people 
 a little shy of the Brothertoft household. She 
 could not fail to perceive a vague something in 
 which her mother's house was different from 
 other houses she was permitted slightly to know. 
 Why were so many odious men familiar there ? 
 When the family were in town, she could avoid 
 them, day and evening, and spend long hours 
 
152 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 
 
 unnoticed and forgotten in her own chamber. 
 She could escape to books or needlework. But 
 why did her mother tolerate these coarse men 
 from the barracks, with their Tom, Dick, and 
 Harry talk ? To be sure these were days of war, 
 and Mrs. Brothertoft was loyal in her sympathies, 
 though non-committal, and " She may think it 
 right," thought Lucy, " to show her loyalty in 
 the only way a woman can, by hospitality. But 
 I am glad she does not expect me to help her 
 entertain her guests. I am glad I am a child 
 still. I hope I shall never be a woman." 
 
 Her life took a sombre cast. She sank into a 
 groove, and moved through the hours of hei 
 days a forlorn and neglected creature. 
 
 " Queer ! " Julia Peartree Smith would say 
 of her. " A little weak here," and Julia touched 
 her forehead, just below her chestnut front. 
 " She is a Brothertoft, and they were always 
 feeble-minded folk, you know. But perhaps 
 it 's just as well," — and Julia sank her voice 
 to a mean whisper, — "just as well she should n't 
 be too sharp-sighted in that house. I really be- 
 lieve the silly chit loves her mother, and thinks 
 her as good as anybody. I tried to give her a 
 half-hint once, but the little fool fired up red- 
 hot and said, I was a shameful old gossip, — 
 ' old,' indeed ! " 
 
 So Lucy lived, utterly innocent of any dream 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEETOFT. Ic3 
 
 of the ovil she was escaping. There is something 
 sadly beautiful and touching in this spectacle. 
 A moonlit cloud flitting over the streets of a 
 great wicked city, pausing above foul courts 
 where vice slinks and crime cowers, reflected 
 in the eddies of the tainted river, — the same 
 eddy that was cleft at solemn moonrise by a sui- 
 cide, — this weft of gentle cloud is not more un- 
 conscious of all the sin and shame beneath it, 
 than Lucy of any wrong. The cloud beholds the 
 pure moon, and drifts along unsullied; Lucy 
 saw only her own white and virginal faith. It 
 was not a warming, cheering luminary ; but it 
 shed over her world the gray, resigned light of 
 patience. 
 
 A touching sight ! the more so, because we 
 know that the character will develop, and, when 
 it is ripe enough to bear maturer sorrows and to 
 perceive a darker shame, that tlie eyes will open 
 and the sorrow and shame will be revealed, 
 standing where they have so long stood unseen. 
 
 After this little glimpse of Lucy's life, monot- 
 onously patient for the want of love, Voltaire 
 takes up his narration again. 
 
 Voltaire thought Mrs. Brothertoft had deter- 
 mined to marry off Miss Lucy to Major Kerr as 
 long ago as last spring, before they left town. 
 She did not, however, announce her plans until 
 
 they were iu the country. She probably knew 
 
 >* 
 
164 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFt. 
 
 that this was a case where the betrothed had 
 better not see too much of each other. 
 
 " I remember the day," says the negro, " when 
 Miss Lucy began to mope. Roses was comin' in 
 strong. She used to fill the house with 'em. 
 Sometimes she 'd sing a little, while she was 
 fixin' 'em. But from that day out, she 's never 
 teched a flower nor sung a word. She 's just 
 moped." 
 
 By and by Voltaire had discovered the reason. 
 
 It was the wreath of mock orange-flowers 
 dangled over Lucy's head by a false Cupid, 
 Anteros himself, that had taught her to hate 
 roses and every summer bloom. Her faint songs 
 were still because her heart was sick. The bride- 
 groom was coming, and her mother had notified 
 the bride to put on her prettiest smile. This 
 command was given in Mrs. Brothertoft's short, 
 despotic way. Neither side argued. Lucy pre- 
 pared to obey, just as she would have thrust a 
 thorn in her foot, or swallowed a coal, upon 
 order. She was not so very happy. She could 
 be a little more unhappy without an unbearable 
 shock. Major Kerr did not disgust her so much 
 as some of her mother's intimates. Still the 
 prospect was not charming. The summer roses 
 lost color to her eyes. Color left the cheeks that 
 once rivalled the roses. The bride did not try to 
 smile. Smiles are smiles only when the heart 
 
EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 155 
 
 pulls the wires. It takes practice to work the 
 grimace out of a forced smile, so that it may past 
 for genuine. 
 
 When was the bridegroom coming ? That in- 
 formation the bridegroom himself, though Sir 
 Henry Clinton's Adjutant, could not yet precisely 
 give. " We are soon to make a blow at the 
 Highlands, — then you will see me," — so he 
 wrote, and sent the message in a silver bullet. 
 Silver bullets, walnuts split and glued together, 
 and stuffed with pithy notes instead of kernels, 
 and all manner of treacherous tokens, passed be- 
 tween Brothertoft Manor and the Red outposts. 
 Whether facts leaked out from leaky old Put 
 when glasses too many of the Brothertoft Yellow- 
 seal were under his belt ; whatever true or false 
 intelligence Scrammel paid for his post on Miss 
 Lucy's sofa, — every such fact was presently 
 sneaking away southward in the pocket of young 
 Bilsby, or some other Tory tenant on the Manor. 
 
 "I saw Miss Lucy mopin' and mopin' worse 
 and worse," says Voltaire, " but I could n't do 
 nothin', and there I sot in the pantry, like a 
 dumb hoppertoad, watchin' a child walkin' up to 
 a rattlesnake." 
 
 Voltaire's Faith without Works was almost 
 dead. 
 
 Young Bilsby must have sneaked up to Broth- 
 ertoft Manor with the news Df Cliutoii's 3xpedi- 
 
156 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 tion to the relief of Burgoyiie, just at the time 
 that Mr. Brothertoft's aunouncement of his pres- 
 ence at Fishkill reached Voltaire. 
 
 " I did not dare tell Miss Lucy her father was 
 so near," says the major-domo, " imtil, all at 
 once, on the fourth of this month, wfe saw King 
 George's ships lying off King's Ferry ; and by 
 and by up the hill comes Major Kerr to the 
 Manor-House, red as a beet." 
 
 Upon this arrival, Lucy first fully compre- 
 hended what misery the maternal fiat was to 
 ?)ring upon her. Voltaire found her weeping 
 and utterly desolate. At once his Faith worked 
 out words. The dumb hoppertoad found voice 
 to croak, " Ware rattlesnake ! " 
 
 " You are going to be married, Miss Lucy ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 She wanted sympathy sadly, poor child ! As 
 soon as he spoke, she made a tableau and a scene, 
 — both tragic. She laid her head on the old 
 fellow's shoulder, — Tableau. She burst into 
 tears, — Scene. 
 
 "Woolly wig and black phiz bent over fair hair 
 Rnd pale face. Delicate lips of a fine old Lin- 
 colnshire stock murmured a plaint. Thick lips 
 of coarse old African stock muttered a vow of 
 devotion. A little, high-bred hand, veuied with 
 tangre azul, yielded itself to the leathery pres- 
 sure of a brown paw. Ah, poor child ! she had 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 157 
 
 need of a friend, and was not critical as to 
 color. 
 
 " To be married ? " Lucy responded, when 
 sobs would let her speak. " Yes, Voltaire, in 
 three or four days." 
 
 " Time 's short as Sappho's best pie-crust." 
 
 " Mother says," continued the young lady, 
 " that I must have a protector. The Major is 
 here now, and may be ordered up or down any 
 day. Mother says it is providential, and we 
 must take advantage of the opportunity, and be 
 married at once." 
 
 She looked very little like a bride, with her 
 sad, shrinking face. 
 
 " Don't you love Major Kerr ? " asked Vol- 
 taire. " Lub " he always must pronounce this 
 liquid verb. 
 
 " Do I love him, Voltaire ? I hope to when 
 we are married. Mother says I will. She says 
 the ceremony and the ring will make another 
 person of me. She says she has chosen me an 
 excellent match, and I must b« satisfied. 
 Voltaire ! it seems a sin to say it, but my mothei' 
 is cold and harsh with me. Perhaps i do not 
 understand her. If I only had some otlier 
 friend ! " 
 
 " You have," Voltaire announced. 
 
 "You — I know," she said, kindly. 
 
 " Closer — miles closer 'n me ! " 
 
168 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 " Who ! Do you mean any one of our loyal- 
 ist neighbors ? " 
 
 Lucy ran her thought over her short list of 
 friends. All the valued names had been ex- 
 punged by her mother's strict censorship, or 
 pushed back among mere acquaintance. 
 
 " Have you forgotten your father ? " the but- 
 ler asked. 
 
 " Forgotten ! I go every day, when no one 
 is by, and lift up the corner of the curtain over 
 the Vandyck. Our ancestor is my father him- 
 self. I look at him, and pray God to forgive 
 him for being so wicked, and breaking my moth- 
 er's heart." 
 
 " Poh ! " 
 
 Lucy drew back in astonishment, as if a Paix- 
 han*blow-gun had exploded at her side. 
 
 " Poh ! " again burst out Voltaire's double- 
 corked indignation. " K there was a wicked 
 one in that pair, it was n't him. If there 's a 
 heart broke, it 's his." 
 
 Lucy for a moment did not think of this as 
 an assault upon her mother. 
 
 " What, Voltaire ! " she cried. " He is not 
 dead ! Not a bad man ! Not a rebel ! " 
 
 " Rebel ! " says the French radical's name- 
 sake. " Why should n't he be a rebel for Free- 
 dom ? Bad ! he ain't bad enough to marry oflF 
 his daughter only to git shet of her. Dead J 
 
EDWIN BKOTHEKTOFT. 169 
 
 No, Miss Lucy ; he 's up to Fishkill, and sends 
 you his lub by me, if you want it." 
 
 Love — even disguised as " Lub " — it was 
 such a fair angel of light, that Lucy looked up 
 and greeted it with a smile. But this was not 
 a day for smiles. Storms were come after long 
 gray weather. Only tears now, — bitter tears ! 
 They must flow, sweet sister ! It is the old, 
 old story. 
 
 " Does he really love me ? Is this true ? Was 
 he true? Was I deceived? Why did he and 
 my mother separate ? Why did she drive him 
 out ? Whom can I trust ? Is every one a 
 liar ? What does this mean ? Answer me, Vol- 
 taire! Answer me, or I shall die." 
 
 Voltaire looked, and did not answer. To an- 
 swer was a terrible revelation to make to this 
 innocent girl. Faith was putting the old fellow 
 to very cruel Works. 
 
 " Speak ! " said Lucy again, more passionately 
 than before, and her voice expressed the birth of 
 a new force within her. " Speak ! What have 
 you to say of my mother? I dread some new 
 sorrow. Tell me what it is, or I shall die." 
 
 Again these pages refuse to listen to the few 
 deplorable words of Ins reply. He whispered 
 the secret of her mother's disloyal life. 
 
 " I will not believe' it," said the horror-stricken 
 girl. 
 
160 EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT. 
 
 She did believe it. 
 
 She had touched the clew. Prom this moment 
 she knew the past and the present, — vaguely, as 
 a pure soul may know the mystery of sin. 
 
 For the moment she felt herself crushed to a 
 deeper despair than before. She recognized the 
 great overpowering urgency of Pate. She could 
 not know that this recognition marks to the soul 
 its first step into conscious immortality ; and that 
 the inevitable struggle to conquer Pate must now 
 begin in her soul. 
 
 " What can I do ? " she said ; and she looked 
 guiltily about the chamber, as if every object in 
 that house were the accomplice of a sin. 
 
 " Rim away with me to your father ! " said 
 Voltaire. 
 
 She shook her head weakly. She was a great, 
 great way yet from any such exploit with her in- 
 fant will. 
 
 " No," she said ; " I must obey my mother. 
 That is my plain duty. She is pledged and I 
 am pledged to this marriage. I must submit." 
 Tears again, poor child ! The old habits are still 
 too strong for her. 
 
 " But suppose your father should tell you tc 
 obey him, and not sul'mit," Voltaire propounded. 
 " Suppose he should help to rvm you oflF." 
 
 " How can he ? " 
 
 " I will steal o£f to-night to Pishkill, and see 
 him." 
 
ED';nN BBOTHEBTOFT. 161 
 
 " You risk your life." 
 
 " Poh ! " 
 
 " Poh ! " is not a word to use to a young lady, 
 Mr. Voltaire. Yet perhaps nothing could ex- 
 press so well as that explosive syllable how 
 much and how little he valued life when the 
 lady's happiness was at stake. 
 
 " But I did n't want Miss Lucy to be fright- 
 ened, of course," says he to Major Skerrett, " so 
 1 told her that I was safe enough in the High- 
 lands, and when I got here I did n't believe Major 
 Scrammel would let me be shot for a spy." 
 
 Here he gave a monstrous sly look. 
 
 Peter Skerrett again felt his cheeks burn, and 
 his forehead tingle, and the stilled Muse of His- 
 tory reports that " he uttered a phrase indicative 
 of reprehension and distrust." 
 
 In short, he said to himself, " Scrammel ! damn 
 the fellow ! " 
 
 Certainly ! Why not ? But it must not be 
 forgotten, that it is Scrammel who suggested 'this 
 expedition. Voltaire told Scrammel of the mar- 
 riage. Scrammel, as our peep into friend Liv- 
 ingston's brain informed us, would do one of his 
 meanest tricks to be himself the bridegroom. 
 And his scheme seems to be in a fair way to for 
 bid the banns. 
 
 And so guileless Lucy Brothertoft had con- 
 sented to her first plot. Her accomplice was to 
 
162 EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT. 
 
 ehift the burden of weakness from her shouldera, 
 and throw it upon her father. Meantime she 
 was to take her place at the great dinner-party, 
 and be a hypocrite for the first time. How 
 guilty f-^U that innocent heart ! How she dread- 
 ed lest some chance word or look might betray 
 her! What torture was the burning blush in 
 her cheeks as she began to comprehend the wo- 
 man she must name mother! How she trem- 
 bled lest that woman's cruel eyes should pierce 
 her bosom, see the secret there, and consign her, 
 without even the appointed delay, to the ardent 
 bridegroom. She knew that she should yield 
 and obey. Now that for the first time she was 
 eager to have a will of her own, she saw how 
 untrained and inefficient this will was. Horror 
 of her mother, and loathing of her betrothed, 
 each repelled her in turn. She seemed to see 
 herself praying for mercy to the woman, and she 
 coldly refusing to listen ; then flying across the 
 stage, and supplicating the man to spare her, 
 and he, instead, triumphing with coarse fond- 
 ness. Ah, unhappy lady ! with no friend except 
 that stout-hearted old squire, shinning by night 
 through the Highlands, and dodging sentries at 
 risk of a shot, — a shot, that startling trochee, 
 sharp ictus, and faint whiz. 
 
 Except for the Majors, — Scrammel to plot, 
 Skerrett to execute, — Voltaire's evasion would 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 163 
 
 have been in vain. Edwin Brothertoft was par- 
 alyzed by the news of his daughter's danger. 
 
 " What can I do ? " he said to the old servant, 
 bitterly. " Nothing ! Nothing ! Is General Put- 
 nam, just defeated, likely to march down to rescue 
 my daughter ? These are not the days of chiv- 
 alry. Knights do not come at call, when dam- 
 sels are in distress. No ; I am impotent to help 
 her. If she cannot help herself, her heart must 
 break, as mine has broken. That base woman 
 will crush her life, as she crushed mine. Why 
 did you come to me ? You have brought me 
 news that I may love my daughter, only to make 
 the new love a cause of deeper misery. Why 
 did you tell me of this insult to her woman- 
 hood ? I had enough to endure before. Go ! 
 What can I say to her ? She will not care for a 
 futile message, ' that I love her, but can do 
 nothing.' Some stronger head than mine might 
 devise a plan. Some stronger heart might dare. 
 But I have given up. I am a defeated man, — a 
 broken-hearted man, living from day to day, 
 and incompetent to vigor. I remember my- 
 self another person. I sometimes feel the old 
 fire stir and go out. But I can do nothing. 
 My fate and my daughter's fate are one. Go, 
 Voltaire, and leave me to my utter sorrow and 
 despair ! " 
 
 He had but just dismissed the negro, and 
 
l64 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 turned a despondent back upon the world, — 
 when lo ! Peter Skerrett, as we saw him, comes 
 forth. Here comes the Captor of Captives, the 
 Hero of Ballads ! Here come chivalry, youth, 
 ardor, force, confidence, success, all in a body, 
 — a regiment of victor traits in one man, and 
 on that man's lip The Moustache, the best 
 in the Continental army. Here comes a man 
 whose timepiece has never learnt to mark " Too 
 late." Here he comes, and he has made it his 
 business to eliminate Kerr fi'om the problem of 
 Brothertoft Manor ; so that Kerr -|- Lucy = Bliss 
 will be for a time an impossible equation. 
 
 Take courage, then, Edwin Brothertoft, tender 
 of heart, sick at will, and thank Heaven that 
 you married your gunstock to the brainpan of 
 that British beggar with a baggonet at Bunker 
 Hill, and so saved Skerrett to help you. 
 
 Voltaire's story, with additions and improve- 
 ments, now ends, and business proceeds. 
 
VII. 
 
 " After this history, I want a little topog- 
 laphy," said Skerrett. " Can you sketch me 
 a ground plan of the house ? " 
 
 That skeleton, Brothertoft could draw with- 
 out much feeling. The house, as it stood, com- 
 plete in the background of memory, he would 
 not allow himself to recall. Its walls and fur- 
 niture were fb him the uushifted scenes and 
 properties of a tragedy. If he painted them 
 before his mind's eye, an evil-omened figure of 
 a woman would step from behind the curtain, 
 threatening some final horror, to close the drama 
 of their lives. 
 
 " This wing to the right," Skerrett said, " seems 
 an addition." 
 
 " It was built on by the present proprietress," 
 coldly rejoined the former heir. 
 
 "Stables here ! " continued the Major, tracing 
 the plan. " Dining-room windows open toward 
 them. Shrubbery here, not too far ofi" for an 
 ambush. Now, Voltaire, if we could get Major 
 Kerr alone in that dining-room in the dusk 
 
166 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 of the evening to-morrow, I could walk him oflF 
 easily." 
 
 " Ho ! " exclaims the butler. " That 's all 
 settled beforehand." 
 
 "Kerr sometimes makes lafe sittings there, 
 then? I fancied I knew his habits." 
 
 " He 's a poor hand at courtin'," says Vol- 
 taire, with contempt. " Ladies likes dewotion, — 
 that 's my 'sperience. He 's only dewoted to 
 fillin' hisself full of wine." 
 
 " A two-bottle man ? " 
 
 " Every day, when the ladies leave table, he rubs 
 his hands,"" — Voltaire imitates, — " and says, 
 * Now then, old "boy, fresh bottle ! Yellow-seal ! 
 Don't shake him ! ' He drinks that pretty slow, 
 and gives me a glass and says, ' Woolly-head, 
 we '11 drink my pretty Lucy. Lucky Kerr's 
 pretty bride ! ' " 
 
 Peter Skerrett here looked ferocious. 
 
 " Then," continued the old fellow, " he drops 
 off asleep at the table till four o'clock. Then 
 he wakes up, sour, and sings out," — Voltaire imi- 
 tates, — " ' Hullo, you dam nigger ! Look sharp ! 
 Another bottle ! If you shake him, I '11 cut your 
 black heart out.' He drinks him, and then 
 byme-by he says, ' Ole fel ! Shmore wide, ole 
 fel. Tuther boddle dow ! 1 ashkitspuss onle 
 favor, ole fel ! ' Then he sings a little, and gets 
 generally accelerated." 
 
EDttrtN BftOTSERTOFT. 167 
 
 " I wotild rather have him slowed, than ac- 
 celerated," says Peter. 
 
 " Oho ! " grinned the butler, and whispered 
 to himself, " If the Major thinks he ought to 
 be stupid-tipsy for the good of the cause and 
 Miss Lucy, I can deteriorate him, into his Ma- 
 deira, with a little drop of our French Gutter de 
 Rosy brandy. That will take the starch out of 
 his legs, and make him easy to handle. But that 
 is my business. I won't tell nobody my secrets. 
 The pantry and I must keep dark." 
 
 " I cannot help a grain of compunction in 
 this matter," Skerrett said. " A gentleman 
 does not like to interfere in another man's 
 courtship." 
 
 " Do you call this plot of a coarse man with 
 an unmotherly woman by the fair name of court- 
 ship ? " Brothertoft said. 
 
 " No. And fortunately the lady has no illu- 
 sions. I should not like to be the one to tell 
 Beauty she had loved Beast. But this Beauty, 
 it seems, has kept her heart too pure to have 
 lost her fine maidenly instinct of aversion tor a 
 blackguard. Well, no more metaphysics ! Scru- 
 ples be hanged. Kerr don't deserve to be treated 
 like a gentleman. England should have kept 
 such fellows at home, if she wanted us to believe 
 good manners were possible under a monarchy. 
 Now, then, Mr. Brothertoft, suppose I do not 
 
168 EDWIN BftOtHEETOFT. 
 
 get myself 'hanged as one espy,' and take my 
 prisoner, — does his capture protect your daugh- 
 ter enough ? " 
 
 " I could wish, if it were possible, to have her 
 with me henceforth." 
 
 " We must make it possible, though it com- 
 plicates matters. I could rush in, snatch Kerr, 
 and be off. The blow would be struck, the 
 enemy annoyed, our people amiised; but in a 
 fortnight Clinton would offer some Yankee major 
 and a brace of captains to boot for his Adjutant, 
 the Honorable, &c. Then he would go down and 
 play Beast to Beauty again." 
 
 " Save my daughter, once for all ; if it can be 
 done." 
 
 " I '11 try. Now, Voltaire, listen ! " 
 
 Which he opened his mouth to do. 
 
 " What people, besides the two ladies and 
 Major Kerr, will be at your house to-morrow 
 evening, — the servants, I mean ? " 
 
 " Oh ! we live small at the Manor, now, — 
 ridiculous small. It 's war times now. Rents 
 is"Ti't paid. When we want a proper lot of ser- 
 vants, we takes clodhoppers." 
 
 " Lucky for my plans you do live small," 
 Skerrett said. " Never mind your family pride ! 
 Name the household ! " 
 
 " Me and Sappho and Plato, all patriots ; 
 Jierck Dewitt's wife and her sister, Sally Bilsby, 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFt. 169 
 
 both Tories, — that is, gals that likes redcoats 
 more than is good for 'em." 
 
 " Could you manage to have the girls out of 
 the way to-morrow evening ? " 
 
 " Easy enough. They '11 be glad to get away 
 for a frolic." 
 
 "Any horses in your stable, Voltaire ? " 
 
 " Six, — all out of that Harriet Heriot mare 
 stock. You remember, Master Edwin." 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft did sadly remember the late 
 old Sam Galsworthy's generous offer. He re- 
 membered sadly that ride, so many years ago, 
 and how the sweet south winds, laden with the 
 rustle of tropic palms, met him with fair omen, 
 ■ — ah ! long ago, when Faith was blind and Hope 
 was young ! 
 
 " Six white horses," Voltaire continued ; " the 
 •four carriage-horses. Madam's horse, and Miss 
 Lucy's mare, — you ought to see Miss Lucy on 
 her!" 
 
 " Perhaps I shall. Tell Plato to give the mare 
 another oat to-morrow ! Her mistress may want 
 a canter in the evening, — eh, Voltaire ? " 
 
 Grin in response. 
 
 " Tell Miss Brothertoft, with her father's best 
 love," Skerrett resumed, "that he will be on 
 the lawn by the dining-room window to-morrow 
 evening at nine o'clock, waiting for her to ride 
 with him to Fishkill, Tell her to be brave, pru 
 
 8 
 
ITO EDWIN BROTHERTOFt. 
 
 dent, and keep out of sight with a headache, 
 until she is called to start. And you, Voltaire, 
 as you love her, be cautious, be secret and be 
 wide awake ! " 
 
 At " be cautious," the old fellow winked elab- 
 orately. At " be secret," he locked all four 
 eyelids tight. At " be wide awake," — snap J 
 eyelids flung open, and white of eye enough 
 appeared to dazzle a sharpshooter. 
 
 " Now, listen, Voltaire ! " 
 
 Mouth agape, again, as if he had a tympanum 
 at each tonsil. 
 
 " Look at me, carefully ! " continues Peter. 
 
 Pan shut and eyes d la saucer. 
 
 " Do you think you would know me disguised 
 in a red coat ? " 
 
 Pan opened to explode, " Certain sure, sir ! " 
 
 " And without my moustache ? " the major 
 asked. 
 
 He gave that feature a tender twirl. His 
 fingers wrapped the fair tendrils lovingly around 
 them. 
 
 " Must it go ? " he sighed. " Chivalry ! 
 Liberty! my Country! what ficrifices you 
 demand ! " 
 
 Voltaire was sure that he would know the 
 Hero, even with an emasculated lip. 
 
 " Well ; about eight to-morrow evening, when 
 
 ijor Kerr is ' accelerated ' with his second 
 
EDWIN BROTHEHTOF'T. 171 
 
 bottle, I shall knock at your loyal door, — mous- 
 tache off, and red coat on — and ask a night's 
 lodging for a benighted British sergeant." 
 
 " You shall have it," says the major-domo, 
 •vith a grand-seigneur manner. 
 
 " Nothing but apple-jack or Jersey cham- 
 pagne has passed these lips, since we lost the 
 iBrandywine. You will naturally give me my 
 bottle of Yellow-seal, and my bite of supper, 
 5*1 the dining-room with the Major." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Voltaire with sudden panic. 
 " Don't risk it ! Major Kerr 's got a sword awful 
 long and awful sharp, and two pistols with gold 
 handles, plum full of bullets. Every day, when 
 he drinks, he puts 'em on the sideboard, an' he 
 say, ' Lookerheeyar, ole darkey ! spose dam reb- 
 ble cum, I stick him, so ; an' I shoot him, so.' 
 Don't resk it, Mas'r Skerrett!" 
 
 (Ancient servitor, suppress thy terror and thy 
 Tombigbee together!) 
 
 " Slip off with the weapons, and hitle *em in 
 your bed," says the Major. 
 
 " In my bed ? " says Voltaire, in good Conti- 
 neutal again. "In our feather bed? Suppose 
 Sappho goes to lie down, and touches cold iron, 
 wont she take op scollops, high ? " 
 
 " The poetess must not be taught to strike 
 a jangling lyre. Give the tools to Plato. Set 
 him on guard at the dining-room door when 
 
172 EDWIN BEOTHEBTOPT. 
 
 I come. Tell him he is serving a model Re- 
 public, — such as his ancient namesake never 
 dreamed." 
 
 Brothertoft smiled at these classical allusions. 
 Lively talk was encouraging him, as his junior 
 meant it should. 
 
 Neither foresaw what a ghastly mischief was 
 to follow this arming of Plato. 
 
VIII. 
 
 " Now, Voltaire, the soouer you are on your 
 way back, to warn and comfort your young 
 lady, the better," said Skerrett. " I 'm sorry 
 for your shins among the Highlands by night." 
 
 " Never mind my shins," Voltaire replied 
 with a martyr air. " They belong to my coun- 
 try and Miss Lucy." 
 
 He passed his hand tenderly along their curvi- 
 linear edges, as if he were feeling a scymitar, 
 before a blow. They were sadly nicked, poor 
 things ! They would be lacerated anew, as he 
 brandished them at the briers, and smote with 
 them the stumps along his twenty-mile anar 
 basis. 
 
 " Farewell, my trump of trumps," said the 
 Major. " Remember ; be cautious, be secret, be 
 wide awake ! " 
 
 Same pantomime as before in reply. 
 
 " If Mrs. Brothertoft suspects anything, there 
 will be tragedy," Peter continued. 
 
 So all three knew, and shuddered to think. 
 
 " I will walk a little way with my friend." 
 
174 EDWtN HftOTHERTOFT. 
 
 fsaid Brothcrtoft, "I have a more hopeful mes- 
 sage now to send to my dear child." - 
 
 Peter watched the two contrasted figures until 
 they disappeared in the glow of the many-col- 
 ored forest. 
 
 " Lovely old gentleman ! " he thought. " Yes ; 
 'lovely' is the word. My first encounter with 
 a broken heart. It has stopped my glee for a 
 long time to come. I have felt tears in my 
 eyes, all the while, and only kept them down 
 by talking low comedy with the serio-comic 
 black personage. Can a broken heart be mended ? 
 That is always woman's work, I suppose. In 
 this case, too, woman broke, woman must re- 
 pair. The daughter must make over what the 
 wife spoilt. She shall be saved for his sake and 
 ner own, even if I come out of the business 
 an amputated torso. I don't quite comprehend 
 people that cannot help themselves. But here 
 I see the fact, — there are such. And I sup- 
 pose exuberant chaps, like myself, are put in 
 the world to help them. I wonder whether 
 any woman will break my heart! I wonder 
 whether Miss Lucy liked any of our fellows, 
 and had a hero in her eye to make Kerr look 
 more caitiif than he is. Could not be Scram- 
 mel, — he is a sneak. Could not be RadiSre, — 
 he is too dyspeptic. Nor Humphreys, — too pom- 
 pous. Nor Livingston, — he is not sentimental 
 
EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 175 
 
 enough. Nor Skerrett, — him she has never 
 seen and will see with his moustache off. Ali! 
 the Chief was right when he told me I should 
 put my foot into some adventure up here. And 
 now the thing is started, I must set it moving." 
 
 He walked toward Jierck Dewitt, still on 
 guard at the gate. His relief was just coming 
 up, and the sentry was at liberty. 
 
 " Did you know those two men I was talking 
 with, by the well, Jierck ? " Peter asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; Sergeant Lincoln and Lady Broth- 
 ertoft's factotum. I 'd like to know what old 
 Voltaire wanted here." 
 
 " He does not recognize the ex-Patroon," Sker- 
 rett thought. " Then no one will. Jierck's eyes 
 always saw a little Ughter in the dark, and a 
 little steadier in a glare, than the next man's. 
 Sorrow must have clapped a thick mask on my 
 friend's face." 
 
 " I suppose you know the Brothertoft Manor 
 country and the Manor-House thoroughly," 
 Jierck," the Major said. 
 
 ••Know the Manor, sir! I should think so. 
 I began with chasing tumble-bugs and crickets 
 over it, and studied it inch by inch. Then I 
 trailed black-snakes and ran rabbits, and got to 
 know it rod by rod. I 've fished in every brook, 
 and dumb every nut-tree, and poked into every 
 woodcock swamp or patridge brush from end 
 
176 EDWIN BKOTHEBTOFT. 
 
 to end of it. I know it, woodland and clearing, 
 Bide-hiU and swale, fields that grow stun and 
 fields that grow corn. I 've run horses over it, 
 where horses is to be run, — and that 's not 
 much, for its awful humpy country, and boul- 
 ders won't stay put anywheres. Deer, too, — 
 there ain't many pieces of woods on it where 1 
 have n't routed out deers, and when they legged 
 for the Highlands, I legged too, and come to 
 know the Highlands just as well. I used to love, 
 when I was a boy, to go along on the heights 
 above the river, and pick out places where I was 
 going to live ; but I sha'n't live in any of 'em 
 now. What does a man care about home, or 
 living at all, when his woman is n't true ? " 
 
 Major Skerrett did not interrupt this burst of 
 remembrances. " Jierck sufiers as much in his 
 way," he thought, " as the ex-Patroon." " And 
 the house," he said, " you know that as thor- 
 oughly ? " 
 
 " Ay, from garret to cellar. My father. 
 Squire Dewitt, has been in England, and he 
 says it 's more like an English house than any 
 he knows, in small. Prom garret to cellar, says 
 I. The cellar I ought to know pretty well. I 
 dodged in there once, when I was a boy, hangin' 
 round the house ; and got into the wine-room, 
 and drank stuff that came near spoilin' my taste 
 for rum forever, — I wish it had. They caught 
 
EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 177 
 
 me, and the Madam had me whipped till the 
 blood come. Mr. Brothertoft tried to beg off for 
 me. She 'd got not to make much of him by 
 that time, and the more he begged, the harder 
 she had 'em lay it on me. But I 'm talkin' off, 
 stiddy as the North River, and you 've got some- 
 thing to say to me, Major, I know, by the way 
 you look. What 's up about Brothertoft Ma- 
 nor ? » 
 
 " There 's a British oflBoer staying there, who 
 has never tasted pork and beans. I 've prom- 
 ised General Putnam to bring him up here to 
 dinner." 
 
 " Hooray ! that 's right. Give these militia 
 something to think about, or tliey get to believe 
 war 's like general trainin'-day, and they can cut 
 for home when they 're tired. You want volun- 
 teers. I 'm one." 
 
 " I counted on you for my lieutenant. Ser- 
 geant Lincoln also goes. Now I want three men 
 more, and you shall choose them. Each man 
 must have the grit of a hundred ; and they must 
 know the country as well as they know the way 
 to breakfast. Name three, Jierck ! " 
 
 " That I '11 do, bang. There 's Ike Van Wart, 
 for one. His junto, him and Jack Pauldmg and 
 Dave Williams, would just make the three. But 
 Jack 's nabbed, and down to York in a prison- 
 ship. And Dave 's off on furlough, sowing his 
 8* I. 
 
178 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 father's winter wheat for the Cowboys to tromp 
 next summer." 
 
 Only Isaac Van Wart, therefore, of that fa- 
 mous trio, whom the Muse of Tradition shall 
 fondly nickname 
 
 Major Andre's Bootjack, 
 
 joined Skerrett on his perilous service. 
 
 " Ike for one," continued Dewitt. " Well, 
 Galsworthy, old Sam Galsworthy, for two. And 
 for three, I don't believe a better man lives 
 than Hendrecus Canady, tlie root-doctor's son. 
 They 're all Brothertoft-Manor boys, built of 
 the best cast-steel, and strung with the wiriest 
 kind of wire. Shoot bullets into 'em, stick bag- 
 gonets into 'em ; they don't mind the bullets any 
 more than spit-balls at school, nor the baggonets 
 more than witches do pins." 
 
 " Well, Jierck, have them here in an hour. I 
 will join you, and talk the trip over, and we will 
 be ready to start at sunset." 
 
 Skerrett found himself a horse, trotted back 
 to FishkiU, wrote a farewell to his step-brother 
 aiid his mother, and scratched a few irrepres- 
 sible lines to Washington, such as the hero loved 
 to get from his boys, and valued much more than 
 lumbering despatches marked Ofi&cial. The de- 
 spatches only announced facts, good or bad. The 
 brisk, gallant notes revealed spirits which black 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 179 
 
 facts could not darken, nor heavy facts depress. 
 " So long as I have lads like Peter Skerrett," 
 thought Our George, by the grace of God Pater 
 Patriaa, when he received this note, a fortnight 
 after that cup-lip-and-slip battle of Germantown, 
 " while I have such lads with me, I can leave my 
 red paint in my saddle-bags with my Tuscarora 
 grammar." 
 
 " Now," thought Peter, " I have made my will 
 and written my despatch, I must proceed to 
 change myself into a redcoat." 
 
 He unpacked a British sergeant's uniform, 
 which he had carried, if disguise should be 
 needed in Ms late solitary journey. 
 
 " There is a garment," said he, holding up the 
 coat with an air of respect, " whose pockets have 
 felt the King's shilling. But thy pockets, old 
 buff and blue! " — he stripped off his own coat, 
 — "never knew bullion, though often stuffed 
 with Continental paper at a pistareen the pound 
 avoirdupois." 
 
 His weather-beaten scarlets were much too 
 small for the tall champion. By spasm and 
 pause, and spasm again, however, he managed 
 to squeeze into them at last. 
 
 Then he took Mrs. Birdsell's little equilateral 
 triangle of mirror, three inches to a side, and, 
 holding it off at arm's length, surveyed himself 
 by sections. 
 
180 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 "The color don't suit my complexion," he 
 said, viewing his head and neck. " The coat 
 will not button over my manly chest, and I shall 
 have to make it fast with a lanyard," — here he 
 took a view of the rib-region. " The tails are 
 simply ridiculous," — he twisted about to bring 
 the glass to bear upon them. " In short," — and 
 he ran the bit of mirror up and down, — " I am 
 a scarecrow, cap a pie. Liberty herself would 
 not know me. Pretty costume to go and see a 
 lady in ! Confound women ! Why will wives 
 break husband's hearts ? Wliy will girls grow 
 up beauties and heiresses, and become baits for 
 brutes? Ah, Miss Lucy Brothertoft! You do 
 not know what an inglorious rig Peter Skerrett 
 is submitting to for your sake. And the worst 
 is to come. Alas ! the worst must come ! " 
 
 He hoisted the looking-glass and gazed for a 
 moment irresolutely at his face. 
 
 There, in its accustomed place, sat The Mous- 
 tache, blonde in color, heroic in curl, under- 
 Bcoring his firm nose, pointing and adorning' the 
 handsome visage. 
 
 Skerrett gazed, sighed, and was silent. 
 
 Nerve him. Liberty ! Steel him. Chivalry ! 
 
 A hard look crept over his countenance. 
 
 He clutched a short blade, pointless ; but with 
 an edge trenchant as wit. 
 
 It was a razor. 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 181 
 
 Slash ! And one wing of The Moustache wag 
 swept from the field. 
 
 Behold him, trophy in hand and miserable 
 that he has won it! 
 
 Will resolution carry him through a second 
 assault ? Or will he go one-sided ; under one 
 nostril a golden wreath, under the other, bristles, 
 for ■ a six-month ? 
 
 Slash! The assassination is complete. 
 
 His lip is scalped. AH is bald between his 
 nose and mouth. The emphasis is subtracted 
 from his countenance. His upper lip, no longer 
 kept in place by its appropriate back-load, now 
 flies up and becomes seamed with wrinkles. 
 
 And there on the table lay The Moustache ! 
 
 There they lay, — the right flank and the left 
 flank, side by side in their old posture, — the 
 mere exuviae of a diminished hero. 
 
 Peter turned away weakly as a Samson 
 shorn. 
 
 " Ah, Liberty ! All, Chivalry ! " he moaned. 
 " Will the good time to come make a sacred 
 relic of these yellow tufts ? " 
 
 Tradition reports that his hostess found them, 
 and buried them, in an old tinder-box, in the 
 Fishkill village graveyard, where they sleep 
 among other exuviae, arms, legs, torsos, and 
 bodies of the heroes of that time. 
 
 And now it may be divined why De Chastel 
 
182 ■ EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 lux does not immortalize the Skerrett Mous- 
 tache. Perhaps Peter kept his lip in mourning 
 until after the surrender of Cornwallis. Per- 
 haps, alas! they never grew again. 
 
 " It will take gallons on gallons of this Octo 
 oer to put me in good spirits again," says the 
 Major, as he rode away. 
 
 The mellow air, all sweetness, all sparkle, and 
 ftU perfume, flowed up to his lips, generously. 
 He breathed, and breathed, and breathed again 
 of that free tap, and by the time he reached the 
 rendezvous was buoyant as ever. 
 
 The Orderly, Brothertoft, was awaiting him, 
 and sat patient, but uo longer despondent, look 
 ing through the bulky Highlands, as if they 
 were the mountains of a dream. 
 
 Jierck Dewitt and his Three were skylarking 
 in a pumpkin patch. Twenty years ago we 
 saw the same three, straddling and spurring 
 tombstones in the Brothertoft Manor graveyard, 
 the day of the last Patroon's funeral, — the day 
 when Old Van Courtlandt made a Delphic 
 Apollo of him, and foretold, amid general clink 
 of glasses, that marriage of white promise atfd 
 black performance. 
 
 "The child is father of the man"; and the 
 four boys have grown up as their fathers' chil- 
 dren should. 
 
 Jierck Dewitt has already shown himself, and 
 
KDWIN B60THEBT0PT 183 
 
 related why he Is not fully up to his mark of 
 manliness. 
 
 When he caught sight of Major Skerrett, he 
 dropped a yellow bomb, charged with possible 
 pumpkin-pies, which he was about to toss at 
 the head of one of his men, and marched the 
 file up to be reviewed by its leader. 
 
 " Number one is Ike Yan Wart, Major," says 
 Jierck. " His eyes are peeled, if there 's any 
 eyes got their bark off in the whole Thirteen." 
 
 Ike touched his cocked hat — it was his only 
 bit of uniform — and squared shoulders to be 
 looked at. 
 
 He was a lank personage, of shrewd, but rather 
 sanctimonious visage. War made him a scout. 
 Fate appointed him one prong of Major Andre's 
 Bootjack. But Elder and Chorister were writ- 
 ten on his face; and he died Elder and Choris- 
 ter of the First Presbyterian Church of Green- 
 burgh, in Westchester. 
 
 " Right about face, Ike ! " says Jierck. " For- 
 rud march. Old Sam Galsworthy ! He 's grit, if 
 grit grows. His only fault is he 's too good- 
 natured to live." 
 
 Old Sam stood forward, and laughed. As he 
 laughed, the last button flew off his uniform 
 coat. It was much too lean a coat for one of 
 his increasing diameter, and the exit of that 
 final button had long been merely a question 
 
184 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 
 
 of time. Hearty Old Sam miay be best de- 
 scribed by pointing to his descendants, who in 
 our day are the identical Sam, repeated. Under 
 thirty, they drive high-stepping bays in the wag- 
 ons of the great Express Companies. They wear 
 ruddy cheeks, chinny beards, natty clothes, 
 blue caps with a gilt button ; and rattle their 
 drags through from Flatten Barrack, up Broad- 
 way and back, at 2 P. M., without hitting a 
 hub or cursing a carter. Everybody says Old 
 Sam is too good-natured to live ! But he does 
 live and thrive, and puts flesh on his flesh, and 
 dollars on his ph. Over thirty, he marries, 
 as becomes a Galsworthy, buys acres up the 
 river, raises red-cheeked apples and children, 
 breeds high-stepping bays, and when he takes 
 his annual nag to the Bull's Head for sale, 
 the knowing men there make bets, and win 
 them, that Old Squire Sam weighs at least two 
 hundred and forty pounds with his coat off'. 
 
 " Right about face, Sam ! " says the fugleman. 
 " Forrud march, Hendrecus Canady ! He looks 
 peaked. Major. His father 's a root and Injun 
 doctor, and he never had much but pills to eat, 
 until he ran off" and joined the army. But I 
 stump the whole Thirteen to show me a wirier 
 boy, or a longer head. He '11 be in Congress be- 
 fore he says ' Die ' through that nose of his'n." 
 
 Hendrecus Canady in turn toed the mark foi 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEUTOFT. 185 
 
 inspection. He had a sallow, potticary face. A 
 meagre yellow down on his cheeks grew to a 
 point at his chin. But he is neatly dressed in 
 half-uniform. He has a keen look, which will 
 say, " Stand and deliver your fact ! " to every 
 phenomenon. He will, indeed, talk through his 
 nose, until his spirit passes by that exit to climes • 
 where there are no noses to twang by. But wiry 
 men must be had when states need bracing. 
 And the root-doctor's runaway son was M. C. 
 long before his beak intoned his Nunc dimittis. 
 
 " Now, boys," said Skerrett, " I like your looks, 
 and I like what Captain Jierck s£ js of you. You 
 know what we 'a e got to do, and know it must 
 be done. You '11 travel, scattering, according to 
 Jierck's orders, and rendezvous before moon-rise 
 at his father's barn on the Manor. Sergeant 
 Lincoln goes with me. Jierck will name a place 
 where he '11 meet me at sunrise. We shaU have 
 all day to-morrow to see how the land lies, and 
 the night to do our job in. Now, then, shake 
 hands round, and go ahead ! " 
 
PART III 
 
Fob the first time in her life Lucy Brothertoft 
 failed to kiss her mother on the morning of the 
 dinner to Sir Henry Clinton. 
 
 A great pang went to the guilty woman's 
 heart. 
 
 She perceived that her daughter knew her at 
 last. 
 
 Ah, miserable woman ! She did not dare turn 
 her great black eyes reproachfully upon Lucy, 
 and demand the omitted caress. 
 
 She did not dare say tenderly, " What, my 
 daughter, are you forgetting me ? " 
 
 She did not dare go forward and press her 
 own unworthy lips to those virgin lips. 
 
 For one instant a great tumult of love and 
 remorse stirred within her. She longed to fling 
 herself on her knees before her daughter, to 
 bury her face in Lucy's lap, and there, with 
 tears and agony, cry out : — 
 
 " my child ! pity me, do not hate me, for 
 the lie I have been. Ah ! you do not know the 
 misery of wearing an undetected falsehood in 
 
190 tlDWlN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 the heart! You do not know the torture of 
 hypocrisy. You do not know how miserably 
 base it is to be loved for what you are not, — 
 to be trusted as a true and loyal heart, when 
 every moment of such false pretence is another 
 film of falsehood over the deep-seated lie. You 
 cannot know how we tacit liars long for be- 
 trayal, while we shrink and shudder when it 
 approaches ! 
 
 " And you, my gentle daughter, have been my 
 vengeance. Listen to me now! The old pride 
 breaks. The old horror passes. I confess. Be- 
 fore you, the very image of my husband in his 
 young and hopeful days, I confess my shameful 
 sin. I have been a foul wife and a false mother. 
 Do not scorn me, Lucy. I have suffered, and 
 shall suffer till I die. 
 
 " Ah ! thank Heaven, my child, that you do 
 not feel and cannot divine half my degradation. 
 My agony you see, — let it be the lesson of your 
 life! Here I hide my face, and dare to recall 
 that brave and noble lover, your father. So 
 gentle he was, so tender, so utterly trustful! 
 And I was mean enough to think he triumphed 
 over me becausse his soul was fine, and mine was 
 coarse. So I took my coarse revenge. 
 
 " fool, fool ! that I could not comprehend 
 that pure and lofty nature. base ! that I 
 must grovel and rank myself with the base. 
 
• EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 191 
 
 cruel.' that T must trample upon him. das- 
 tardly ! for the unwomanly sneers, for the stud- 
 ied insults, by which I bore him down, and broke 
 at last that high, chivalric heart. It seems to 
 me that I was not sane, but mad all those misera- 
 ble years. 
 
 " But now, my daughter, see me weep ! 1 
 repent. My soul repents and loathes this guilty 
 woman here. I have spoken, I have told you 
 fully what I am. I look up. I see your father's 
 patient, pitying glance upon your face. Speak, 
 with his voice, and say I may be slowly pardoned, 
 if my penitence endures. And kiss me, Lucy ! 
 not my tainted lips ; but kiss my forehead with 
 a kiss of peace ! " 
 
 Such a wild agony of love and remorse stirred 
 within this wretched woman's heart. 
 
 But she battled it down, down, down. 
 
 The virago in her struck the woman to the 
 earth, and throttled her. No yielding. No 
 tears. No repentance. She scorned the medi- 
 cine of shame. 
 
 Lucy's presence cowed her. She did not 
 dare look at that gentle, earnest face, except 
 covertly, and as an assassin looks. 
 
 The Furies, her old companions, thickened 
 about her, like a mist pregnant with forms. 
 There was a whispering in the air. Did others 
 Bee those shadowy images? Did others hear 
 
192 EDWIN BEOTHf:RTOFT 
 
 their words? To her they were loud and 
 emphatic. "Stab the meek-faced girl! Be rid 
 of this spy ! Shall she sit there and shame 
 you?" — so the Furies whispered and shouted. 
 And the woman replied within herself: "Am 
 I not stabbing her? See, here is my hired 
 bravo, my future son-in-law, the very Honor- 
 able Major Kerr, — le bel homme .' He will give 
 the puny thing troubles of her own to mind. 
 We will see whether she is always to stay so 
 meek and patient. We will see whether these 
 Brothertofts are so much better than other 
 people. She has learnt to suspect me at last. 
 I knew the time would come, and I have made 
 ready for it. Day after to-morrow they are to 
 be married, and then I shall be rid of Miss 
 Mdnitress." 
 
 With such passions at work, breakfast at 
 Brothertoft, on the morning of Putnam's Coun- 
 cil, and the dinner to Clinton, was not a very 
 cheerful meal. Mother and daughter were silent. 
 Kerr took his cue, and played knife and fork. 
 
ll. 
 
 Lucy left the room immediately after break' 
 fast. 
 
 " My pretty Lucy seems to have the megrims," 
 said Major Kerr. " Is that on the cards for a 
 blushing bride ? " 
 
 " She sighs for the hour when Adonis shall 
 name her his," replied the mother, with a half- 
 sneer. 
 
 " Confound it. Madam ! I believe you are 
 laughing at me," the blowsy Adonis grumbled. 
 
 He lifted himself from the table, and swaggered 
 off to the fire, with a gorged movement. He 
 probably had never seen a turkey-buzzard loun- 
 ging away from carrion ; but he unconsciously 
 imitated that unattractive fowl. 
 
 The dSbris of his meal, the husks of what he 
 did eat, remained in an unpleasant huddle on 
 the table, proving that a great, gross feeder had 
 been there. 
 
 He stood before the fire, a big red object, the 
 type of many Englishmen who were sent over in 
 the Revolution to disenchant as with monarchy. 
 
194 EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 
 
 The chances are nearly ten to one in favor ol 
 an Englishman's being a gentleman. Our moth- 
 er country seemed to have carefully decimated 
 her civil and military service of its brutes, to do 
 the dirty work of flogging the Continentals. 
 
 Kerr stood before the fi re, making a picture oi 
 himself. 
 
 A handsomish animal ! Other women might 
 call him le bel homme without Mrs. Brother- 
 toft's tone of contempt. He had evidently giv- 
 en the artists of the alcoholic school — Brandy 
 and that brotherhood — frequent sittings. They 
 paint rubicund, and had not been chary of car- 
 nations in his case. His red uniform-jacket 
 gave him the air of an overgrown boy. But not 
 a frank, merry one ; nor even an oafish, well- 
 meaning dolt of a chap. This great boy is a 
 bully. Smaller urchins would suffer under his 
 thumb. He would crush a butterfly, or, indeed, 
 anything gentle and tender, without much cere- 
 mony. 
 
 So Mrs. Brothertoft seemed to think, as she 
 surveyed him, posed there for inspection. 
 
 She smiled to herself, and thought, " This 
 sensual tyrant will presently give Miss Lucy 
 something else to do than insult me with her 
 prudish airs." 
 
 " Dash it. Ma'am ! " Kerr repeated, — his caste, 
 in his time, dashed freely, — " do you mean to 
 hint the girl is not fond of me ? " 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 195 
 
 " Fond ! she adores you. See how jealous she 
 is ! She cannot leave you one moment." 
 
 " I 'd have you to know, Madam, with your 
 sneers, that better blood than your daughter 
 have been fond of me." 
 
 " Why did n't Adonis stay in the home market, 
 then, instead of putting himself in the Provin- 
 cial?" 
 
 " You know why ! I don't make any secret 
 of my debts and my peccadillos. You know as 
 much about me as I do about you, my mother- 
 ■ in-law." 
 
 She winced a little at this coarse familiarity. 
 It was part of her inevitable punishment to be so 
 treated. Ah ! how bitterly she remembered, at 
 such words, the reverent courtesy of her hus- 
 band ! how bitterly, his pitying tenderness, even 
 when she had dishonored him, so far as liis honor 
 was in her power ! But she hardened herself 
 against these memories, and her vindictiveness 
 against that daughter of his grew more cruel. 
 
 " You must allow," continued Kerr, " that 
 you get me dem cheap." 
 
 " Cheap ! " she rejoined. " Cheap with the 
 debts and the peccadillos ! Cheap, white feather 
 and all ! " 
 
 "Who says T ever showed the white feather ? " 
 roared Kerr. " That 's one of that muscadin, 
 Jack Andre's lies. He wants my place as Adju- 
 
196 EDWm BBOTHERTOFT. 
 
 tant to Sir Henry. Bah ! the shop-keeping, play- 
 acting, rhyme-writing milksop ! he 'd better keep 
 Lis Swiss jaws shut, and not slander a British 
 nobleman ! " 
 
 " Nobleman ! " says his hostess, evidently tak- 
 ing pleasure in galling her conspirator ; " I 
 thought you were only a peer's tliird son." 
 
 " There are but three lives between me and 
 ihe earldom, — an old gouty life, Tom's jockey 
 (ife, and Dick's drunken one. Your daughter 
 will be Countess of Bendigh one of these days, 
 and you 'd both better be careful how you treat 
 me." 
 
 " How could I treat you better ? " I give you 
 the prettiest girl in the Province, with the pret- 
 tiest portion." 
 
 " Have I got to tell you again, that not every 
 man would take your daughter ? You need n't 
 look so fierce about it." 
 
 She did look fierce. She looked — la belle 
 sauvage — as if she could handle a scalping-knife. 
 And no wonder ! This was not very pretty 
 talk on either side. 
 
 It was not very pretty work they had plotted. 
 Hate must have become very bitter in the moth- 
 er's heart before she chose this brute and booby 
 for her daughter's husband. She did not oveji 
 perceive the dull spark of a better nature, not 
 utterly quenched in him, — gross, dissolute, over- 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 197 
 
 bearing, heavy, that he was. She wished to be 
 rid of Lucy Brothertoft, — this was the first 
 thing. If, besides, she got an ally on the royalist 
 side, and a son-in-law who could help her to a 
 place in society in England, it was clear gain. 
 
 But enough of this conspiracy ! 
 
 Will the father and that young rebel sant 
 moustache be bold and speedy enough to de- 
 feat it? 
 
III. 
 
 Pi.jo« aux hSros! 
 
 To-daj the lady of Brothertoft Manor duios 
 Sir Henry Clinton and suite. 
 
 If General Putnam should ever march back, 
 and blame her that she gave aid and comfort 
 to the enemy, she will say that she was forced 
 to protect herself by a little sham hospitality. 
 
 It may be sham, but it is liberal. Sappho 
 contributes her most faithful soup. The river 
 gives a noble sturgeon, — and " Albany beef," 
 treated as turbot, with sauce blanche, is fish 
 for anybody's fork. The brooks supply trouts 
 by the bushel. The Highlands have provided 
 special venison for this festival. The Manor kills 
 its fatted calf, its sweetest mutton, its spright- 
 liest young turkey, fed on honeydew grasshop- 
 pers. There is a plum-pudding big as a pumpkin. 
 Alas that no patriot palate will vibrate to the 
 passing love-taps of these substantial good things ! 
 
 All is ready, and Lady Brothertoft — so she 
 loves to be called — awaits her distinguished 
 guests, in her grandest attire. 
 
KtlWrN BEOTHB;ETOI"r. 199 
 
 But, calm and stately as she sits, there is now 
 miserable panic aud now cruel hate iu her heart ; 
 for all the time she is whispering to herself. 
 
 " Lucy did not kiss me. It is the first time 
 in all her life. Edwin Brothertoft's daughter 
 has discovered at last what I am. Did he come 
 in a dream and tell her?" 
 
 Then she would raise her eyes as far as those 
 fair hands lying in her daughter's lap, — no 
 higher, no higher, or the daughter would face 
 her, — -and think of the wedding-ring that her 
 plot is presently to force upon one of those 
 locked fingers. She could hardly keep back a 
 scream of wild triumph at the thought. 
 
 So the mother sits and holds her peace, such 
 as it is. The daughter waits in a strange dream 
 of patience. Major Kerr swaggers about, admires 
 his legs, feels embarrassed before his mute be- 
 trothed, looks at his watch and grumbles, " It's 
 half-past two. Dinner's three, sharp. The 
 soup will be spoiled if they don't show pres- 
 ently." 
 
 They begin to show now upon the quarter- 
 decks of the three frigates in the river. The 
 guests, in full bloom of scarlet and gold, come 
 up from cabin and ward-room of the Tartar, the 
 Preston, and the Mercury. Jack on the fore- 
 castle has his joke, as each new figure stmts 
 forth, dodo-iiio; whatever would stain or flavor 
 
200 , EDWiN BEOTHERtOPT. 
 
 him tarry. The belated men call to their sel'- 
 vants, " Bear a hand there, you lubber, with 
 the flour for my hair-powder! How the devil 
 did that spot come on my coat-sleeve ! Why the 
 devil did n't you have these ruffles starched ? " 
 
 The last man now struggles into his tightest 
 Hessians. The last man draws on his silk stock- 
 ings. The last mans his pumps. Sir Henry 
 Clinton comes out with Commodore Hotham. 
 The captain's gig has been swinging half an 
 hour in the shade of the frigate's hull. Pre- 
 sent arms, sentry at the gangway! Here they 
 come, down the black side of the ship. Fire 
 and feathers, how splendid ! Take care of your 
 Bword, Sir Henry, or you '11 trip and get a 
 ducking instead of a dinner ! They scuttle' into 
 the stern-sheets. The oarsmen, in their neatest 
 holiday rig, scoff in their hearts, and name 
 these great personages " lobsters " and " land- 
 lubbers." The captain's coxswain, the prettiest 
 man of the whole ship's company, gives the 
 word, " Shove off! " Boat-hook shoves, Jack on 
 deck peers through the port-holes. A topman, 
 aloft, accidentally drops a tarry bit of spunyarn 
 and hits Sir Henry on his biggish nose. " Back 
 starboard," the pretty coxswain orders. " Pull 
 port ! " " Give way all ! " And so we go to 
 dinner! And so from men-of-war in our time 
 heroes go to dinners ashore. 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT 201 
 
 And now the gay party enters the dining' 
 room at Brothertoft Manor. ■ 
 
 How bright the sunbeams of the October after- 
 noon, ricochetting from the smooth Hudson into 
 the windows, gleam on the epaulets and but- 
 tons of a dozen gorgeous officers ! One special 
 ray is clearly detailed to signalize that star on 
 Sir Henry Clinton's left breast. The room is 
 aflame with scarlet. Certainly these flamboyant 
 heroes will presently consume away every ves- 
 tige of a rebel army. Surely, after a parry or 
 two against these dress swords, the champions 
 of freedom will drop their points and yield their 
 necks to the halter. Each elaborate fine gen- 
 tleman, too, of all this bandboxy company, is 
 crowned with victor bays. They plucked them 
 only t' other day across the river on the ram- 
 parts of Forts Clinton and Montgomery. When 
 Jack Burgoyne sends down his bunch of laurel 
 from Saratoga, the whole are to be tied up in 
 one big bouquet, and despatched to tickle the 
 nose and the heart of Farmer George at Wind- 
 sor Castle. 
 
 Sir Henry Clinton — no less — Ocesar ipse — ■ 
 hands in the grand hostess, and takes his seal 
 at her right. How jolly he looks, the fat little 
 man ! How his round face shines, and his pro- 
 tuberant nose begins to glow with inhaling the 
 steam of the feast! 
 
 9* 
 
202 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 " I must have you on my left, Admiral," says 
 the hostess, to a hearty gentlemau in naval uni- 
 form. 
 
 " Thank you for my promotion, Madam," re- 
 joins Commodore Hotham, dropping into his 
 place. 
 
 At the head of her table, then, sits Lady 
 Brothertoft, proud and handsome, flanked by 
 the two chiefs. And down on either side the 
 guests dispose themselves in belaurelled vista. 
 
 Major Kerr takes the foot of the table. He 
 carves well for everybody, and best for himself. 
 Two spoonsful of sauce blanche float his choice 
 portion of the Albany beef. The liver of the 
 turkey he accepts as carver's perquisites. And 
 when he comes to cut the saddle of venison, 
 plenty of delicate little scraps, quite too small to 
 ofier to others, find their way to his plate. 
 
 Lucy is at his right. What ? in high spirits ? 
 in gay colors ? Has she so soon become a hypo- 
 crite and conspiratress ? Why, the little dissem- 
 bler laughs merrily, and flirts audaciously ! 
 Laughs merrily ! Ah ! there are bitter tears 
 just beneath that laugh ! If you call toler- 
 ating compliments from that young Captain at 
 her right flirting, then she is flirting, and so con- 
 ceals her disgust of her betrothed. 
 
 And who is that young Captain ? He stole 
 into the chair at Lucy's right, and began to talk 
 
EDWTN Bi.orHEKTOFT. 20S 
 
 fcontimenS hofore he naJ nad his soup. Who is 
 this fine ^irtleman of twenty-six, with the oval 
 face, the regular features, the slightly supercil- 
 ious mouth, the dimpled chin, the hair so care- 
 fully powdered and queued ? Who is this ele- 
 gant petit maitre ? With what studied gesture 
 he airs his ruffles ! How fluently he rattles ! 
 How easily he improvises jingle ! He quotes 
 French, as if it were his mother-tongue. He 
 smiles and sighs like an accomplished lady-killer. 
 Who is he ? 
 
 Major Bmerick, of the Hessian Chasseurs, 
 looks across the table at this gay rattle, and then 
 whispers to his own neighbor. Lord Rawdon, 
 " Zee dat dab maggaroni, Chack Antr6 ; how 
 he bake lubb to de breddy Lucie ! Bajor Gurr 
 will bide off his 'ead breddy sood."" 
 
 " Kerr may glower and look like a cannibal," 
 Rawdon returned, in a whisper, " but he will 
 not eat Jack Andrd's head so long as there 's 
 any of that venison left." 
 
 " I dinkSd Chack was id Bedsylvadia or Cher- 
 zey," says Emerick, wiping that enormous mous- 
 tache of his, — a coarse Hessian article, planted 
 like a bushy abattis before his mouth. 
 
 " He was," replied Rawdon, " and I don't see 
 how he has been able to get here so soon, unless 
 that is his eidolon, his wraith, and moves like the 
 ghost in Hamlet. I suppose he heard that Kerr 
 
204 EDWm BKOTHEETOFT. 
 
 was going to marry the heiress, and there would 
 he an Adjutancy looking for an Adjutant, and has 
 posted up to offer himself. He didn't Jmow 1 
 was to have' it. Jack is m too much hurry to 
 be a great man. His vanity will get him into a 
 scrape some of these days." 
 
 So this sentimental Captain is Jack Andr^. 
 A pretty face ; but there is gallows in it. A 
 pretty laced cravat ; but the tie has slipped 
 ominously round under the left. ear. Ah ! Jack, 
 Rawdon is right ; thy vanity will be the death of 
 thee. Suppose thou hast been jilted by the 
 pretty Mrs. R. L. Edgeworth, nSe Sneyd, do not 
 be over hasty to gain name and fame, that she 
 may be sorry she loved the respectable Richard, 
 and not thee, flippant Jack. Sink thy shop- 
 keeping days ; nobody remembers them against 
 thee. Do not try by unsoldierly tricks of brib- 
 ery and treachery, and a correspondence after 
 the bagman model, to get for thyself the rank of 
 Brigadier and the title Sir John. And, Jack, 
 take warning that the latitude of Brothertoft 
 Manor is unhealthy for thee in the autumn. 
 Never come here again, or thy bootjack will 
 draw thy boots and find death in them ! Swing- 
 ing by the neck is a sorry exit for a petit maitre, 
 and it must be annoying to know that, in punish- 
 ment for a single shabby act, one's fame is stand- 
 ing forever in the pillory in Westminster Abbey. 
 
EtoVilN BKOTfiEETOtT. 20/> 
 
 Captain Andr^ whispered soft nothings to Lucy 
 And though Kerr glowered truculently, she lis- 
 tened, much to the amusement of Emerick and 
 Rawdon. Lucky, perhaps, for the daughter, that 
 mamma, at the head of the table, did not detect 
 this by-play! She might have scented revolt, 
 and hastened the marriage. An hour would 
 have brought the Tartar's chaplain ; five minutes 
 would have clothed him in his limp surplice, and 
 in five more, Lucy, still quelled by the old tyran- 
 ny, would have stammered, " love, honor, and 
 obey," — and "die." 
 
 She was not always very attentive to her but- 
 terfly companion. 
 
 Sometimes she bent forward, and looked at her 
 mother, sitting in all her glory between Army 
 and Navy, and the daughter's cheeks burned 
 with shame. She longed to fly away from all 
 this splendor, somewhither where she could dwell 
 innocently and weep away the infinite sorrow in 
 her gentle heart. If she had not been too be- 
 wildered by her throng of battling hopes and 
 fears within, by the clatter of the feast, and Jack 
 Andre's mischicmza of gossip and compliment, 
 her notions of right and wrong, of crime and 
 punishment, would have become sadly confused. 
 
 Questions did indeed drift across her mind, — 
 "How can she sit there so proud and hand- 
 some? How can she be so calm and hard? 
 
206 edWin beotheBtofT. 
 
 How can she bear the brunt of all these eyes, 
 and lead the talk so vigorously? She wields 
 and manages every one about her. They ap- 
 plaud her wit. They listen to her suggestions. 
 She seems to comprehend these political mat- 
 ters better than any of them. Hear Sir Henry 
 Clinton, ' Madam, if you were Queen of Eng- 
 land, these rebel Colonies would soon be taught 
 subjection.' It is half compliment of guest to 
 hostess ; but more than half truth. For she is 
 an imperious, potent woman. And has evil in her 
 soul given her this power and this knowledge? 
 Must women sin to be strong? How can she 
 sit there, knowing what she knows of herself, 
 knowing what is known of her-? She seems to 
 triumph. Triumph ! alas ! why is she not away 
 in silence and solitude, with a veil over her 
 bad beauty, praying to God to forgive her for 
 the harm slie has done, and for the sin she is ? 
 Is such hypocrisy possible ? Or am 1 deceived ? 
 May not she perhaps, perhaps, be worthy ? May 
 she not be wise and good ? Is it not I who 
 am the hypocrite ? May she not mean kindly 
 in providing me a man of rank and power as a 
 protector in these rude times ? Are not my sus- 
 picions the ignorance of a child, — my plots the 
 wicked struggles of a rebellious heart against 
 duty? God, pity and guide me!" 
 Lucy felt tears starting to her eyes at these 
 
bDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 207 
 
 new and cruel thoughts, and forced herself again 
 to listen to Jack Andre's small-talk. 
 
 Jack was telling a clever story of a raid he 
 and some brother officers had made from New 
 York on the poultry-yards of Staten Island. 
 An old lady with a broomstick had endeavored 
 to defend the Clove Road against these turkey- 
 snatchers, and he gave her drawl to the life. 
 "Then," says Jack, "out came Captain Ram- 
 bullet, with the rusty matchlock of Rambouillet 
 his Huguenot ancestor, and interposed a smell of 
 cornstalk whiskey between us and his hen-roost." 
 This scene, too. Jack gave witli twang and 
 drawl to the life, amid roars of laughter, and 
 cries of " Coot ! coot ! " from Major Emerick. 
 
 Lucy did not laugh. She had aU at once 
 discovered that her sympathies were with these 
 rebels, nasal twang and all. " My father is one 
 of them," she thought. " If I am to be saved 
 from marrying this coarse glutton, it must be 
 by a rebel. Putnam and his officers were not 
 so showy as these men; but they seemed more 
 in earnest." 
 
 I do not succeed in entertaining you, fair 
 lady," says Andr^, sotto voce. " Your thoughts 
 are all for that happy fellow beside you," — and 
 he looked with a little sneer towards Kerr, who 
 was applying to Bottle for the boon of wit. 
 
 A feeling of utter despair came over poor 
 
208 EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 
 
 Lucy, as she turned involuntarily, and also 
 glanced at the animal. Then she drew away 
 indignantly from the man who had put this 
 little stab into her heart. 
 
 " Are there no gentlemen in the world ? " she 
 thought. " Do men dare to speak so and look 
 so at other young ladies ? " 
 
 " Loog ad de breddy Meess," says Emerick, 
 holding a wine-glass before his bushy abattis, 
 as a cover. " Zhe is nod habbie wid Chack, 
 nor wid Gurr ! " 
 
 " A dozen fellows," Rawdon rejoined, behind 
 his glass, " of better blood than Jack, and better 
 hearts than Kerr, would have cut in there long 
 ago. The daughter is as sweet and pure as 
 a lily. But who dares marry such a mother- 
 in-law ? " — and he shrugged his shoulders ex- 
 pressively toward the hostess. 
 
 Do we talk so at dinner-tables in 1860? eh, 
 nous autres? 
 
 The hostess now rose, and beckoned her daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " I leave you, gentlemen, to your toasts," she 
 said. " Major Kerr will be my representative." 
 
 She moved to the door. Army and Navy, 
 Albion and Hesse, all sprang to open for her. 
 A murmur of admiration for her beauty and 
 bearing applauded the exit. Lady Brothertofl 
 seemed to be at her climax. 
 
EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 209 
 
 Kerr of course did not let the toasts lag. 
 
 " The King, gentlemen ! " 
 
 Cheers ! Drank cyathis plenis. 
 
 Sir Henry Clinton rises, gleaming star, red 
 nose, and all, and proposes, "Our hostess!" 
 Bumpers and uproar! 
 
 Then they load and fire, fast and furious. 
 Bottle can hardly gallop fast enough to supply 
 ammunition. 
 
 " The Army ! " " Hooray, hooray ! Speech 
 from Lord Rawdon ! " 
 
 " The Navy ! " " Three cheers for Commo- 
 dore Hotham ! " 
 
 " The captured forts ! " Drank in silence to 
 the memory of Colonel Campbell and Count 
 Grabowski, killed tliere. 
 
 " Luck to Jack Burgoyne ! " " Pouting Jack," 
 Andrl suggests. " May he be a spiler to 
 Schuyler, and fling Gates over the hedge into 
 the ditch ! " Laughter and cheers, and im- 
 mense rattling of glasses on the table. 
 
 " Here 's to General Vaughan and his trip 
 up the river to-morrow ! May he add a moral 
 to the Esopus fables!" 
 
 " The Brandywine ! and here 's hoping Mr, 
 Washington may have another taste of the 
 same cup ! " 
 
 Are modern toasts and dinner-table wit of this 
 same calibre 7 
 
210 EDWIN BKOTHERTOFT. 
 
 Kerr rose and endeavored to offer the famous 
 sentiment known as The Four Rules of Arith- 
 metic. He was muddled by this time, and the 
 toast got itself transposed. He gravely pro- 
 posed, in a thick voice, and in words with no 
 syllables, — "Addition to the Whigs! Subtrac- 
 tion to the Tories ! Multiplication to the King's 
 foes ! Division to his friends ! " And added 
 Kerr, out of his own head, — " Cuffush'n t' 
 ev'ryborry ! " 
 
 Ironical cheers from Jack Andr^. Where- 
 upon good-natured Emerick, to cover the gen- 
 eral serio-comic dismay, rose and said, — " Shet- 
 tlemen, I kiv Bajor Gurr and his breddy bride." 
 Double bumpers. Hooray ryrayryray ! Rattle 
 everybody, with glasses, forks, and nut-crackers. 
 One enthusiast flung his glass over his head, and 
 then blundered out a call for Captain Andre's 
 song, " The Lover's Lament." Lord Rawdou 
 was the only one to perceive the bad omen. 
 
 So Jack, without more solicitation, began, in a 
 pretty voice, — 
 
 " Betmn, enraptured honrs, 
 When Delia's heart was mine," — 
 
 and so on through a dozen stanzas of Strephon 
 ics, — a most moving ditty, the words and music 
 his own. 
 
 Everybody felt a little maudlin when this Jack 
 of all airs and graces closed his lay with a dulcet 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 211 
 
 quaver. There was a momentary pause in the 
 revel. 
 
 In such pauses young gentlemen who love 
 flktation more than potation dodge ofiF and join 
 the ladies. 
 
 Let us follow this good example. A revel, 
 with Major Kerr for its master, may easily grow 
 to an orgie ; and meanwhile the mother and 
 daughter are sitting in the parlor alone 
 
IV. 
 
 The sun of October had gone down below tho 
 golden forests on the golden hills. It was dnsk, 
 and the two ladies sat in the parlor, dimly lit by 
 a glimmering fire. 
 
 They were alone ; unless the spirit of the first 
 Edwin Brothertoft was looking at them from 
 Vaudyck's portrait on the wall. 
 
 That wonderful picture hung in its old place. 
 More than a century, now, it had been silently 
 watching the fortimes of the family. 
 
 No Provincial daubs had ventured within sight 
 of this masterpiece. Each successive Brothertoft 
 was always proud to know that his face, at its 
 best, was his ancestor's repeated. Each de- 
 scendant said, " Vandyck painted us, once for 
 all, in the person of our forefather. When there 
 is anotlier Colonel Brothertoft, or a second Van- 
 dyck, it will be time to give the picture a com- 
 panion." 
 
 So one perfect work had vetoed a whole gal- 
 lery of wooden visages. 
 
 The present Mrs. Brothertoft had always dis- 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 218 
 
 liked the picture. She had used it as a pre- 
 text for first summoning her husband to her 
 side. When she brought shame into the house, 
 she began to dread its tacit reproach. The eyes 
 of the Colonel, sad and stern, seemed forever to 
 follow her. His wife's gentle face grew mer- 
 ciless. Even the innocent child on the canvas 
 read her secret heart. 
 
 By and by, to escape this inspection, she had 
 the portrait covered with a crimson silk curtain, 
 
 " A Vandyck," she said, " is too rare and too 
 precious to be given up to flies." 
 
 For many years the ancestors had been left to 
 blush behind a screen of crimson silk. 
 
 To-day, before dinner, her guests had asked to 
 see this famous work of the famous master. 
 
 No one could detect the tremor in her heart at 
 this request. No one could see how white her 
 face grew as she fumbled with the cords, nor 
 how suddenly scarlet as she drew aside the cur- 
 tain. 
 
 Every one exclaimed in genuine or conven- 
 tional admiration. 
 
 The picture represented that meeting at Old 
 Brothertoft Manor, after the battle of Horn- 
 castle, in the time of the Great Rebellion. The 
 Colonel was in his corslet, buff and jackboots of 
 a trooper. His plumed hat, caught by a cord, 
 had fallen upon his shoulder. He wore his haii 
 
214 EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 
 
 long, and parted in the middle, like a Cavalier, 
 not like a crop-eared Roundhead. On one arm 
 rested the bridle of the grand white charger be- 
 side him. With the other he held his fair boy, 
 now pacified from his Astyanax fright, and smiling 
 at his father's nodding crest and glinting breast- 
 plate. The wife, the first Lucy Brothertoft, 
 stood by, regarding the two she loTcd best with 
 tender solicitude. It was, indeed, a sweet do- 
 mestic group, and the gentleman's armor, his 
 impatient war-horse, and that hint in the back- 
 ground of the Manor-House, smoking and in 
 ruins, gave it a dramatic element of doubt and 
 danger, — a picture full of grace, heroism, and 
 affection, — one to dignify a house, to ennoble 
 and refine a household. 
 
 Lucy looked at her mother as the curtain 
 parted and revealed the three figures. To the 
 guests they were Art; to the ladies they were 
 mute personages in a tragedy. Lucy saw her 
 mother's glance, quick and covert, at these faces 
 she had so long evaded. The daughter could 
 understand now why, as Mrs. Brothertoft looked, 
 her countenance seemed resolutely to harden, 
 and grow more beautifully Gorgon than ever. 
 
 " Quite a chef-d^cmvre ! " says Sir Henry 
 Clinton, looking through his hand, with a know- 
 ing air. — " What color ! what chiar' oscuro ! 
 what drapery ! " Jack Andr^ exclaimed. — " No 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 215 
 
 one has ever painted high-bred people as Van- 
 dyok," said Lord Eawdon. — " Breddy bicksher ! " 
 was Major Emerick's verdict. — " You must be 
 proud, Madam," said honest Commodore Hot- 
 ham, ignorant of scandal, " to bear this honored 
 and historic name." 
 
 While these murmurs of approval were going 
 on, Plato announced dinner. The guests filed 
 out, leaving the picture uncovered. It still re- 
 mained so, now that the mother and daughter 
 sat in the dusky room, after dinner. The flash- 
 ing and fdding fire gave its figures movement 
 and unreal life. 
 
 Lucy glanced at her mother's face, now dim 
 and far away, and now, as the fire blazed up, 
 leaping forth from its lair of darkness. 
 
 " Certainly," she thought, " my mother was 
 never so terribly handsome." 
 
 It was true. She was an imperial woman, 
 face, form, and bearing. How majestic her 
 strong, straight nose, her full chin, her vigorous 
 color, her daring eyes, her brow of command, 
 and her black hair dressed, after a mode of the 
 day, in a tower, and falling in masses on the 
 neck! More flesh and more color would have 
 made her coarse. Is it possible that the excite- 
 ment of a bad conscience has refined her beauty ? 
 Must the coarse take the poison of sin, as the 
 fine take the medicine of sorrow, to kill the 
 
216 EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT. 
 
 carnal element in their natures? Is it needful 
 for some to wear, through life, a harsh dishonor 
 next the skin ? 
 
 " How can this be ? " thought Lucy. " Should 
 not the heart have peace, that the face may wear 
 beauty, the emblem of peace ? Can there be 
 peace in .her heart ? " 
 
 Peace ! As if in answer, at a flash of firelight, 
 the mother's face glared out fierce and cruel. 
 Sternness, but no peace there ! 
 
 Lucy turned, and took refuge with the person- 
 ages of the picture. 
 
 "You," she addressed them in mute appeal, 
 " are a world nearer my heart than this unmoth- 
 erly woman beside me. chivalric gentleman ! 
 benign lady ! encourage and sustain me ! My 
 heart will break with these doubts and plots and 
 perils." 
 
 The two ladies sat silent by the firelight. 
 The guests were noisy, two doors off. They 
 were laughing and applauding Kerr's tipsy 
 toasts, Andre's song, Bmerick's Hessian butch- 
 ery of the King's English. 
 
 At a louder burst of revelry Lucy started, 
 shrank, and glanced at her mother's impassive 
 face, — a loyal mask to its mistress. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft also looked up, and caught 
 Lucy's eye. For an instant the two gazed at 
 one another. There was an instant's spiritual 
 
EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 217 
 
 struggle, — the fine nature against the coarse, 
 the tainted being against the pure. Their two 
 souls stood at their eyes, and battled for a breath, 
 while the fire flashed like a waving of torches. 
 
 The flash sunk, the room was dark again. 
 But before the light was gone the guilty eyes 
 wavered, the guilty spirit cowered. Mrs. Broth- 
 ertoft looked away, seeking refuge from her 
 daughter, against whose innocent heart she was 
 devising an infamy. 
 
 As she turned, she caught sight of the picture. 
 It was steadily regarding her, — a judge, remote, 
 unsympathetic, Rhadaman thine. 
 
 At this sight, the perpetual inner battle in her 
 evil heart stormed to the surface. Her coun- 
 tenance was no longer an impassive mask. 
 
 Lucy suddenly saw a bedlam look leap out 
 upon those beautiful features. 
 
 It seemed to Mrs. Brothertoft tliat the Furies, 
 whose companionship and hints she liad so long 
 encouraged, now closed in upon her, and became 
 body of her body, soul of her soul. 
 
 She rose, and strode up to the uncovered por- 
 trait. 
 
 She stood a moment, surveying it in silence, — 
 herself a picture in the fire-lit obscure. 
 
 How beautiful her white shoulders, her white 
 bosom above the dark silk, cut Igw and square in 
 front, after a fashion of the time ! How won 
 
 10 
 
218 fibWlN BROtHEBtOft. 
 
 drously modelled her perfect arms! The dia- 
 mond at her throat trembled like the unwiiiking 
 eye of a serpent. 
 
 She raised her white right arm, and pointed at 
 the figure of the Parliamentary Colonel. 
 
 By the firelight, it seemed as if he, thus sum- 
 moned, stiU holding his eager white horse by the 
 bridle, stepped out before the canvas, ready for 
 this colloquy. 
 
 Lucy was terrified by her mother's wild ex- 
 pression and gesture. The gentleman in the 
 portrait had taken more than ever the semblance 
 of her father's very self. But he wore a sterner 
 look than she remembered on that desolate face. 
 
 The daughter shuddered at this strange meet- 
 ing of her parents, — one in the flesh, one in the 
 spirit. 
 
 " Sir ! " said Mrs. Brothertoft, still pointing at 
 the picture. There was scorn, veiling dread, in 
 her voice. 
 
 Lucy could not control herself. She burst into 
 tears. 
 
 At the sound of her first sob, the mother came 
 to herself. Bedlam tore itself out of her face 
 with a spasm. She let fall her round, white 
 arm. A tremor and a chill shook her. With 
 these, the Furies seemed to glide forth from her 
 being. They stood for an instant, dim and rus- 
 tling forms in the glimmer. Then they van 
 
EDWIN BUOTHERTOFT. 219 
 
 Ished to their place of call. Mrs. Brothertoft 
 dashed the curtain over the picture and moved 
 away. 
 
 She did not perceive — for she looked thither 
 no more — that by her violent movement she 
 had broken the cord, and let down one fall of 
 the curtain, at the top, so that there was space 
 for the heads of the soldier and his white horse 
 to appear. 
 
 There those heads wait, as if at a window. 
 There they seem, horse and man, to watch for 
 their moment to spring into that dusky room, lit 
 by the flashes of a dying fire. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft turned, and laid her hand on 
 her sobbing daughter's shoulder. 
 
 " You seem agitated and hysterical, my dear," 
 she said, almost gently. " Perhaps you had bet- 
 ter hide your tears in your pillow. We shall not 
 see our noisy friends for some time." 
 
 Again their eyes met for an instant. But the 
 mother mistook Lucy's pleading expression. 
 She had lost her power of deciphering an in- 
 nocent face. She fancied she read contempt 
 and triumpli, where there was only pity and 
 love longing to revive. She turned away, and, 
 yielding to a brutal emotion, resumed, — " Yes, 
 go, Lucy, and keep out of sight for the evening ! 
 We must not have red eyes and swollen cheeks 
 when Adonis comes from dinner with pretly 
 speeches for his fair bride." 
 
220 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 Lucy rose, disappointed and indignant, and left 
 the parlor without " Good night." 
 
 Given two weeks instead of two days before 
 marriage, and this gentle spirit might emancipate 
 itself. But obedience is still a piety with Lucy. 
 Mute mental protests against injustice do not 
 train the will. It must win strength by strug- 
 gles. Her will has sunk into chronic inertia. 
 She suffers now for her weakness, as if it were a 
 crime. 
 
 She fled by the noisy dining-room and up to 
 her chamber in the tower at the northwest cor- 
 ner of the house. In the mild, clear, star-lit 
 night she could see yellow autumn among the 
 woods around the mansion. Beyond, the white 
 river belted the world. The lights of the Brit- 
 ish frigates sparkled like jewels in this silver 
 cincture. Dunderberg, large and vague, hid the 
 spaces westward, where night was overflowing 
 twilight. Northward, the Highlands closed the 
 view, dim as Lucy's hope. 
 
 Ah ! why was there no clairvoyante Sister 
 Anne to cry that she saw " somebody coming," — 
 to tell the desolate girl, staring from her window " 
 into the unfriendly night, that succor was afoot, 
 and hastening in three detachments southward, 
 as fast as the boulder, the bog, and the forest 
 would permit. 
 
 But there was no Sister Anne, no Meud 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT. 221 
 
 within or without the house. And so, closed 
 doors ! Weep, sob, pray, poor child. Sufier, suf- 
 fer, young heart ! Suffer and be strong ! 
 
 Closed doors at last, and quiet at the Manor. 
 Songs silent. Revelry over. The guests have 
 gone, walking as mei. walk after too many 
 bumpers. Sentinels here and there have re- 
 ceived the inarticulate countersign. The boats' 
 crews, chilly and sulky with long waiting, have 
 pulled the "lobsters" off to the frigates, and 
 boosted them up the sides. They have tumbled 
 into their berths in ward-room or cabin, — one, 
 alas ! with his Hessians on ! They must quickly 
 sleep off wassail, and be ready to stir with dawn, 
 for at sunrise General Vaughan starts with his 
 flotilla up the river. And most of the diners- 
 out, whether their morning headaches like it or 
 not, must go with the General to commit arson 
 upon Esopus, alias Kingston, a most pestilent 
 nest of rebels. 
 
 Quiet then aboard the Tartar, the Preston, and 
 the Mercury, swinging to their anchors in the 
 calm river ! Quiet at the Manor-House ! but not 
 peaceful repose, — for in their dreams the spirits 
 of the mother and the daugliter battle, and both 
 are worn and weary with that miserable war. 
 
There were three headaches next morning at 
 the breakfast-table at Brothertoft Manor. 
 
 Major Kerr carried an enormous ache in his 
 thick skull. His was the crapulous headache. 
 He knew it well. Every manner of cure, except 
 prevention, he had experimented upon. The 
 soda-water-cure did not reach his malady. Tlie 
 water-cure, whether appUed in the form of pump 
 or a wet turban, was equally futile. 
 
 " It could n't have been t' other bottle that 
 has made me feel so queer," Kerr soliloquized. 
 " Must have been Jack Andre's mawkish songs. 
 I never could stand poetry." 
 
 So he marched down to breakfast, more Rubens 
 in complexion than ever, and twice as surly. 
 
 Spending tears had given Lucy her headache. 
 She had wept enough to fill a brace of lacry- 
 matories. The pangs sharpened when she saw 
 Adonis appear, very red and very gruff. He 
 seemed fairly loathsome to her now. 
 
 " Must such a beast — yes, I will say beast — 
 as that come near me ? " thought she. 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 223 
 
 Strong language for a young lady ; but appro- 
 priate. It is well to have a few ugly epithets 
 in one's vocabulary. Hard words have their 
 virtue and their place, as well as soft ones. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft also had a headache. 
 
 She looked pale and ill this morning. This 
 will never do, Madam. Consider your beauty ! 
 It will consume away, if you allow so much 
 fever in your brain. 
 
 Breakfast was more silent even than yester- 
 day's. No headache cared to ask sympathy of 
 either of the others. 
 
 Lucy said not a word. She compelled herself 
 to be at table. She dreaded her mother's pres- 
 ence; but she dreaded her absence still more. 
 Lucy suffered under the uneasiness of a young 
 plotter. She knew that her plot was visible in 
 her face. She trembled at every look. And yet 
 she felt safer while she was facing her foes. 
 Poor child ! if she could have wept, as she 
 wished, freely and alone, a dozen of lacryma- 
 tories — magnums — would not have held her 
 tears. 
 
 Moody Mrs. Brothertoft is also silent. 
 
 She does not think it good policy to draw out 
 her son-in-law this morning. Only a wretchedly " 
 low card, and no trump, will respond to the 
 attempt. T' other bottle rather drowns the power 
 of repartee. Major Kerr was too inarticulate 
 
224 EDWIN BKOTHERTOPT. 
 
 last night to be very coherent this moriung 
 A courtly bow and a fine manner are hardly 
 to be expected at levie liom a hero lugged to 
 his couchie by Plato and two clodhoppers, — 
 themselves a little out of line and step with 
 too many heeltaps. The hostess does not choose 
 by solicitous questions to get growls from the 
 future bridegroom, such as, — 
 
 Kerr loquitur. " Yes, thank you ; my tea is 
 mere milksop ; my egg an addle ; my toast a 
 chip ; my butter lard ; my buckwheat cakes 
 dem'd flabby. Everything has a tipsy taste and 
 smells of corked Madeira. 0, my head ! " 
 
 Such talk would not make the lover more 
 captivating. He had better be left to himself, 
 to take his breakfast with what stomach he 
 may. 
 
 Nor does Mrs. Brothertoft think it wise to 
 remark upon yesterday's dinner and its distin- 
 guished guests to her daughter. Remark brings 
 rejoinder. This morning, again, Lucy had no 
 kiss for her mother. Instead of the warm, te.,*- 
 der caress of other days, with warmth and ten- 
 derness fdi" two, Lucy's manner was grave and 
 distant. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft divines incipient rebellion in 
 her daughter. She does not wish to let it cul- 
 tivate itself with contradictions. If she should 
 propound, " It is a fine mornmg," Lucy might 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 225 
 
 Bajr, " It seems to me cold as Greenland." If 
 she suggested, " My dear, have the horses sad- 
 dled, and take Major Kerr to see the view from 
 Cedar Ridge," Lucy would probably respond, 
 " Major Kerr is not fond of nature, and I am 
 afraid of marauders." If she remarked, " What 
 a grand, soldierly creature Major Bmerick is ! 
 What an amiising accent ! and his moustache 
 how terribly charming ! " Lucy might curl her 
 pretty lip, and reply, " Grand ! soldierly ! the 
 hirsute ogre ! As to his accent, — I do not 
 understand Hessian ; and it does not amuse me 
 to hear good pronounced ' coot,' and to have 
 pictures, flowers, soup, and the North River, 
 all classed together and complimented as ' bred- 
 dy.' And as to his moustache, — no moustache 
 is tolerable ; and if any, certainly not that great 
 black thing." Nor would it do for the mother 
 to say, " I am sure you found Captain Andr^ an 
 Admirable Crichton," and to hear from her 
 daughter in reply, " Don't speak of him ! I am 
 still sick with his sentimentality of a Strephon. 
 He is a flippant coxcomb. I do not wonder 
 Miss Honora Sueyd got tired of him, with his 
 little smile and his little sneer." 
 
 Such responses Lucy would probably have 
 made to her mother's attempts at breakfast-table 
 talk. Do these answers seem incohsistent with 
 the great sorrow and the great terror in the girl's 
 
 10* (J 
 
226 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 heart ? Our passious, like our persons, are not 
 always en g-rande tenue. It is a sign that the 
 heart is not quite broken, when its owner has 
 life enough to be pettish. The popgun is the 
 father of the great gun. Silly skirmish and 
 bandying of defiance precede the great battle 
 for life and death. 
 
 So Mrs. Brothertoft knew, and she was not 
 willing to give Lucy the chance to hear herself 
 say, 'No.' If she were once publicly compro- 
 mised as of the negative faction, she might, even 
 at this late hour, foster her little germ of inde- 
 pendence. She might wake up to-morrow with 
 a Will of Her Own, grown in a single hight as 
 big as Jack's bean-stalk. She might expand her 
 solitary, forlorn hope of a first No into a con- 
 quering army. No, No, — only a letter and a 
 cipher, — she might add ciphers, multiply it by 
 successive tens and make it No,ooo,ooo,ooo, — 
 and so on, until she was impregnable to the 
 appointed spouse. 
 
 This of course must not be. 
 
 The mother did not know that Lucy had hoist- 
 ed a signal of distress, and that she was almost 
 ready to haul her flag up from half-mast, and fly 
 it at the masthead of defiance. This Mrs. Broth- 
 ertoft did not suspect of her submissive and meek 
 child. She knew nothing of Voltaire's errand. 
 But she had grown suddenly apprehensive and 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 227 
 
 timorous, and hardly recognized her old intrepid 
 self this morning. She began to quail a little 
 more and more before her daughter's innocence. 
 For all reasons, she did not desire to proToke 
 discussion. 
 
 A grim, mute breakfast, therefore, at Brother- 
 toft Manor. 
 
 Each headache looked into its tea-cup in 
 silence. Major Kerr crunched a bit of dry 
 toast, instead of feeding omnivorously. 
 
 There is no conversation of this party to re- 
 port, gay or glum. 
 
 But tableau is sometimes more dramatic than 
 talk. 
 
 A new-comer at the door glanced at this 
 unsociable trio, and deciphered the picture 
 pretty accurately. 
 
 It was old Voltaire, limping forward from 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Lucy sat with her face toward the pantry 
 door, and first saw him. 
 
 Flash ! Lucy lightened and almost showered 
 tears at the rising of this black cloud, charged 
 with fresh electricity. 
 
 Flash back! from the whites of Voltaire's 
 eyes and from his teeth. 
 
 It was a brief flash, but abiding enough to 
 show Lucy, through her gloom, one figure 
 stealing to her succor. Him she was sure of, 
 
228 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 — her father. But one gleam from the whites 
 of a black could not reveal the other recruits 
 to her rebel army. So they must remain la- 
 tent, with their names and faces latent, until 
 she can have an interview with her complotter. 
 
 But what a hot agony of hope blazed up 
 within her at Voltaire's look and cunning nod ! 
 
 "I must not scream with joy," she thought. 
 "I must not shriek out this great, wicked, tri- 
 umphant laugh I feel stirring in me. I must 
 not jump up and hug the dear old soul. 
 Thank Heaven, my tea is hot, and I can choke 
 myself and cry." 
 
 Wliich she proceeded to do ; and under cover 
 of her napkin got her face into mask condition 
 again. 
 
 She was taking lessons — this fair novice — in 
 what a woman's face is made for ; — namely, to 
 look cool when the heart is fiery ; to look dull, 
 when the wits have just suffered the whetstone ; 
 to look blank, when the soul's hieroglyphs will 
 stare oiit if a blush is only turned on ; to look 
 tame, when the spirit is tiger; to look peace, 
 when there is no peace ; to look mild as new 
 milk, when the blood boils and explosion butts 
 against the wired cork of self-control. A guile- 
 ful world, guileless lady ! and you must fight 
 your fight to-day witli silence and secrecy, lest 
 mamma detect a iButter in your bosom, and your 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 229 
 
 fledgling purpose of flight get its pin-feathers 
 pulled, if not its neck wrung. 
 
 Yoltaire limped forward with a plate of buck- 
 wheat cakes. They were meal of the crop 
 which had whitened the slopes of "Westchester 
 tliis summer, and purpled them this autumn. 
 They were round as a doubloon, or the moon at 
 it? fullest. Their edges wore sharp, and not 
 ragged and taggy. Their complexion was most 
 delicate mulatto. Their texture was bubbly as 
 the wake of a steamboat. Eyes never lighted on 
 higher art than the top cake, and even the one 
 next the plate utterly refused to be soggy. In- 
 deed, each pancake was a poem, — a madrigal 
 of Sappho's most simply delicate confectioning, 
 round as a sonnet, and subtle in flavor as an 
 epigram. 
 
 These pearls Voltaire cast before the party. 
 Nobody partook. Nobody appreciated. Nobody 
 noticed. The three appetites of the three head- 
 aches were too dead to stir. 
 
 The old fellow was retiring, when Mrs. Broth- 
 ertoft addressed him roughly. 
 
 " I shall promote Plato and break you, Vol- 
 taire, if you are taken sick at the wrong time 
 again." 
 
 " Sorry, ■ missus. Colored mobbas, missus. 
 No stoppin' him. Bery bad indeed ! " 
 
 His appearance disarmed suspicion. He was 
 
230 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 a weary and dismal object after his Journey. 
 No one, to look at him, would hare divined that 
 his pangs were of the motive powers, and not 
 the digestive, — that he suffered with the nicked 
 shin, the stubbed toe, and the strained calf, and 
 was utterly unconscious of a stomach, except as 
 a locality for colonizing a white lie in. 
 
VI. 
 
 When Pyramus and Thisbe, when Coeur de 
 Lion and Blondel, want speech of each other, 
 Wall will ever have " a cranny right and sinister" 
 for their whispers, will " show a chink to blink 
 through with their eyne." 
 
 Breakfast was over. Voltaire was in the pan- 
 try, clashing dish and pan for a signal. Lucy 
 waited her moment to dart in and get her hopes 
 of escape made into certainties. 
 
 " I am going up stairs, Lucy," said her mother, 
 " to give Dewitt her last hints about your wed- 
 ding-dress. Come up presently and try it on." 
 
 She went out, leaving lover and lady together. 
 
 Kerr stood before the fire in his favorite pos- 
 ture. His face was red, his jacket was red. He 
 produced the effect of a great unmeaning daub 
 of scarlet in a genre — mauvais genre — picture. 
 
 The big booby grew embarrassed with himself. 
 The quiet presence of this young girl abashed 
 him. He knew that his suit was an insult to her. 
 He saw that she did not appreciate his feet and 
 inches. Neither his cheeks nor his shoulders 
 
232 EDWIH BKOTHERTOFT. 
 
 nor his calves touched her heart. His mnity 
 had been hurt, and he felt a spiteful triumph 
 that she was in his power. 
 
 This morning he was ashamed of tiimself. It 
 is a grievous thing that men canni)t go to bed 
 tipsy and wake up without headaches and with 
 self-respect. Perhaps it will be different when 
 Chaos comes again. 
 
 Kerr felt disgusted with hims>clf, and embar 
 rassed. He wanted to talk to cover his awk- 
 wardness. He did not know what to say. The 
 complaint is not uncommon. 
 
 " I suppose she knows it 's a line day, and 
 wout thank me for telling her," he thought 
 "Vaughan's trip up the river, — that's talked 
 out. I made the pun about Esopus and Esop's 
 fables, that Rawdon got off last night, and she 
 did n't laugh. I wish I had Jack Andre's tongue. 
 I have half a mind to cut it out of him — the 
 dashed whipper-snapper — for trying to get her 
 to flirt with him yesterday. I suppose I ought 
 to be making love now. But she has never let 
 me come near enough to make what I call love. 
 Well, I must say something. Here goes ! Ahem ! 
 Lucy — Miss Lucy." 
 
 " Sir." 
 
 " It 's a very fine day." 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " A most uncommonly fine day for this doosed 
 climate." 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 233 
 
 No reply. 
 
 "I'd box the dumb thing's ears if she was 
 Mrs. K.," thought the Major. " But she sha'n't 
 silence me. I 'U give her another chance. Ahem! 
 Miss Lucy ! Would n't you like to stroll out and 
 take the air ? " 
 
 " No, I thank you. Do not let me detaiji you." 
 
 " I say, you know, we 're to be married to- 
 morrow. You need n't be so infernally distant." 
 
 " My mother wishes me to join her with the 
 dressmakers." 
 
 " "Well, if you wont come, you wont," says 
 Kerr, taking himself off in dudgeon. 
 
 He walked out upon the lawn. The air was 
 nine-oxygen azote of the purest proof. He swal- 
 lowed it boozily, as if it were six-water grog. 
 
 Lucy hied to the trysting-place, where the 
 arch-plotter was waiting amid pans and dishes. 
 
 " Voltaire, tell me ! " she cried. And here 
 tears interrupted her, and gushed as if she in- 
 tended to use the biggest pan for a lacrymatory. 
 
 " Don't cry, Miss Lucy," the old fellow says. 
 " It 's good news ! " 
 
 At which she only wept the more. 
 
 Without much knowledge of the chemistry of 
 tears, Yoltaire saw that spending them relieved 
 and calmed the young lady. Meanwhile, to be 
 talking on indifferent subjects until her first 
 burst was over, he said, " I saw Major Scrammel 
 
234 KDWm BKOTHEKTOFT. 
 
 at Fishkill, Miss Lucy. He asked after your 
 health." 
 
 " I am obliged to him." The name seemed 
 to act like a dash of cold water. These Majors 
 fatigued her. Scrammel Yankee, Bmerick Hes- 
 sian, Kerr British, — she liked none of them. 
 She began to feel a disgust for the grade. 
 
 " My father ! " she said, with her whole heart 
 In the word, " tell me of him. He has not for- 
 gotten me. He loves me. He will save me from 
 this — this — " A sob drowned the epithet. 
 
 " He loves you dearly," Voltaire responded. 
 
 " Lub," he still pronounced the precious word. 
 He brought his two thick lips together to sound 
 the final "b," instead of lightly touching his 
 upper teeth against his lower lip and breathing 
 out " ve " final. 
 
 This great fact of love establislied, with all its 
 sequel, by a single word, Lucy, womanlike, de- 
 sired to know that this dear new lover no longer 
 misunderstood her. She must be satisfied that 
 she stood right in his esteem before she could 
 take thought of her own dangers. 
 
 " You told him," she said, eagerly, " that I 
 was not an unnatural daughter, — only deceived 
 and deluded by this cruel woman ? " 
 
 Tears had started again, as she thought of the 
 misery he must have suffered for her disloyalty. 
 But indignation at her mother burned them up, 
 and she closed her sentence sternly. 
 
EDWW bRothertoft. 235 
 
 " He sees through it all," the old ambassador 
 replied. 
 
 " How did he look ? Not very sad, I hope ? " 
 she said. 
 
 Womanlike again, she must have the person 
 before her eyes. She must see him, a visible 
 being, — that she could take to her heart with 
 infinite love and pity and hope, — before she 
 could listen to his message of comfort to her. 
 
 " He looked pretty old, Miss Lucy. His hair 's 
 grown gray. It ought n't to. He 's a boy still, — 
 only a little better than forty. He could make 
 his life all over again yet. But he looked old 
 and settled down sad. He 's got a sargeant's 
 coat on, instead of a general's ; but he looks, 
 into his face, as if he know'd all generals know, 
 and a heap more." 
 
 " My dear father ! " interjected Lucy in the 
 middle of Voltaire's description. And she 
 thought what a beloved task it would be for 
 her to renew and restore that ruined life. 
 
 " And now, Voltaire," she said, " can he pro- 
 tect me?" 
 
 " We talked it all over. He did n't see any- 
 thing he could do. He said he was too broken- 
 hearted to plan for anybody." 
 
 Poor Lucy ! all her hopes thus dashed down I 
 She could almost hear her own heart break. 
 
 But Voltaire continued : " He had guv " — 
 
236 EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 (no Tombigbee, old boy !) — " given it all up, 
 and I was goin' off feelin' mighty low, — mighty 
 low, I tell you. Miss Lucy. I started off for 
 the woods and sot down, lookin' for a squer- 
 ril-hole to git into, and die like a fourlegs. 
 Jess then, jess before I 'd found my dyin' bed, 
 I heerd somebody screech, ' Voltaire, Voltaire ! ' 
 like mad. Fust I thought 't was the Holy 
 Angels. Then I thought praps 't was the Black 
 Debbls, prowlin'. I looked round the woods, 
 pretty skeered, and heerd chestnuts drap. Then 
 come the yell again, and your father lighted 
 right down on me and dragged me back like 
 a go-cart. I did n't know what was comin' ; but 
 he yanked me up the bank to the old well, 
 afront of Squire Van Wyck's farm-house, and 
 there I saw — " 
 
 At this point of his eager recital Voltaire's 
 ancient bellow had to pause and draw breath. 
 
 " Saw ! " cried Lucy equally eager, peopling 
 this pause witli a great legion of Upstart hopes, 
 all in buff and blue, fine old Continentals com- 
 plete from boots to queues ; but strangers to 
 her, and therefore without faces. 
 
 " Saw Major Skerrett," gasped Voltaire. 
 
 All that legion of hopes in Lucy's brain sud- 
 denly condensed into a single heroic Continental 
 vision, with the name Skerrett for a face. She 
 was sure this new-comer meant Help. She 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT. 237 
 
 could feel her just now breaking heart tie itself 
 together with a chain., each link a letter of the 
 name Skerrett. 
 
 " Another Major ! " she said, half impatiently. 
 
 There was almost a shade of coquetry in her 
 little protest against this stranger personage. 
 The woman was not dead in her yet. 
 
 " Anudder Major ob anudder stuff. De good 
 God, not de Debbl, — he make dis one." 
 
 " Voltaire, don't talk so ! " 
 
 Did she object to his fact in physiology, or 
 to his pronunciation ? 
 
 Voltaire, with bellows rested, now began to 
 describe the new hero with enthusiasm. His 
 touches were crude, but picturesque, — a char- 
 coal sketch. 
 
 " Major Skerrett, Miss Lucy. my ! what a 
 beautiful moustache he had ! jess the color of 
 ripe chestnut-leaves, and curling down on each 
 side, so." 
 
 The black forefinger described an ogee on 
 either black lip. 
 
 Lucy did not interrupt. She must have her 
 correct image of the new actor before she in- 
 quired his rdle. She perceived already that he 
 was not to be a sicklied Hamlet. 
 
 Her first picture of the hero had been a figure 
 in a Continental uniform, with the name Sker 
 rett instead of a face. 
 
^38 toWm BROTHEBTOFT. 
 
 Second picture: Lxicy sees the mere name 
 vanish. Two chestnut-leaves, fine gold as Octo- 
 ber can paint them, broad in the middle, blunt 
 at the but, taper toward the point, serrated 
 along the edges, dispose themselves to her mind's 
 eye in the air, and form a moustache. She 
 looks at her vision of this isolated feature, and 
 thinks, " It is much prettier than Major Eme- 
 rick's." 
 
 " A go-ahead nose," continues Voltaire, with- 
 out pause. 
 
 Lucy inserts a go-ahead nose into the blank, 
 over and a little ahead of the moustache. Third 
 picture. 
 
 " No mumps round his cheeks and chin," the 
 describer went on. 
 
 Not a mump had ever disfigured the cheeks 
 Lucy hereupon balanced on either side of the 
 nose and the chin which she had located under 
 the two chestnut-leaves. Picture fourth. 
 
 " Byes blue as that saucer," — Voltaire pointed 
 to a piece of delicate china, — " and they look 
 like the Holy Angels." 
 
 Lito their sockets Lucy inserted a pair of 
 orbs, saucer in color not in shape, and gave 
 them a holy, angelic expression. She inspected 
 the growing portrait with her own sweet eyes, — 
 they were hazel, " an excellent thing in woman," 
 — and began to think' the illumined face very 
 charming. 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 239 
 
 "Lots of tan on his bark," resumed the 
 painter in words. 
 
 Lucy dipped her pencil in umber and gave 
 the bark of cheeks, chin, and nose a nut-brown 
 tint, that bravely backed the gold of the mous- 
 tache. 
 
 " Yaller hair under his cocked hat." 
 
 " Yellow ! if you please, Voltaire," she pro- 
 tested, and with skilful thought she adjusted 
 the coiffure. 
 
 " No queue." 
 
 An imaginary queue, tied with a tumbled 
 black ribbon, had been bobbing in the air near 
 the hero's cerebellum. Lucy docked it, and, with 
 a scornful gesture, sent it whirling ofif into the 
 Unseen. 
 
 " Now," says Voltaire, " you jess stick in Troot 
 (Truth), Wercher (Virtue), Kerridge (Cour- 
 age), and all the other good things into that are 
 face : you jess clap on a smile that '11 make 
 a dough heart in a bosom turn into light gin- 
 gerbread ; and give him a look that can make 
 stubbed toes want to wheel about and turn about 
 and dance breakdowns, and is stickin' plaster 
 to every scratch on an old free colored gentle- 
 man's shins : you jess think you see a Major 
 what Liberty and all the Holy Angels is puUin' 
 caps for, and all the Debbls is shakin' huf away 
 from where he stands: you jess git all that 
 
240 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 in your eye, Miss Lucy, and you 've got Major 
 Skerrett." 
 
 The picture was complete. Truth, Virtue, 
 Courage, and the sister qualities, Lucy had dim- 
 pled into the bronzed cheeks, as a sailor pricks 
 an anchor, or Polly's name, into a brother tar's 
 arm with India ink. She had given the hero's 
 face a smile, yeasty, sugary, and pungent enough 
 to convert the dullest dough heart into light gin- 
 gerbread. She had bestowed upon her ideal a 
 look that would be surgery to scarred shins and 
 light fantasy to the weariest toes. Now she 
 passed her finger over the chestnut-leaf mous- 
 tache to smooth down its serrated edges. The 
 portrait was done. Lucy surveyed it an instant, 
 and blushed to think it was indeed a Major that 
 women and angels might pull caps for. 
 
 She blushed to herself — the simple maid — 
 and felt a slight shame at her longing to see if 
 the real man was identical with her ideal. 
 
 This child — remember she was but eighteen, 
 and had been kept by herself and her mother, a 
 complete child until just now — this child had 
 hitherto had no ideal of a hero except that he 
 must be Kerr's opposite. We know already her 
 verdict upon the British officers. Of Putnam's 
 family, Scrammel she distrusts; Radi^re she 
 would like as a friend, if he were not so Gallic, 
 dyspeptic, and testy; Humphreys is ridiculous, 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEETOFT. 241 
 
 vilh his grand airs and his prosy poetasms ; Liv- 
 ingston amuses her ; — voila tout I 
 
 " And can this gentleman help ? " she asked 
 earnestly, as soon as she had his person before 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Help ! " says Voltaire ; " he can't help help- 
 ing. That 's his business under this canopy." 
 
 The negro stated briefly the scheme for Kerr's 
 capture and her abduction. 
 
 Lucy comprehended the whole in a moment. 
 
 " Major Skerrett sent you a message, Miss 
 Lucy," says the successful envoy, closin^ij his 
 report. 
 
 " Me ! " she said. She massacred a little 
 scruple, that Major Kerr's betrothed ought not 
 to be receiving messages from strange majors. 
 " What is it ? He is very kind to think of me." 
 
 " He said, ' Tell Miss Brothertoft to be brave, 
 to be • prudent, and to keep her room with a 
 headache, until we are ready to start.' " 
 
 " It makes me brave and prudent, now that I 
 have a strong friend to trust. But the headache 
 I had is all gone. I never felt so well and happy 
 in my life." 
 
 " Look at him ! " Voltaire rejoined, pointing 
 to Kerr, through the pantry window. "That 
 will make you ache from your head to your heels." 
 
 She did look, and ached at once with fresh 
 resentment and disgust. 
 
 11 t 
 
242 EOWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 Kerr was leaning limp against a tree, breath- 
 ing tipsily his nine-oxygen azote. The golden 
 hills, the blue river, and the mountains, blue and 
 gold, had no charms for him. He was thinking, 
 "Almost time to make it seven bells. I oan't 
 touch anything stronger tha^i six-water grog this 
 morning. my head ! " 
 
 "Pretty fellow fur a lubber to my young 
 lady ! " says Voltaire. His mispronunciation 
 revealed a truth. 
 
 This faithful blackamoor now proceeded to act 
 Othello relating his adventures. He had a tragi- 
 comic episode to impart of his "hair-breadth 
 'scapes," " of being taken by the insolent foe," 
 of all " his portancc in his travel's history " ; and 
 what he suffered, shin and sole, in the " rough 
 quarries, rocks, and hills" back of Anthony's 
 Nose, while he dodged by night along the by- 
 paths. 
 
 Lucy " gave him for his pains a world of 
 sighs," and " loved him for the dangers he had 
 passed " in her service. 
 
 " Now," said the loyal squiro, in conclusion, 
 " I must set you something to do. Miss Lucy." 
 
 " What ? " she asked, trembling a little at re- 
 sponsibility. 
 
 " Send Dewitt and Sally Bilsby off home ! 
 They '11 want a frolic after working so hard on 
 your wedding-dress. We must have the house 
 to ourselves to-night." 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 248 
 
 " To night ! Lucy's heart bounded and sunk. 
 Yes, she must be free to-night, or to-morrow 
 would make her a slave. 
 
 " Miss Lucy," whispered Voltaire, " two of 
 'em was here already before sunrise." 
 
 " Not the " She hesitated. 
 
 " Not the Major ! No ; old Sam Galsworthy 
 and Hendrecus Canady. You know 'em. They 
 come to see how the land lay." 
 
 " Mother calls ; I must go," said Lucy, in a 
 tremor. 
 
 She gave one look through the window at 
 Kerr, leaning limp against a chestnut-tree. 
 The Skerrett-moustache-colored leaves in myriad 
 pairs shook over him. She seemed to see a 
 myriad of faces, with go-ahead noses, no mumps, 
 angelic blue eyes, bronzed skins, and truth and 
 courage in every line, looking out of the tree, 
 and signalizing her, " Be brave ! be prudent ! " 
 
VII. 
 
 Portentous all the morning was Voltaire to 
 Sappho. 
 
 Now cookery, like chemistry, must have peace 
 to perform its experiments in. 
 
 Poor Sappho, with her husband darting into the 
 kitchen, looking mysterious, exploding " Hush ! " 
 and darting off again, was as much flustered 
 as a uei'vous chemical professor when his pupils 
 jeer his juggles with cabbage-liquor, and turn 
 up rebellious noses at his olefiant gas. 
 
 Sappho's great experiment of dinner suffered. 
 She put sugar in her soup and salt in her pud- 
 ding. She sowed allspice for peppercorns, and 
 vice versa. She overdid the meat that should 
 have been underdone. She roasted her goose 
 until its skin was plate armor. She baked her 
 piecrust hard as Westchester shale. Yester- 
 day's dinner was sublime ; to-day's would be 
 ridiculous. Conspiracy upsets domestic econo- 
 my, as it does political. 
 
 When Voltaire had deranged his wife with 
 dark hints, he proceeded to perplex his son. 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 245 
 
 Plato was lord of the stables. These were 
 times of war. Westchester was beginning to 
 suffer for being neutral ground for rebel and 
 tory to plunder. Rents came slow at Brothertoft 
 Manor, and when they came were short. Econo- 
 my must be consulted. That crafty counsellor 
 suggested that Plato's helpers in the stable 
 should be discharged, and he do three men's 
 work. He was allowed, however, Bilsby juve- 
 nissimus and another urchin from the Manor to 
 "chore" for him. They were unpaid attachSs. 
 They did free service as stable-boys, for the 
 honor and education of the thing, for the priv- 
 ilege of chewing straws among the horses, and 
 for the luxury of a daily bellyful of pork and 
 pudding, and a nightly bed in the loft. 
 
 Voltaire went out to the stable. The six white 
 horses of famous Lincolnshire stock stood, three 
 on this side, three on that. Their long tails oc- 
 casionally switched to knock off the languid last 
 flies of summer. 
 
 Voltaire stopped at the coach-house door to 
 drive out a noisy regiment of chickens. A lum- 
 bering old coach, of the leathern conveniency 
 order, was shoved away in a corner. There is 
 always such a vehicle in every old family stable, — 
 a stranded ark, that no horse-power will ever stir 
 again. 
 
 " Nineteen year ago," thought the aucieul 
 
246 EDWIN BEOXHEKTOFT. 
 
 Brotliertoft retaiuer, " nineteen year ago last 
 June, I drew Mister Edwin and that Billop gal, 
 in that convenieucj, less than two hundred yards 
 from her house in Wall Street to Trinity Church, 
 to be married. I heerd the Trinity bolls say, 
 ' Edwin Brothertoft, don't marry a Billop ! ' 
 I felt it in my bones that she 'd turn out mean. 
 Her money bx'ought worse luck than we 'd ever 
 had before. And the good luck has n't got holt 
 yet." 
 
 " Plato," says he, stepping into the great pic- 
 turesque stable, half full of sunshine, half of 
 shade, and half of hay, fragrant as the Fourth 
 of July. 
 
 " Sir ! " says Plato, di-awing himself up, and . 
 giving a military salute. He had seen much 
 soldiering going on of late, and liked to play at 
 it, — a relic, perhaps, of Gorilla imitativeuess. 
 
 " Them boys don't look to me in good health." 
 
 Voltaire pointed to Bilsby and mate. They 
 were both chewing straws, — a pair of dull sharps, 
 like most young clodhoppers. They could tell a 
 calf from a colt with supernatural keenness ; but 
 were of the class which gets itself well Petcr- 
 Punkod before its manhood learns the time of 
 
 " Dey 's fat, ragged, and sassy as ary boys dis 
 shile ever seed," rejoined Plato. 
 " Bery weakly dey looks," continued the con- 
 
EDWm BftOTHEKTOfT. 247 
 
 spirator. " Fallin' away horrible ! Neber see 
 sich sickly boys 'n all my born days. Chestnuts 
 is what dey wants. Worms is de trouble. Boys 
 always gits worms onless dey eats suthin on to 
 a bushel of chestnuts in de fall." 
 
 The two ragamuffins dropped their straws, 
 turned pale, and began to feel snakes wake and 
 crawl within them. 
 
 " Now, boys," says Voltaire impressively, " if 
 you want ter perwent dem varmint, jess you 
 put fur de woods an' fill yourselves plum full 
 ob chestnuts." 
 
 " But chestnuts has worms, too,'-' objected 
 Bilsby. 
 
 " So much de better ; dey '11 eat yourn. Go 
 'long now. Stay hum to-night, and don't come 
 roun' here fore to-morrow noon. Be keerfle 
 now ! Eat all to-day ; and pick to-morrow to 
 keep. You don't look to me like boys who is 
 prepared to die." 
 
 The pair obeyed, and departed solemnly. Noth- 
 ing but chestnuts could save them from the worm 
 that never dieth. There were two very grave 
 and earnest lads that day cracking burrs in the 
 groves of Brothertoft Manor. 
 
 Plato stared in consternation as he saw his 
 regiment disbanded. 
 
 Voltaire winked with both eyes, and chuckled 
 enormously. 
 
248 EDWIN BfiOTHEKTOFT. 
 
 " Don't you ask me no questions, Plato," says 
 he, " an' you wont have no lies to complex yer 
 mind. I meant to clare de kitchen, ole fokes, 
 young fokes, an so I scared off dem boys, ho, ho ! 
 Now I 's gwine to gib you a conundrum, Plato." 
 
 Plato let go Volante's tail, which he was comb- 
 ing, and pricked up his ears. 
 
 " What does a young lady do when she don't 
 want to marry her fust husband?" 
 
 " Marries her second," guessed Plato, cheer- 
 fuUy. 
 
 " Plato ! I 'se ashamed of you. Dat would 
 be bigamy." 
 
 The crestfallen groom gave it up. 
 
 " You gib it up," says the propounder. 
 " Well ; she says to her coachman, — it 's bery 
 mysterous dat de coachman's name is Plato. 
 She says to him, Plato ! " 
 
 "What?" interjected the other. 
 
 " Neber interrump de speaker ! " chided Vol- 
 taire. " She says, ' Plato, you know my mare.' 
 Says he, ' Your mare Volanty, Miss ? ' Says she, — 
 it's mysterous, but Volanty is her name, — ' Now, 
 Plato, you jess poot anudder oat in her manger, 
 an groom her slick as a het griddle, and see 
 de girts and de bridle is right.' And says she, 
 ' Plato, don't you complex yer mind wedder de 
 answer to dat conundrum ain't suthin' about 
 runnin' away. But jess you wait tUl de sebben 
 seal is opened." 
 
EDWIN BROTHEUTOFT. 249 
 
 Here the namesake of him of Ferney gave 
 a vise binocular wink. 
 
 The other philosopher's namesake also eclipsed 
 his whites with a binocular wink. He divined 
 where his sire had been travelling in the past 
 thirty-six liours. He had nodded through the 
 watches of last night to let the senior in un- 
 discovered. He knew of the interview with Old 
 Sam Galsworthy and Hendrecus Canady, an hour 
 before sunrise. He comprehended enough of 
 the plot to enjoy it as a magnificent conun- 
 drum, which he could guess at all day, sure 
 that the seven seals of mystery would be opened, 
 by and by. 
 
 Voltaire limped back to the house and his 
 pantry. His butler countenance fell, as he con- 
 templated the empty bottles of yesterday's ban- 
 quet. He could almost have wept them full, 
 if he had known any chemistry to change salt 
 tears to wine. 
 
 " How those redcoats drink ! " he muttered. 
 " Our cellar wont last many more such cam- 
 paigns. I must get up some fresh wine for 
 to-day, and a little brandy to deteriorate Maj 
 Kerr." 
 
 Burns wrote poetry as he pleased, in Scotteti, 
 
 in English, or in a United-Kingdom brogue. 
 
 Voltaire takes the same liberty, and talks iv tt 
 
 \ank Tombigbee, now severe Continental, and 
 
 n» 
 
250 EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 now a lingo of his own. Most men are equally 
 inconsistent, and use one slang in the saloon 
 and another in the salon. 
 
 Voltaire lighted a candle, and descended into 
 the cellar. 
 
 " It 's resky," thought he, " to bring a light, 
 without a lantern, among all this straw and 
 rubbish. Fire would n't let go, if it once cotched 
 here. But nobody ever comes except me." 
 
 A flaring dip, very free with sparks, was cer- 
 tainly dangerous in this den. Who has not 
 seen such a tinder-box of a place under a care- 
 less old country-house ? Capital but awesome 
 regions they offer for juvenile hide and seek ! 
 How densely their black corners are populated 
 with Bugaboo ! The hider and the seeker shud- 
 der alike in those gloomy caverns, and are glad 
 enough to find each other, touch hands and 
 bolt for daylight. 
 
 Habit, or possibly his complexion in harmony 
 with dusky hues, made Voltaire independent 
 of the terrors of the place. He marched along, 
 carefully sheltering his candle with a big paw, 
 brown on the back and red on the palm. 
 
 Combustibles were faintly visible in the glim- 
 mer. There were empty wine-boxes overflow- 
 ing with the straw that once swaddled their 
 bottles. There was a barrel of curly shavings, 
 a barrel of rags quite limp and out of curl, a 
 
fiDWiN BROTHERTOFT 251 
 
 barrel of fine flour from the Phillipse Mills, a 
 barrel of apples very fragrant, one of onions 
 very odorous, a barrel of turnips white and 
 shapely, and a bin of potatoes, of the earth, 
 earthy, and amorplious as clods. There were 
 the staves and hoops of a rotten old beer-cask, 
 leaning together, and trying to hold each other 
 up, like the decayed members of a dead fac- 
 tion. There was a ciderless cider-cask, begin- 
 ning to gape at the seams, like a barge out 
 of water.- Rubbish had certainly called a con- 
 gress in this cellar, and the entire rubbish in- 
 terest in all its departments had sent deputies. 
 Old furniture had a corner to itself, and it was 
 melancholy to see there the bottomless chairs 
 that people long dead had sat through, tho 
 posts of old bedsteads sleeping higgledy-piggledy, 
 and old tables that had seen too many revels in 
 their day, and were tipsily trying to tumble 
 under themselves. Then there was a heap of 
 old clothes and ole clo', ghostly in their forlorn- 
 ness, lifting up arms and holding forth skirts in 
 vain signal for the ragman. It was a gloomy, 
 musty, cavernous place, and Yoltaire's faint 
 candle only shed a little shady light around. 
 
 The butler unlocked the wine-room door. 
 Batteries of dusty bottles in their casemates 
 aimed at him, with flashes of yellow-seal at 
 their muzzles. 
 
252 EDWIH BfiOTHERTOFT. 
 
 " Three bottles for Major Kerr, — his lti>t," 
 he said. " One, very particular, for Major Sk er- 
 rett when he comes. One of our French Gutter 
 de Rosy brandy to qualify with. Ranks looks 
 broken here since Major Kerr come. I mnst 
 close 'em up to-morrow. Bottles likes to lie 
 touchin', so the wine can ripen all alike." 
 
 The old fellow's hands were so full that he 
 could not lock his door conveniently. He left it 
 open for his next visit of reorganization. 
 
 He limped oif, running the gauntlet of the 
 combustibles. No spark flew, no cinder foil. 
 That masterful plaything, fire, could not be 
 allowed to sport with the old rubbish. 
 
 How Voltaire proceeded to carry on his i pri- 
 vate share of the plot by deteriorating Kerr'a 
 allowance of Madeira with Cognac, is a secret of 
 the butler's pantry. It shall not be here re- 
 vealed. Why deteriorate the morals of 1860 by 
 recalling forgotten methods of cheating ? Ad al- 
 teration is a lost art, thank Bacchus ! We drink 
 only pure juices now. Only honest wines foi 
 our honest dollars in this honest age. 
 
 Now from the cellar we will mount to the 
 room above stairs, where Penelope and hei 
 maids — no, not Penelope, for she was loyal aud 
 disconsolate — where Mrs. Brothertoft and btsr 
 maids are at work at the savrbenito for Uj- 
 morrow's amto-dorfS. 
 
VIII. 
 
 If there was a Dieden in 1777, she has gone 
 with the braves who lived before Agamemnon, 
 and like them is forgotten. 
 
 If there had been a Dieden in little New York 
 of those days, she would not have been called in 
 to make Miss Brothertoft's sarirbenito, her wed- 
 ding-dress. 
 
 The resources of the Manor were sufficient. 
 Mrs. Brothertoft could plan the robe. Mrs. De- 
 witt could execute it. Sally Bilsby also lent a 
 'prentice hand. The silk, white, stiif, and with a 
 distinct bridal rustle, had been bought to order 
 by Bilsby junior, on one of his traitorous trips 
 to New York. 
 
 Lucy, leaving Voltaire in the pantry, as was 
 described, ran up stairs and faced her wedding- 
 dress without flinching. It is not generally a 
 sight to blanch the cheeks of a young lady. 
 Indeed, one may fancy that a rose finer than 
 roses might bud in the heart, and bloom from 
 neck to forehead, when a bride first beheld the 
 lily-wirico drapery of her hour of immola.tiou. 
 
254 EDWIN BROTIiKUTOFT. 
 
 Lucy neither blanched nor blushed. 
 
 " Be brave ! be prudent ! " the warning of her 
 unseen protector was ringing in her ears. She 
 saw it, inscribed on a label, and hanging from 
 the lips of her vision of his face. The brave do 
 not blancli. The prudent do not blush. So she 
 quietly joined the busy circle, took a needle and 
 stabbed the wedding-dress without mercy. 
 
 It was a monstrous relief thus to kill time. 
 She did herself, for the hour, " her quietus make 
 with a bare bodkin," and the other weapons of 
 a modiste. 
 
 "Stitch, stitch, stitch ! Seam, and gas9et, and band ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " she thought, " what a blessing is this 
 distraction of labor ! 1 have shed my tears. If 
 I were to sit inactive, I might brood myself 
 into despair. If I were to think over my 
 wrong, I miglit flame out too soon. If I look 
 at my mother, I begin to dread her again. I 
 know she could master me stUl. my God! 
 sustain me through these last hours of my peril ! 
 I never knew how great it was until now. I 
 foresaw a misery ; but tlie degradation of giving 
 myself up to this man, I never even dreamed 
 of. I am ashamed, ashamed to recall that there 
 have beeu instants when I tolerated him, — whon 
 I thought that he was not so very gross £.^d 
 coarse. I pray God that the sacredness of laj 
 Boul is not spoilt." 
 
EDWIN BROTHER rOFT. 255 
 
 A great agony stirred in her maidenly bitsom 
 at this thought. She bent closer to her work. 
 She knew that her mother's eyes were upon her. 
 She heard, without marking, the tattle of the 
 maids. 
 
 " Fly, little needle ! " she said to herself. 
 " Measure ofF this pause in my life ! Every 
 stitch is a second. Sixty are a minute. Min- 
 utes make hours, and hours wear out the weary 
 day. Evening must come. If I can but be 
 brave and prudent, I shall see my father and his 
 noble friend, and be safe." 
 
 Her needle galloped at the excitement of the 
 thought. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft looked at her, and said to her 
 heart, with a sneer, — " Pretty creature ! she con- 
 soles lierself, it seems. Our boozy, rubicund 
 bridegroom begins to look quite pale and inter- 
 esting, seen through a bridal veil. The touch of 
 white silk cures her scruples eajsily. Ah! the 
 blushing bride will be resigned to her bliss. 
 Bah! that I — I should dread such a pretty, 
 silly trifler! What a fool I was to think her 
 different from other simpering girls ! So, this is 
 the meaning of all her coy little wiles and her 
 headaches. Headaches ! she may have as many 
 as she pleases now, in her pensive bower. Ah I 
 I comprehend thee now, fair hypocrite. The 
 deader fingers are impatient for the ring. Fly, 
 
256 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 little bird, to the bosom of thy spbiise. Perhaps 
 he will not quite crush thy poor, siUy heart. 
 And I have been afraid of her I She is so tickled 
 with her wedding favors, that she will presently 
 be kissing me again for gratitude with more 
 fervor than ever. But I am sick of her sim- 
 plicity. I am tired of her ' Dearest mammas ! ' 
 1 should strangle her, I dare say, if she were 
 not taken off. She grows more like that Edwin 
 Brothertoft lately." 
 
 " Your dress is ready to try on, Miss Lucy," 
 said Mrs. Jierck Dewitt. 
 
 So there was a mighty rustle, and a headless, 
 armless torso of stiff white silk rose up and stood 
 on its skirt. It did Dewitt great credit. Ah! 
 if her character had only been equal to her skill ! 
 But she was a brazen hussy, and Sally, her sister, 
 no better. Tel mattre, tel valet. One positively 
 bad woman spoils many negatively bad ones. It 
 would not seem, at all unfair if Destiny took ad- 
 vantage of the harm done Jierck Dewitt's wife 
 in punishing the lady of the Manor through her 
 means. 
 
 Lucy still faced her wedding-dress without 
 flinching. She may even have thought that, if 
 the worst came, it was better to go to the guil- 
 lotine in becoming array. It is perhaps woman 
 to say, " My heart is broken ; but my bodice fits 
 without a fold." 
 
EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 25 1 
 
 It is ■VToman, no doubt, bjit there are women 
 ai^ Women. Lucy could safely admire the robe, 
 and tranquilly criticise it, because she knew that 
 she and it were not to see marriage together. 
 
 " Now shall I unlace you. Miss Lucy ? " says 
 the abigail. 
 
 Yes, abigail ; as soon as these masculine eyes, 
 whose business is with the young lady's soui. 
 not with her toilette, can take themselves de& 
 orously out of the room. 
 
IX. 
 
 NoMBBE de Dieden ! what a fit ! 
 
 Unlacing and relacing concluded, these ma» 
 culuie eyes, again admitted to the maiden's bower, 
 are dazzled with unexpected loveliness. 
 
 There stands the lady, within the perfect 
 dress ! ! ! beautiful to three points of admiration. 
 Sweet eij^hteen can bear low neck by broad day- 
 light. 
 
 The struggle in her heart with all her wild 
 emotions of terror and hope was as great a 
 beautifier as the presence of critical wedding- 
 guests, the rustle of a surplice, the electric touch 
 of a gay gold ring, and the first clasp of the hand 
 of a husband. 
 
 And you, Peter Skerrett ! you have shaved 
 off your moustache and donned a coat much too 
 small, — you have made a guy of yourself for 
 your first interview with this angel ! 
 
 Shall the personal impression she may already 
 have made be here revised and corrected ? No ; 
 for this is not real sunshine upon her. If she is 
 ever photographed, it shall be in her bright, not 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT 259 
 
 in her dark day. Let her wait till fuller ma- 
 turity for description! It is easy to see the 
 Brothertoft in her. She blends the tender grace 
 of the lady in Vandyck's picture with the quiet 
 dignity of the gentleman. But is there not kin- 
 dling in her face the vigor of another race, her 
 mother's? Perhaps a portrait now would belie 
 her final look. 
 
 " You are like an angel, Miss Lucy," said Mrs. 
 Dewitt. 
 
 She was. She stood there in bridal robe, veil, 
 and wreath. Her hands were clasped firm to 
 control her insurgent heart. Her lips were 
 parted, and she was whispering to herself, " Be 
 bravo ! Be prudent ! " Her eyes overlooked the 
 present, and saw hope in the blue sky above the 
 golden Highlands through her window. 
 
 Yes; like an angel. 
 
 There was a hush for a moment. The three 
 bad women — the pert hoyden, the false wife, and 
 the proud mistress of the Manor — were silenced 
 and abashed. 
 
 Again the old pang stirred in the mother's bosom. 
 Again she longed to throw herself at her daugh- 
 ter's feet and pray forgiveness. But again she 
 gained that defeat of a victory over her woman- 
 liness. She trampled down the weakness of re- 
 pentance. The bedlam look flickered over her 
 features, and she hardly restrained her furious 
 
260 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 impulse to leap forward and rend the imioceut 
 face and the maiden bosom that so shamed her. 
 
 " You do look jusl like an angel, Miss Lucy," 
 Abby Dewitt asseverated, with the air of a con- 
 naisseiise in the article. " Don't she, Sally ? " 
 
 The two thereupon gave tongue to voluble 
 flatteries. 
 
 " Your work does you great credit, Dewitt," 
 Lucy said. " Mamma, cannot we spare Abby 
 and Sally to go home to the farm to-night? 
 They deserve a holiday after this long confine- 
 ment. And to-morrow will be a busy day again." 
 
 " Of course, my dear, if they wish it." Mrs. 
 Brothertoft was glad to put her daughter under 
 obligation. 
 
 The women again gave tongue with thanks. 
 They were always, as Voltaire had said, ready to 
 get away for a frolic. Lucy smiled to herself at 
 the easy success of her stratagem. She had 
 packed oif baggage and baggage, without sus- 
 picion. 
 
 " What a conspirator I am becoming ! " she 
 thought. " Ah ! silly Lucy, the child, the thing 
 to be flung away ! She too can help baffle the 
 evil schemes against herself. When these coarse 
 women are gone, there will be not a soul but 
 friends within a mile of the house." 
 
 Dinner was tardy to-day, after the late break 
 fast following the revel. 
 
EDWDJ BEOTHEETOFT. 261 
 
 Nine-oxygen azote by the lung-full had given 
 tone to Major Kerr's system. His appetite for 
 meat and drink were in full force again, all the 
 stouter for this morning's respite. 
 
 " What a lucky dog I am," he said, " to dodge 
 that expedition of Vaughan's ! I 'm ' the soldier 
 tired of war's alarms,' Miss Lucy." 
 
 " You do not care about laurels any more," 
 Mrs. Brothertoft said, with her half-sneer. 
 
 " Not when I can get roses." 
 
 His look with this brought fire into Lucy's 
 cheeks. 
 
 " No," resumed he ; "I should be glad enough 
 to help burn the dashed rebels' houses over their 
 heads, and them, too, in their beds. Here 's con- 
 fusion to 'em, and luck to Jack Burgoyne ! I 
 hate the vulgar ' varmint.' But I don't want to 
 leave a good dinner to see bonfires. I know 
 where I'm well off, and going to be better. 
 Eh, Miss Lucy?" 
 
 Her heart began to throb and her head to 
 ache at once. 
 
 "This goose has got a bark on thick as an 
 oak-tree," continued the valiant trencherman, 
 making an incision. " Give me another cut of 
 beef, — the red, with plenty of fat and plenty of 
 gravy, if you please, my mamma that shall <foe. 
 I need support when the parson opens his bat- 
 teries to-morrow." Eh, Miss Lucy ? ' With this 
 
262 EDWIN BEOtHERTOFT. 
 
 ring thee I wed, and with all my worldly — ' 
 Hain't got any goods. I '11 endow you with all 
 my worldly debts, and tell the Jews to shift 
 the security. Haw, haw ! " 
 
 He laughed boisterously. 
 
 This coarse paean stu-red up echoes of repul- 
 sion in Lucy's heart. 
 
 How she longed to fling defiance at him! 
 Patience, — she almost bit the word in two, with 
 her teeth set hard upon it. One rash expres- 
 sion would be ruin ; but great red-hot shot of 
 scorn burned within her. She discovered that 
 there was strong language in her vocabulary. 
 It grew significant to her now. She was begin- 
 ning to half understand herself at last. When 
 the boiler grows hot, the water feels its latent 
 steam. 
 
 " Am I the same being ? " she thought. " Am 
 I the meek Consent I have pitied and wept with 
 so long ? No, I have ceased to be a spiritless no- 
 body. I am almost sorry that help from without 
 is coming to me. I should like to stand up now 
 and say, ' Madam, of you as a woman I will not 
 speak, — as a mother, you are a tyrant, and 1 
 defy you. I defy you and this brute, not half so 
 base as you, whom you have dared to name by 
 the sacred name of lover, whom you have called 
 in to aid you in dishonoring your child.' Yes ; 
 I could almost say that to her now. Is it pos- 
 
EbwiN brothertoft. 263 
 
 siblo ? Is it possible tl.at a woman can so hate a 
 woman ? I never felt what the sanctity of my 
 womanhood was until now, — now that I per- 
 ceive this miserable plot against it." 
 
 This defiant mood was strong within her. 
 But presently, as she looked at Kerr, growing 
 redder with too much dinner and too much 
 wine, laughing at his own coarse jokes and 
 throwing at her with great vulgar compliments ; 
 and when all at once, in contrast, rose the figure 
 of the other Major as she had painted him, — 
 disgust so mastered her that she sprang up, 
 pleaded a headache, and fled to her chamber, to 
 wait and hope and doubt and pray alone. 
 
 "Megrims again," said the lover, sulkily, as 
 she disappeared. " I don't like it. She did n't 
 run away from Jack Andr^ yesterday." 
 
 " 0, let her amuse herself with headaches, if 
 she pleases," said the Lady of the Manor. " I 
 understand the child. I saw her this morning 
 over her wedding-dress. She is as eager for 
 the happy moment as any lover could wish." 
 
 '-' So you think she shams coy ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Brothertoft; and she was 
 willing to believe it. 
 
 " Well, good night, pretty creature ! Let it 
 go up stairs and think how sweet it will look 
 to-morrow in its silks and laces ! What, are you 
 going too, my mamma ? " 
 
264 EDWIN BKOTHERTOPT. 
 
 " Yes. Take your glass of wine quietly We 
 vrill have supper late. I am going to doze a 
 little in the parlor. I dreamed troublesome 
 dreams last night." 
 
 " By George ! " said Kerr, as she closed the 
 door. " Splendid woman ! Twice as handsome 
 as the Duchess of Gurgoyle ! I suppose she 
 thinks the Kerrs will take her up when she 
 goes to England. No, ma'am ! We can 't quite 
 stand that. You 've got all you can expect out 
 of me when you 've married off your daughter 
 on me. Now, then, it 's going to be solemn busi 
 ness, drinking alone." 
 
X. 
 
 Plot and counterplot at Brothertoft Manor. 
 And meantime, what has counterplot without the 
 house been doing ? 
 
 If Edwin Brothertoft and Peter Skerrett could 
 have travelled by daylight through the High- 
 lands, then this narrative, marching with them, 
 might have seen what fine things they saw, and 
 told of them. But they went cautiously by 
 night. They saw little but the stars overhead 
 and the faint traces of their shy path. They 
 were not distracted by grand views. Nature is a 
 mere impertinence to men who are filled with a 
 purpose. Fortunately, these intense purposes do 
 not last a lifetime. Minds become disengaged, 
 and then they go back, and make apologies to 
 Nature for not admiring her. And she, minding 
 her own business, cares as little for the compli- 
 ment as for the slight. 
 
 It is a bit of the world worth seeing, that 
 bossy belt of latitude between Fishkill and 
 Brothertoft Manor. There is a very splendid 
 pageant to behold there in the halcyon days of 
 
 12 
 
266 EDWIN BKOTaEEfOFT. 
 
 October, the ruddy, the purple, the golden, when 
 every tree is a flame, or a blush, or a dash of 
 blood or deep winy crimsou on the gray rocks of 
 the mountains. The Hudson Highlands do not 
 wrangle about height with the Alps; but they 
 content themselves with wearing a more gor- 
 geous autumn on their backs than any mountains 
 on the globe. Go and see ! Frost paints as 
 bravely now as it did in 1777, and it is safer to 
 travel. Bellona has decamped from the land, 
 and half-way from Fishkill down the pass, Mi- 
 nerva, fair-haired, contralto-voiced, and cour- 
 teous, keeps school and presides over the sixty- 
 third milestone from New York. Go and see 
 the Highlands for yourself! The business of 
 these pages is mainly with what hearts suffer and 
 become under pressure, little with what eyes 
 survey. 
 
 Danger is safety to the prudent. Major Sker- 
 rett and his guide made their perilous journey 
 without mishap. At the chilly dawn of day, we 
 find them at the rendezvous in the hills behind 
 Peekskill, trying to believe that there was warmth 
 in the warm colors of the woods, and waiting for 
 Jierck Dewitt. 
 
 Presently he appeared, in high spirits. 
 
 " We 've come in the nick of time," said he. 
 " The redcoats have done all the harm they coul^ 
 about here. They 've drawed in every maa, aai« 
 
EDWIM BftOTHfiRtOFl 267 
 
 are oJGF at sunrise up river for Kingston. They 
 allow, if they set a few towns afire, that General 
 Gates wiU turn his back to Burgoyne and take 
 to passin' buckets." 
 
 " Bang ! " here spoke the sunrise gun at Fort 
 Montgomery. 
 
 " Bang ! bang ! bang ! " the three frigates re- 
 sponded. 
 
 Dunderberg grumbled with loud echoes. He 
 was pleased to be awaked by the song of birds ; 
 but the victorious noise of British cannon he 
 protested against, like a good American. 
 
 " The coast is clear for us," resumed Jierck. 
 " Clear almost as if these were peace times. 
 Now if you'll come along, I'll take you to a 
 safe den in the woods, a mile from the Manor- 
 House, where you can stay all day, snug as a 
 chipmunk in a chestnut stump, and see how the 
 land lies. I'll tell you my other news as we 
 go." 
 
 They took up their guns and knapsacks and 
 followed. The light of morning was fair and 
 tender. The autumn colors were exhilarating. 
 White frost shone upon the slopes and glim- 
 mered upon every leaf in the groves. 
 
 These were the Manor lands. Each spot Ed- 
 win Brothertoft remembered as a scene of his 
 childhood's discoveries of facts and mysteries 
 in Nature. They walked on for an hour, and 
 
268 EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 
 
 Brothertoft grew almost gay with memories of 
 his youth. 
 
 " Do you see that white shining through the 
 trees ? " said Jierck, halting. " It 's the river. 
 Ten steps and you '11 see the house. Now, Major, 
 I '11 go and look after my boys, and come at noon 
 for your orders." 
 
 Jierck turned back into the wood. Major 
 Skerrett stepped forward eagerly. He had an 
 eye for a landscape. He had also a soldier's 
 eye for every new bit of possible battle-field. 
 
 Ten steps brought him to the edge of the 
 slope. A transcendent prospect suddenly flung 
 out its colors before him. First was a stripe of 
 undulating upland thoroughly Octobered. Then . 
 a stripe of river, bending like a belt in a flag, 
 that a breeze is twisting between its fingers. 
 Then beyond. Highlands, not so glowing as the 
 foreground, nor so sparkling blue as the blue 
 water, nor so simple as the sky, softly combined 
 and repeated all the elements of beauty before 
 him. 
 
 He turned to give and take sympathy fi-om his 
 companion. Mr. Brothertoft was not beside him. 
 He had seated himself within cover of the wood. 
 
 " Come out, sir ! " called Skerrett with enthu- 
 siasm. " I am so bewildered with this beautiful 
 prospect that I need to hear another man's su- 
 perlatives to satisfy me I am not in a dream. 
 Gome out, sir ! We are quite safe." 
 
EDWIN BllOTHESTOI'T. 269 
 
 " My friend," said Brothertoft. " I was hesi- 
 tating a momeut before I risked the quenching 
 of my strange good spirits. You are looking 
 upon a scene that has been very dear and very 
 sad to me. I cannot see it, as you do, with a 
 stranger's eye. It is to me the scenery of trage- 
 dy. I cannot tell yet whether I have outgrown 
 the wound enough to tolerate the place where 
 I first felt it." 
 
 He moved forward, and took his place by the 
 Major's side. The two stood silent a ,moment. 
 
 Thus far the younger, in his robust appetite for 
 the beauty of Nature, had felt " no need of the 
 remoter charm by thought supplied." Color and 
 form he took as a hungry child takes meat and 
 drink. Now for the first time there was history 
 in his picture, sorrow upon his scene. He made 
 his friend's sadness his own, and looked through 
 this melancholy mist at the gold, the sheen, and 
 the bloom. His mere physical elation at this in- 
 toxicating revelry of color passed away. Beauty 
 left his head and went to his heart. 
 
 He turned to see how his companion was 
 affected. 
 
 " I find," said Brothertoft, " that I do not hate 
 these dear old scenes. Indeed, the flush and the 
 fervor of this resplendent season enter into me. 
 I am cheered enough to pardon myself all my 
 faults, and all who have wronged me for their 
 
2?0 EDWm BKOTHEETOFT. 
 
 wrongs. It is grand to feel so young and brave 
 again." 
 
 For a moment there was bold light in his eyes 
 and vigor in his bearing. The light faded pres- 
 ently and the vigor drooped. He was again the 
 stricken man, aged prematurely by sorrow. 
 
 " But, my son," continued the elder, " I cannot 
 quite sustain myself in this cheerful mood. I 
 look at my forefathers' house, and think of my 
 daughter, and I doubt." 
 
 Skerrett followed the direction of his eyes and 
 studied the Manor-House. 
 
 It stood on a small plateau, half a mile from 
 the river, in the midst of its broad principality. 
 There was not such another house then in Amer- 
 ica. There are few enough now, town or coun- 
 try, cottage or palace, over whose doors may be 
 seen the unmistakable cartouche of a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 The first Edwin Brothertoft built his house 
 after the model of the dear old dilapidated seat 
 in Lincolnshire. It was only one fourth the size ; 
 but it had kept the grand features of its proto- 
 type. Skerrett could see and admire the four 
 quaint gables, two front and two rear, the sturdy 
 stack of warm chimneys, and the corner tower 
 with its peaked hat, — such as towers built in 
 James the First's time woj'e. It bristled well in 
 the landscape. 
 
EDWIN BROTJaEBTOFT. 271 
 
 It was a century old. That must be a very 
 unsociable kind of house which will not make 
 itself at home in the space of a century. In a 
 hundred years the Manor-House and buildings 
 and their scenery had learnt perfect harmony 
 with each other. Wherever trees were wanted 
 for shade or sliow, they had had time to choose 
 their post and grow stately. Those stalks which 
 know nothing but to run up lank, for plank, had 
 long been felled and uprooted. There were no 
 awkward squads of bushes, stuck about where 
 they could not stand at ease ; but orderly little 
 companies of shrubbery and evergreens had nes- 
 tled wherever a shelter invited them, or wherever 
 a shoulder of lawn wanted an epaulet. Creep- 
 ers had chosen those panels of wall which needed 
 sheltering from heat or cold, and had measured 
 precisely how much peering into windows and 
 drooping over doors could be permitted. The 
 little Dutch bricks of the sides and the freestone 
 of the quoins and trimmings, their coloring re- 
 vised by the pencils of a hundred quartettes of 
 seasons, now were as much in tone with the 
 scene as the indigenous rocks of the soil. Ab- 
 solute good taste had reigned at Brothertoft 
 Manor for a century. Its results justified the 
 government thoroughly. The present proprie- 
 tress had been educated out of her gaudy fancies 
 by this fine example of the success of a better 
 
272 EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 
 
 method. She had altered nothing, and made her 
 repairs and additions chime with the ancient 
 harmony. 
 
 At this moment, too, of Peter Skerrett's in- 
 spection, the landscape about the house wore 
 its wealthiest garniture. Each maple in the 
 grounds had crimsoned its ruddiest, or purpled 
 its winiest, or gilded its leaves, every one with 
 a film of burnished gold. The elms were all at 
 their gayest yellow or their warmest brown, and 
 stiff masculine chestnuts beside them rivalled 
 their tints, if they could not their grace. Here 
 and there was a great oak, resolute not to 
 adopt these new-fangled splendors of gaudy day, 
 and wearing still the well-kept coat of green 
 which had served him all summer. Younger 
 gentlemen of the same family, however, would 
 not be behind the times, and stood about their 
 ancestor in handsome new doublets of murrey 
 color. Every slash and epaulet of shrubbery 
 was gold on the green of the lawn, and creep- 
 ers blazed on the walls and dropped their scarlet 
 trailers, like flames, before the windows. 
 
 " It is a dear old dignified place," said Peter 
 Skerrett, " and I wish I could go down and 
 make a quiet call theie by daylight. I will, 
 by and by, after the war, unless the rebels 
 punish it with fire for having dined Sir Henry 
 Clinton." 
 
EDWM BEOTHERTOFT. 273 
 
 " It is a dear old place," said Brothertoft, 
 " and I love it most dearly as the school-house 
 of my education in sorrow. No man is con- 
 vinced of his own immortality until his soul 
 has borne as murderous blows as can be struck, 
 and still is not murdered. I come to the place 
 where the hardest hitting at my peace has been 
 done, and I feel a new sense of power because 
 I find that there is something in me that is 
 not qaite devastated. On the old battle-field, 
 I Dcr^eive that I am not wholly beaten, and 
 can never be." 
 
 He said this in a tone of soliloquy. Peter 
 Skerrett was too young to thoroughly under- 
 stand his friend. Besides, he was conscious of 
 a frantic hunger, — an excellent thing in a hero. 
 
 " Come, sir," said he, " shall wo breakfast ? I 
 have remarked that swallowing dawn is an ap- 
 petizer. Here goes at my knapsack, to see what 
 General Putnam's cook has done for us." 
 
 The cook had done as well as a rebel larder 
 allowed. They did well by the viands, and 
 then, under cover of the wood, they wore away 
 the morning watchfully. 
 
 They saw boats from the frigates land men to 
 be drilled ashore or to forage in the village of 
 Peekskill. Here and there a farmer, braver 
 or stupider than his neighbors, was to be dis- 
 cerned, ploughing and sowing for next summer 
 
 18* B 
 
274 EDWIN BBOTHEETOFT. 
 
 as if war were a hundred miles away. Carts 
 appeared creeping timidly along the country 
 roads. The cattle seemed to feed cautiously 
 and sniff about, lest Cowboys should catch them. 
 The whole scene wore a depressed and appre- 
 hensive air. Brothertoft Manor was willing to 
 be well with both sides, and was equally un- 
 comfortable with both. The tenants of the 
 Manor were generally trying to persuade them- 
 selves that British frigates in the river were 
 merely marts for their eggs and chickens. Men 
 that have not made up their minds are but 
 skulking creatures on God's earth. 
 
 " Seems to me," said Skerrett, " that I can 
 tell a Tory or a Neutral as far as I can see 
 him." 
 
 The day wore on, and in this pause of action 
 the two gentlemen opened their hearts to each 
 other. 
 
 It was the intercourse of father and son. 
 Each wanted what the other gave him. 
 
 The fatherless junior felt his mind grow deeper 
 with a man who had touched bottom in thought. 
 He was sobered and softened by the spectacle 
 of one so faithful to the truth that was in him, 
 so gentle, so indulgent, weakened perhaps by 
 Borrow, but never soured. 
 
 The sonless senior said. " Ah, Skerrett ! you 
 are the young oak. If I had had you to lean upon, 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 275 
 
 I should uot have lost force to climb and bloom. 
 Such a merry heart as yours makes the whole 
 world laugh, — uot empty laughter, but hearty." 
 
 At noon Jierck Dewitt came to report. He 
 and the boys were safely hid in his father's 
 barn. 
 
 " Ike mostly sleeps," says Jierck, " Sam plays 
 old sledge with dummy, and Hendrecus is writin' 
 something in short lines all beginnin' with big 
 letters, poetry perhaps. He 's an awful great 
 scholar." 
 
 Their plans were again discussed, and orders 
 issued. 
 
 " Well," said Jierck, " at dusk I '11 have my 
 men, and father's runt pony for the prisoner to 
 straddle, down at the forks of the road waitin' 
 for you. Nothing can stop us now but one 
 thing." 
 
 " And that ? " asked the Major. 
 
 " Is Lady Brothertoft. If she suspicions any- 
 thing before we 're ready to run, U wUl be all 
 up with us, — halter round our necks and all 
 up among the acorns." 
 
 So Jierck, still " stiff as the Lord Chancellor," 
 and yet limber as a snake in the grass, took 
 his departure. 
 
 Afternoon hours went slower than the morn- 
 ing hours. 
 
 " The sun always seems to me to hold back 
 
276 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 
 
 in going down liill," Skerrett said. '• 1 wish 
 he would tumble to bed faster. I am impatient 
 to make our success sure." 
 
 " Your sturdy confidence reassures me," re- 
 turned Brothertoft. " I am happy there is one 
 of us whose lieart-beats will not unsteady him. 
 I lose hope when I think what failure means to 
 my daughter." 
 
 " I must keep myself the cool outsider, with 
 only a knight- errant' s share in this adventure," 
 Peter said. 
 
 A hard task he found this ! The father so 
 charmed him that he felt himself, for his sake, 
 taking a very tender fraternal interest in the 
 young lady. It was so easy to picture her in 
 her chamber, not a mile away, looking tearfully 
 for help toward the hills. It was so easy to 
 fancy her face, — her father's, with the bloom 
 of youth instead of the shades of sorrow ; and 
 her character, — her father's, with all this gen- 
 tleness that perhaps weakened him, in her but 
 sweet womanliness. Peter Skerrett perceived to 
 the full the romance of the adventure. He 
 frequently felt the undeveloped true lover in 
 him grow restive. He thought that he was all 
 the time pxitting down that turbulent personage. 
 Perhaps he was. But it must be avowed that 
 he often regretted his moustache, despised his 
 ill-fitting coat, and only consoled himself by tp- 
 
EDWIN BBOTHERTOFT. 277 
 
 calling, " It will be night, and she will only half 
 see me." As evening approached, Peter Skorretf 
 perceived that hi& desire to redeem this fair 
 victim from among the bad and the base was 
 become a passion. He also noticed that its fervor 
 kept him cool and steady. 
 
 Silent sunset came. The crisis drew near. 
 Doubts began to curdle in Edwin Brothertoft's 
 mind. He looked over the broad landscape, and 
 along the solemn horizon, and all his own past 
 spread before him, sad-colored and dreary. 
 
 " Ah my beautiful childhood ] " he thought. 
 "Ah my ardent youth, my aspiring manhood, 
 my defeated prime ! My life utterly defeated, 
 as the world measures defeat, — and all through 
 her ! All through her, the woman I loved with 
 my whole heart ! Please God we may not meet 
 to-night ! Please Heaven we may never meet 
 until her dark hour comes ! Please Heaven that 
 when the loneliness of sin comes upon her, and 
 the misery of a worse defeat than any I have felt 
 is hers, — that then at last I may be ready with 
 such words of pardon as she needs ! " 
 
 "See!" said Skerrett, softly. "It is dark. 
 There is a light in your daughter's window. We 
 will go to her." 
 
 " In the name of God ! " said the father. 
 
XI. 
 
 SCBBJE, the interior of Squire Dewitt's bam. 
 
 Hay at the sides, hay at the back, and great 
 mountains of hay rise into the dusky regions of 
 the loft. 
 
 In the centre stands Jierck Dewitt, just ro- 
 turned from his noon interview with Major Sker- 
 rett. 
 
 At the left sits Ike Van Wart, asleep, with his 
 mouth open. Perhaps, like Voltaire, he hears 
 partially with his tonsils. 
 
 On the right, old Sam Galsworthy is killing 
 time with old sledge for a weapon. His right 
 hand has just beaten his left and won the 
 stakes, — viz. : twelve oats. 
 
 Hendrecus Canady stealthily approaches the 
 gaping sleeper on the left. He holds a head 
 of timothy-grass, — in these times of war we 
 perceive that it is a good model for a cannon 
 sponge. Hendrecus introduces tiniothy's head 
 into Van Wart's mouth, and begins to tickle the 
 tonsils and palate, so rosy. 
 
 To these enters pretty Katy Dewitt, blushing 
 
EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 279 
 
 and smiling. Fragrance comes with lier ; and 
 well it may, for she bears dinner, — a deep yel- 
 low dish of pork and beans and a pumpkin-pie 
 exquisitely varnished. 
 
 Tender-liearted Jierck Dewitt at once remem- 
 bered the wife wlio in happier days crisped his 
 pork and sweetened his pie. 
 
 Hendrecus dropped his tickler into Van Wart, 
 and sprang up to help his sweetheart. Her 
 pretty smiles stirred happy smiles on his face, — 
 a bright and good-humored one, though still 
 of pill-fed complexion. His lover-like attentions 
 brought out a blush on her'cheeks. That fair 
 color seemed to make the old barn glow and all 
 the hay-mow bloom with fresh heads of pink 
 clover. 
 
 Poor Jierck Dewitt recalled how there were 
 once smiles as gay and blushes as tender between 
 him and a damsel as buxom 
 
 Poor fellow ! his dinner did him no good. He 
 grew moodier and moodier. Tlie little scene be- 
 tween his sister and Hendrecus had made him 
 miserable. He could not sleep like Van Wart, 
 nor play cards with Galsworthy, nor skylark with 
 Hendrecus. He sat brooding over his sorrow. 
 His powers of self-control were weakened. He 
 could not throw off this weight of an old bitter- 
 ness. A great vague misery oppressed him. He 
 began to fear his wits were going. 
 
280 EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT. 
 
 " If I could only get these ugly feelings into 
 shape," he thought, " I could grapple with them 
 and choke them down. I must do something, 
 or I shall go mad. I believe I '11 steal round 
 through the woods to where I can see old Bils- 
 by's house and the chestnut-tree where Abby 
 first said she'd have me. Looking at the places 
 may help me to drag this grief out of myself and 
 put it on them." 
 
 Now that the British troops were withdrawn 
 for Vaughan's expedition, Jierck felt quite secure 
 in dodging about ihe woods of tlie Manor. He 
 left his companions in the barn, and stole off 
 toward his father-m-law's old red farm-house. 
 He felt as if he were his own ghost, compelled 
 to haunt a spot where he had been murdered. 
 
 It was quiet sunset. The golden light of 
 evening was among the golden woods. The 
 forest showered golden leaves upon the ground, 
 and melted away in golden motes across the 
 level sunbeams. 
 
 Jierck stole along until lie came to a little 
 glade, crossed by a pathway. A great chestnut- 
 tree had made the glade its own. Lesser plants 
 were easily thrust back by its stout overshadow- 
 ing branches, and its brethren of the forest had 
 willingly given place to see what their brother 
 would do with its chance of greatness. It had 
 done nobly. It was an example to trees and tha 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT 281 
 
 (Forld, of thu wisdom of standing by one's rGots, 
 expanding to one's sunshine, and letting cue's 
 self grow like a fine old vegetable. 
 
 This had been Jiei'ck's trysting-tree in the 
 times when the pastoral poem of his life was 
 writing itself, a canto a day. Under this chest- 
 nut, one summer's eve, when the whole tree was 
 a great bouquet of flowery tassels, Jierck bad 
 suddenly ventured to pop his shy question. Fidl- 
 throated robins up in those very branches hid 
 shouted his sweetheart's " Yes," for all the hi ds 
 and breezes to repeat. 
 
 Jierck, hidden in the thicket, looked kindly at 
 the old tree. He smiled to recall the meetiLgs 
 there when he was a timid, clumsy lover. lor 
 a moment recollections, half comic and all pleas- 
 ant, banished his agony of a man betrayed by 
 a disloyal woman. 
 
 But presently he heard sounds that were not 
 the light clash of falling leaf witli fallen leaf. 
 Footsteps and voices were coming. Jierck with- 
 drew a little and watched. Two women appeared 
 up the pathway, following their long shadows. 
 They came out into the glade. It was his wife 
 and lier sister, furloughed for the evening, and 
 on their way homeward. 
 
 Jierck beheld the woman's story written on 
 her face, — the tablet where all stories of livett 
 are wi'itten for decipherers to read. He saw 
 
282 EDWIN BftOTaERtOft. 
 
 no wish there to expunge or revise the later 
 chapters. His wife was still an insolent, brazen 
 woman, the counterpart of her mistress on a 
 lower plane. 
 
 Poor Jierck ! he had been drawn to this spot, 
 so he felt, to see his murderess and be stabbed 
 over again. The exceeding weight of his agony 
 came crushing down upon him. He shivered. 
 It seemed to him that snow must suddenly have 
 fallen with sunset. A moment ago it was not 
 spring, nor summer, but very tolerable autumn ; 
 now winter had come, chilly and dreary. A 
 friendless place to him this traitor world ! Jierck 
 felt smitten with degradation. He was utterly 
 miserable, and the old chestnut-tree insulted him 
 with memories of his dead hopes of liappiuess. 
 
 "I must have comfort," thouglit Jierck. 
 
 When sorrow is too sharp to be borne, and 
 comfort must be had at once, men go to the 
 anodynes and stimulants. Kosmos provides 
 these in great variety. The four* of most uni- 
 versal application are, 
 
 Tobacco, Alcohol, Marriage, Death. 
 
 Poor Jierck Dewitt wanted comfort at once. 
 A whiff of smoke from his pipe was not con- 
 centrated enough, and he could not wait to 
 try what virtue there was in bigamy. 
 
 " Bum or this ! " he said wildly. The alter- 
 native " this " seemed to attract liim for an 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 283 
 
 instant. He drew his knife from his helt, and 
 felt along the cold edge. Was he about to taste 
 that mighty narcotic, Death ? 
 
 Death ! He touched his knife-blade. Gloom 
 alighted upon the landscape. The golden woods 
 grew lurid. Silence, deeper than he had ever 
 known, deepened and deepened, until he fancied 
 that Nature was hushed and listening for his 
 death-moan. 
 
 An imagined picture grew before his ejet : — 
 Time, morning. Scene, this glade of the big 
 chestnut. A man lies under the tree. The 
 first sunbeams melt the frost that dabblcb his 
 hair. He must be a sound sleeper, for a chip- 
 munk has picked his pockets of their crumbs, 
 and now stands on his forehead, chuckling over 
 his breakfast. Mrs. Jierck Dewitt enters the 
 glade. She sees the sleeper. She starts, and 
 approaches cautiously. Slie stares, and then 
 looks up with a great, bold smile of relief and 
 scorn. For the sleeper is her husband. He 
 lies dead, with a knife in his breast. 
 
 " No ! " hissed Jierck, dashing away this pic- 
 ture from his eyes. " I '11 not kill myself to 
 please her." 
 
 " Rum ! I must have rum, or I shall go mad. 
 The old man's jug will be in the old place in the 
 kitchen cupboard," he continued. 
 
 He skulked along rapidly through the woods. 
 
284 EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 like a beast of prey. The great dull agonj 
 in his heart paused a moment. He could keep 
 it down from maddening him, while he thought 
 of his sorry consolation to come. 
 
 It was growing dusk now, and he was reck- 
 less. He stopped by the kitchen window of 
 his father's house and peered in. 
 
 The family were at supper. These were the 
 early years of the Revolution, and war had not 
 yet utterly desolated this region. Squire De- 
 witt's was still a prosperous household, and he, 
 a fine old patriarch, presided at a liberal board. 
 Opposite him sat the mild mother of the house. 
 The harmony of a lifetime of love and com- 
 panion thinking on companion cares had made 
 her expression almost identical with her hus- 
 band's. Pretty Kate, a daughter of her parents' 
 old age, bustled the meal along, and hoped her 
 Hendrecus was not getting hungry. Jierck's 
 other sister, a widow, was making two smiles 
 grow in the place of one, on her boy Tommy's 
 round face, by cutting his gingerbread fatter 
 than usual. The cat, from a dresser, watched 
 every morsel and every sip, with a feline look, 
 which is a thief look. 
 
 This homely scene, instead of soothing poor 
 Jierck, was double bitterness to him. 
 
 " Curse the woman I made my wife ! " he 
 thought. " She has spoilt my chance of home 
 
EDWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 285 
 
 and fireside, of a happy age and children tt 
 love and reverence me. Curse her for making 
 me hate my life ! " 
 
 He turned away, half mean, half fierce, and 
 stole in by the back-door to the cupboard. 
 
 Those were times, remember, before the demi- 
 john and the spinning-wheel had given way to 
 Webster's Unabridged and the melodeon. In 
 every farmer's pantry stood a Dntch-bellied 
 stone jug. It was corked with a corn cob, and 
 looked arrogantly through the window at the 
 old oaken bucket. Was there molasses in that 
 jug ? Not so ; but rum fitzmolasses. The well- 
 sweep grew stiff for want of exercise, moss 
 covered the dry-rotten bucket, green slime in 
 the stagnant well was only broken by the 
 plunges of lonely old " Rigdumbonnimiddikai- 
 mo " ; but the rum-jug was always alert and 
 jolly, and never had time to look vacuous before 
 it was a plenum again. It is hard to imagine 
 those ages ; for we have changed our manners 
 now. Our brandy is dried up, our rum has 
 run away, and this is not a land flowing with 
 Monongahela. 
 
 Jierck stole, like a thief, into the pantry. 
 There sat the great jug, as of yore. It was of 
 gray stone-ware with blue splashes. Its spout 
 was fashioned into a face on the broad grin. 
 "* Comfort here ! " the grinning mask seemed to 
 
286 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 wink, and did not reveal how short-lived and 
 bastard was the comfort it promised. Jierck 
 heaved up its clumsy heft, balanced it upon 
 his lips, and swigged. 
 
 Yes, — not to be squeamish in terms, --this 
 Patriot of the Revolution swigged. This was 
 not patriotic, nor under the circumstances hon- 
 orable, nor in any way wise or prudent. And 
 of course, as his provocation is unknown to our 
 time, we cannot appreciate his reckless despair. 
 
 If he had only stopped when he had enough ! 
 At the present day we never take too much of 
 our anodynes and our stimulants. One weed, 
 one toddy, one wife, one million, one Presiden- 
 tial term, — whenever wisdom whispers, Satis, 
 we pause and echo, "Satis 't is." Wisdom was 
 younger in Jierck's time. If her childish voice 
 did at all admonish him, the gurgle in his 
 throat made him deaf to the warning at his 
 tympanum. He took too much, poor fellow! 
 Pardon him, and remember that an ill-omened 
 she-wolf had just crossed his path. 
 
 There is a sage and honorable law that limits 
 the robbing of orchards, — " Eat your fill ; but 
 don't fill your pockets." Jierck was rash enough 
 to violate this also. He pocketed a pint of 
 his sorry comforter. He found an empty bottle 
 labelled Hair-Oil. There were nameless un- 
 guents before Macabsar, and this bottle had held 
 
EDWIN EEOTHEETOFT. 287 
 
 one of them. Jierck filled it from the jug, aud 
 made for the barn, just in time to evade pretty 
 Kate carrying supper to the others and her 
 Hendrecus. 
 
 Supper was done. Dusk was come. Jierck 
 set out with his party for the rendezvous. The 
 peril was considerable. Hanging was the pen- 
 alty for being caught. So they sharpened their 
 eyes, pricked up their ears, trod softly, and 
 tried to persuade the runt pony to do the same. 
 Jierck brought up the rear, in a state of sullen 
 contempt. 
 
 At the cross-roads Major Skerrett and his 
 companion met them. It was night now in 
 the woods. A red belt of day behind Dunder- 
 berg stared watchfully at the party. 
 
 " I will go down to the house alone, as we ar- 
 ranged," whispered the Major. " The negro will 
 admit me to the dining-room. Do you be ready 
 on the lawn by the window at half past eight! 
 It will be dark enough for safety by that time. 
 When I open the window and whistle, jump in 
 and take our man. That is my plan. If any- 
 thing goes wrong, I will alter it. But nothing 
 will go wrong. Good-bye ! " 
 
 He mcved away through the darkness. 
 
 The party waited in the woods, listening to 
 the sounds of evening. It grew chilly. Jierck 
 Dewitt retired again and again, and sipped &om 
 
288 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 his bottle, labelled Hair-Oil. He was ashamed 
 of himself for violating his pledge to the Major. 
 But he soliloquized, " I am only taking just 
 enough to keep my spirits up, — just enough to 
 make a man of me after my making a baby of 
 myself at sight of that woman." 
 
 Just enough ! It is not pleasant to betray the 
 errors of the past ; but it is a truth grave in this 
 history that the unhappy fellow had much more 
 than enough when, at half past eight, he halted 
 his party under cover of the shrubbery on the 
 lawn at Brothertoft Manor-Houie. 
 
XII. 
 
 Eight o'clock, and Major Kerr sat sipping Mar 
 deira in the dining-room at Brothertoft Manor. 
 
 " What 's the use of eight candles ? " he said 
 to Yoltaire. 
 
 "Only four, sir," says the butler, depositing 
 two branches on the table. 
 
 " I see eight, — no, sixteen. Well, let 'em 
 burn ! Economy be hanged ! I say, nigger ! '' 
 • " What, sir ? " Voltaire perceived that his 
 deteriorating process had been effectual. Kerr 
 saw double and spoke thick. 
 
 "I'm tired of sitting here alone. Can't you 
 sing me a ^ong ? " 
 
 " I used to sing like a bobUnk, sir ; but since 
 I lost my front tooth the music all leaks out in 
 dribbles. There 's a redcoat sargeant just come 
 into the kitchen. He looks like a most a mighty 
 powerful singer. Shall I bring him in ? " 
 
 "Yes. I ain't proud. A Kerr can associate 
 with anybody." 
 
 As Voltaire left the room, he picked up ihe 
 Major's sword and pistols from the sideboard, 
 13 ■ 
 
290 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 Plato was in the hall, stationed tc watch the 
 door of the parlor where the lady of the Manor 
 was sitting solitary. His father handed him the 
 arms. The seven seals of mystery had been 
 opened, and Plato was deep in the plot. 
 
 " Take 'em, boy," says Voltaire, " and be 
 ready ! " 
 
 Ready for what ? Neither divined. But Plato 
 took the weapons with dignity, and became a 
 generalissimo in his own estimation. He bran- 
 dished the sword, and made a lunge at some 
 imaginary antagonist. Then he lifted a cocked 
 pistol, and took aim. It was comic in the dim 
 hall to see him going through his silent panto- 
 mime. He thrust, he parried, he dropped his 
 point, he bowed like an accomplished master of 
 fence. He raised a pistol, bowed graciously, as 
 if to say, " Apres vous, Monsieur," touched trig- 
 ger, assumed a look half triumph, half con- 
 cern, then laid his hand upon his heart and 
 smiled the smile of one whose wounded honor 
 is avenged. All this was done without so much 
 as a chuckle. 
 
 While Plato was at his noiseless gymnastics, 
 Voltaire, through the pantry, had conducted the 
 Sergeant into Major Kerr's presence. 
 
 Skerrett, with his moustache off, and in a iis- 
 giiise a world too shrunk for his shanks and 
 shoulders, looked much less the hero than when 
 
EDWIN BEOIHEKTOFT. 291 
 
 lie first stepped forth upon these pages. Indeed, 
 at this moment he did not feel very heroic. 
 
 He was sailing under false colors. He was 
 acting a lie. He did not like the business, 
 whatever the motive was. He took his seat 
 vis-d-vis the rival Major, and thought, " If fair 
 play is a jewel, I must give the effect of paste 
 set in pinchbeck at this moment." 
 
 " Glad to see you, Sargeant," says Kerr, speak- 
 ing thick. " That 's right," — to Voltaire. " Give 
 him some wine ! Fine stuff they have in this 
 house. Better than regulation grog, Sargeant." 
 
 The new-comer nodded, and went at his supper 
 vigorously. 
 
 " Goshshave th' King, Sargn ! Buppers ! " says 
 Kerr, holding up his glass aslant and spilling a 
 little. 
 
 " Bumpers ! " responded the other. 
 
 "Frustrate their politics. Confound their 
 knavish tricks," chanted Kerr. " Rebblstricksh, 
 I mean, Sargn. Cuffoud 'em. Buppers ! " 
 
 " Bumpers ! " Skerrett rejoined, stiU feeling 
 great compunction at the part he was playing. 
 
 " Sargeant," says Kerr, " I 'm going to tell you 
 something." 
 
 Skerrett looked attention. 
 
 "I'm going to be married to-morrow," — 
 spoken confidentially. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
292 ED\VIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 " Dou't say, ' Ah ! ' Sargeant. Ah cxpreshes 
 doubtsh. Say, Oh ! Sargeant. I askitshpussonle- 
 faver, Sargn. Say, Oh ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " That 's right. Oh is congratulation " He 
 made muddy work with the last word. "Yes, 
 Sargeant, doocid pretty girl, doocid pretty prop- 
 erty. Want to see her, Sargeant ? " 
 
 "No, I thank you." 
 
 " Yes, you do, Sargeant. Don't tell me ! 
 I 'm a lucky fellow, Sargeant. Always was 
 with women. I '11 have her down in the parlor, 
 by and by, and you can look through the crack 
 of the door and see her. She loves me so much, 
 Sargeant, that she's gone up stairs to look at 
 her wedding-dress and wish for to-morrow." 
 
 This discourse, spoken thick, and the leer that 
 emphasized it, quite dissipated all Major Sker- 
 rett's scruples. 
 
 " Faugh ! " thought he. " Everything is fair 
 play against such a beast. I never comprehend- 
 ed before what a horror to a delicate woman 
 must be marriage with such a creature. Life 
 would drag on one long indignity, and every 
 day fresh misery and fresh disgust. Faugh ! 
 sitting here and hearing him talk gives me 
 qualms, — me, a man of the world, who have 
 certainly had time to outgrow my squeamish- 
 uess. I could not tolerate the thought of giving 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT. 293 
 
 up any woman, even one with heart deflowered, 
 to the degradation of this fellow's society. He 
 shall not have Mr. Brothertoft's gentle daughter. 
 No, not if I have to shoot him where he sits. 
 No, not if I have to stab the lady." 
 
 Peter looked at his watch. Time was not up. 
 He was compelled to bottle his indignation and 
 listen civilly. 
 
 Kerr grew more and more confidential in his 
 cups. Faugh ! the jokes he made ! the staves 
 he trolled ! the winks he winked ! the imbecile 
 laughs he roared ! the conquests he recounted 
 in love and war ! Faugh, that such brutes have 
 sometimes dragged the pure and the gentle down 
 to their level ! Faugh, that they still grovel on 
 our earth, so that the artist, compelled by the 
 conditions of his work "to paint such a Silenus, 
 finds his unpleasant models thick about him, 
 and paints under the sharp spur of personal 
 disgust and personal harm ! 
 
 The two Majors in the dining-room, the Lady 
 of the Manor in a drowsy revery over the parlor 
 fire, Lucy eager and trembling in her cham- 
 ber, — for Voltaire has whispered that the hero 
 has come, — Volante saddled, Plato gesticulat- 
 ing with sword and pistols ; — now let us see 
 what the plotters without the Manor-House are 
 doing. 
 
XIII. 
 
 What are the plotters without the Manor- 
 House doing? 
 
 All, except Jierck Dewitt, are standing at 
 ease, and waiting for their commander's signal. 
 Old Sam Galsworthy has his hand on the muzzle 
 of the runt pony, and at the faintest symptom 
 of a whinny in reply to Yolante's whinnies iu 
 the stable, Sam plugs the pony's nostrils with 
 his thumbs and holds his jaws together with 
 iron hand. Ike Van Wart leans on his gun, 
 and looks dull. Hendrecus Canady stands to 
 his gun, and looks sharp. Sergeant Lincoln- 
 Brothertoft keeps himself in a maze, — for to 
 think would be to doubt of success, and to 
 doubt is to fail. 
 
 This of course is the moment when Jierck 
 Dewitt should be " stiff as the Lord Chancel- 
 lor," limber as the Lord Chief Acrobate, steady 
 as a steeple, and silent as a sexton. 
 
 But Jierck is at present a tipsy man, in happy- 
 go-lucky mood. He begins to grow impatient 
 vaiting in the cold and shamming sober. A 
 
EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 295 
 
 though t strikes him. He can do something 
 more amusing than stand and handle a chilly 
 trigger. 
 
 " I 'm going to take a turn about the house 
 to see all 's safe, Orderly," whispered he to 
 Lincoln- Brother toft. " I leave you in charge of 
 the party. Keep a sharp look-out. I will be 
 back in half a jiff." 
 
 Jierck stole off into the darkness. 
 
 Recollections of former exploits hereabouts 
 had revived in his muddled brain. 
 
 " Hair-oil 's all gone," he thought. " Now 
 if I could only get into the cellar of the old 
 house, I should have my choice of liquors, just 
 as I did ten years ago, when Lady Brothertoft 
 had me caught and licked for breaking in. 
 By Congress, it 's worth a try ! The cellar 
 window-bars used to be loose enough. It 
 won't do any harm to give 'em a pull all round. 
 If one gives, I can tumble in, get a drink to 
 keep my spirits up, and be back long before 
 the Major calls." 
 
 His fancy was hardly so coherent as this, but 
 he obeyed it. He crept about the house and 
 fumbled at the bars of the nearest window. 
 The windows opened on a level with the ground. 
 
 " No go," said he ; "try another ! " He did, 
 and another. 
 
 At the third window the solder was loose 
 
206 KbWlN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 and a bar shaky. Jierck dug at the solder 
 with his knife and worked the bar about. It 
 still resisted, and ho admonished it in a drunken 
 whisper, " I 'm ashamed of you, you dum bit 
 of rusty iron, keepin' a patriot away from Tory 
 property. Give in now, like a good feller, before 
 I git mad and do something rash." 
 
 At this the bar joined the patriots, and gave 
 in. It came away in Jierck's hand. He laid 
 the cold iron on the frosty grass. He could 
 now take out the stone into which the bar had 
 been set. He did so. That released the foot 
 of the next bar. He bent this aside. There 
 was room for him to squeeze through. 
 
 He carefully backed into the cellar. 
 
 It was drunkard's luck. A sober man would 
 not have tried it. Moral: do not be too sober 
 in your head or your heart, if you would pluck 
 success among the nettles. 
 
 Jierck took a step forward in the Cimme- 
 rian darkness of the cellar. He fell plump into 
 a heap of that rubbish which Voltaire's flaring 
 dip revealed to us in the morning. 
 
 " This noise won't do," he thought. " One 
 tumble will pass for rats. Another may bring 
 Lady E. down stairs. I should n't like to see 
 her standing here with a candle in one hand 
 and a knife in the other. She 'd stick me, 
 like pork. No ; I must strike a light. A 
 will do, to show me the way." 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 297 
 
 He unplugged his powder-horn with his teeth 
 and poured a charge on the stone flcior. 
 
 " Old Brindle did n't know how many red- 
 coats that horn of his was to be the means of 
 boring through," thought Jierck. " Powder 's 
 an istooshn." 
 
 In the dark his flint and steel tinkled to- 
 gether. 
 
 A spark flew. Fizz. Fiat lux! The powder 
 flashed. 
 
 Cimmerian corners, barrels of curly shavings 
 and rags out of curl, casks gone to hoops and 
 staves, shattered furniture, all the rubbishy 
 properties of a cellar scene, "started into light 
 and made the lighter start." Light gave them 
 a knowing look and was out again. The scenery 
 scuffled back into darkness. 
 
 Jierck afterward found that he had marked 
 every object in that black hole, as they flung 
 forward at the flash. He had marked the scene, 
 and it was to haunt him always. At present, 
 he was thinking of notliing but the wine-room. 
 His fireworks had shown him the way clear 
 to it. He saw also that the door was ajar, as 
 Voltaire had left it in the morning. 
 
 He moved forward now without stumble or 
 tumble. He felt his way into the wine-room. 
 He touched the rough dusty backs of a battery 
 of recumbent bottles. He grasped one by the 
 
 13* 
 
298 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 fleck. With a skilful blow against the shelf, 
 fie knocked off the yellow-sealed muzzle. 
 
 " Fire away ! " said he, presenting the weapon 
 at his lips. 
 
 Gurgle. 
 
 He stopped to take breath. He felt like a 
 007 again. The wine tasted as it did ten years 
 igo, when he first stole into the cellar, and 
 was punished for it. 
 
 " She can't have me whaled this time," he 
 muttered. " Here goes again ! What stuff it 
 is!" 
 
 Gurgle a second time, and the cellar seems 
 k) listen. 
 
 But while that amber stream was .flowing 
 "•etween the white stalactites in Jierck's upper 
 jaw, and the white stalagmites in his lower, and 
 ^'ippling against that pink stalactite his palate, 
 before it leaped farther down the grotto, — 
 suddenly : — 
 
 A scream above, a rush, a shot, a scuffle. 
 
 For an instant Jierck was paralyzed. He 
 stood listening. The bottle, for which he had 
 deserted his' post, slipped through his alarmed 
 fingers and crashed on the floor. The sound 
 half recalled him to himself. 
 
 He turned and sprang for that dim parallelo- 
 gram of lighter darkness, — the window where 
 he had entered. 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 299 
 
 Awkwardly, drunkenly, trembling with haste 
 and shame, lie clambered up upon the sill and 
 began to back out between the bars. His coat 
 caught against the bent iron. 
 
 As he stopped to disengage it, he peered 
 suspiciously back into the cellar. 
 
 A little spot of red glow in the midst of 
 the blackness caught his eye. 
 
 " Aha ! " he thought, " my powder lighted 
 something tindery in that heap of rubbish. It 
 will soon eat what it 's got, and go out on the 
 stone floor. And if it don't go out, let it burn ! 
 Blast the old house ! it 's a nest of Tories. Blast 
 it! the mistress had me thrashed like a dog. 
 Blast the house ! my wife was spoilt here, and 
 that spoilt me. Blast it ! let it burn, and show 
 us the way out of the country ! " 
 
 Jierck tore his coat from the bar, backed 
 out, picked up his gun and skulked tipsUy off 
 to join his party. 
 
XIV. 
 
 JiERCK Dewitt's companions waited, at first 
 silently, then anxiously, for his return. 
 
 Moments passed, and he was still gone. 
 
 " I hope he hain't played us a trick," whispered 
 Van Wart. 
 
 " Not he ! " says honest Sam Galsworthy. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what it is, boys," whispers the 
 root-doctor's son. Jierck has got liquor aboard. 
 Taint mutiny to say so, now he 's gone. I heard 
 him walk tipsy when we came from the barn. 
 When we got here, I saw he stood too ramrod 
 for a sober man. You know how it is. Since 
 his wife went bad, he 's lived on rum for stiddy 
 victuals. He swore off to Major Skerrett. But 
 he did n't swear strong enough, or else some- 
 thin' strange has drawed his cork." 
 
 " If that is so," said Lincoln-Brothertoft, " I 
 must follow, and see that he does not risk him- 
 self or us. Watch, men, for your lives ! " 
 
 " They may call that man Orderly Lincoln," 
 says Hendrecus Canady, as the other disappeared 
 about the house, " but I believe he 's Tommy 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT. 301 
 
 JeflFersoii or some other Congressman in dis- 
 guise. He talks powerful dictionary. And how 
 did he come to know this country like a hawk 
 and like a hoppertoad both?" 
 
 It seemed sad and sorry business to Edwin 
 Brothertoft to go prowling like a burglar about 
 the home of his forefathers. 
 
 He followed Jierck around the rear of the 
 house. All the familiar objects wore an un- 
 kindly, alienated look. The walls were grim, 
 the windows were dark, the whole building said 
 to him, "Yoxi are an exile and an intruder." 
 
 But he had no time for sentimental regrets. 
 He turned the northern side of the house. A 
 bright light burned in Lucy's chamber in the 
 tower. He could see a shadowy figure moving 
 behind the curtain. 
 
 " My child ! in a few moments we shall meet," 
 he thought. 
 
 Nothing to be seen of Jierck Dewitt! The 
 sight of his daughter's form revived his anxiety. 
 Peering into the dark, he passed about the 
 corner of the turret. 
 
 He stopped opposite the parlor windows on 
 the front. A shutter stood open. A faint light, 
 as from a flickering wood-fire witliin, gleamed 
 out into the hazy night. The window-sill was 
 breast high to a man. 
 
802 EDWIN BHOTHEKTOFT. 
 
 " There we used to sit," he murmured, " my 
 wife and I. There by the fire, in the evenings 
 of autumns long passed, I have watched her 
 love dying, and all my hopeful vigor dying, - 
 dying , into ashes." 
 
 The mighty despotism of an old love mastered 
 him for a moment. There was little bitterness 
 in his heart. These scenes, once so dear, be- 
 came dear to him again. He pardoned them for 
 their unconscious share in the tragedy of his life. 
 
 " I must have one glance into that room," ho 
 thought. " My memory of it will be a trouble- 
 some ghost in my brain, until I have laid 'lie 
 ghost with a sight of the reality." 
 
 He stole forward softly over the crisp, frosty 
 grass, and looked cautiously in at the window. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft was seated alone before the 
 fire. Guilt must sit alone and dwell alone. 
 Loneliness is the necessity and the punishment 
 of guilty hearts. No friends are faithful but the 
 noble and the pure, and them guilt dreads and 
 rejects. Mrs. Brothertoft was sitting alone in 
 the fire-lit room. It was an instant before her 
 husband's eyes could -distinguish objects within. 
 He drew close to the window. He perceived 
 her. A thrill of pity and pardon killed all his 
 old rancors. He felt that, though he must war 
 against her for his daughter's sake, he fought, 
 reserving an infinite tenderness for his foe. 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 303 
 
 And she within, — had she heard that stealthy 
 step of his upon the stiffened grass and the dry 
 leaves ? Had his faint sigh penetrated to her, as 
 she sat silent and moody ? Did she feel the 
 magnetism of human presence, — the spiritual 
 touch of a spirit wounded by her wrong? Or 
 was it merely that in these days of alarm and 
 violence she kept her senses trained and alert ? 
 
 He saw her cruel face turn suddenly, stare 
 into the night, and mark an intruder. 
 
 For one breath he stood motionless. 
 
 Then, as she sprang forward to the window and 
 shouted for help, he turned and ran around the 
 rear of the house to the spot where he had lefl 
 his comrades. 
 
XV. 
 
 Half past eight, and the two majors still sat 
 vis-d-vis in the dining-room. 
 
 "I am tired of this," thought Skerrett. "I 
 have had enough of swallowing bumpers to this 
 fellow's ' buppers.' I have heard enough of his 
 foulness, his boasts, and his drivel. I could 
 never have been patient so long except for the 
 lady's sake. Every word and look of his is an 
 imperative command to me to make sure of her 
 safety. Yes, yes, Voltaire ! You need n't nod 
 and wink that she is ready and anxious. Ten 
 minutes more, to be positive that my men are 
 come, — and then. Major, please the Goddess of 
 Liberty, I'll forbid your banns, and walk off 
 with your person. I 'm sorry for you, brute as 
 you are. And you will not like your wineless 
 quarters with Old Put." 
 
 Monstrous long minutes, those final ten ! At 
 the rate of a thousand a minute, shades of doubt 
 drifted across Peter's mind. 
 
 Who has not known suspense and its mis- 
 eries ? — something hanging over him by a hair, 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 305 
 
 or he hanging by a hair over nothing. Patience, 
 Peter Skerrett ! The pendulum ticks. It checks 
 off the minutes, surely. 
 
 And while those minutes pass, tipsy Jierck 
 Dewitt is at work in the cellar, trying to drown 
 the misery that this guilty house has caused him. 
 
 The ten were almost ended, when Brothertoft 
 started to, search for the stray leader, that other 
 victim of a woman's disloyalty. 
 
 It was in the very last of the ten that Mrs. 
 Brothertoft turned suddenly and saw an un- 
 known face staring in at her, as she sat in the 
 dusky parlor. 
 
 Time was up. Major Skerrett walked quietly 
 to the window, threw up the sash, opened the 
 Bhutters, and whistled in his men. 
 
 Three only came leaping in at the summons. 
 
XVI. 
 
 Enter through the dining-room wiidow, Ike 
 Van "Wart, old Sam Galsworthy, and Hendrecus 
 Canady. 
 
 At the same moment Mrs. Brothertoft's cry 
 for help rang through the house. Jierck De- 
 witt in the cellar heard it. Lucy in her turret 
 heard it. Plato in the hall could not but heai 
 it, close at his ears. 
 
 Plato was still on guard, playing pantomime 
 with the weapons. He stood, with pistol out- 
 stretched, pointing at an imaginary foe. It was 
 a duello he was fancying. He had received the 
 other party's fire unscathed. Now his turn was 
 come. He proudly covered his invisible antag- 
 onist with his pistol at full cock. 
 
 " Apologize, sir," whispered Plato, " or — " 
 
 Here came his mistress's loud scream for help. 
 
 Plato was petrified. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft rushed into the hall. 
 
 There was the negro, standing like a statue 
 holding forth a Treiipon to her hand. She seized 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 307 
 
 it. Her sudden fright reacted into a sharp fury. 
 She ff^as fearless enough, this cruel virago. 
 The touch of a deadly weapon made her long to 
 be dealing death. She heard the scuffle in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 " Come ! " whispered her old comrades, the 
 Furies, closing in, and becoming again body of 
 her body, spirit of her spirit. " Come, take your 
 chance! Here are marauders, — rebels! Shoot 
 one of them ! Practise here ! Then you will 
 get over any scruples against blood, and can kill 
 the people you hate, if they ever come iii your 
 way. Now, madam ! " 
 
 Such a command ran swiftly through her 
 brain. She opened the dining-room door. 
 
 Her scream told the assaulting party they 
 were discovered. They were pinioning Major 
 Kerr in double-quick time. He sat in tipsy be- 
 wilderment, mumbling vain protests and vainer 
 threats. 
 
 Not one of the group about the captive ob- 
 served the mistress of the house, as she softly 
 opened the door. 
 
 But another did. 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft, tardily following his party, 
 was clambering through the window. 
 
 He saw his wife at the door. She must be 
 kept from the danger of any chance shot or 
 chance blow in the scuffle. This wa,s his iig- 
 
308 EDWIN BKOTHEETOFT. 
 
 pulse. He sprang forward to put her awaj 
 gently. 
 
 She instantly fired at the approaching figure. 
 
 He fell. 
 
 He staggered, and fell. His head struck the 
 claw-foot of the table, and he lay there motion 
 less, with face upturned and temple bleeding. 
 
 Her husband ! She knew him at once. 
 
 His thm, gray hair drawn back from his mild, 
 dreamy face, with the old pardoning look she 
 remembered so well and hated so fiercely, — 
 there lay the man she had wronged and ruined, 
 dead ; yes, as it seemed, dead at last by her 
 own hand. 
 
 " My husband ! " 
 
 She said it with a strange, quiet satisfaction. 
 
 Every one paused an instant, while she stood 
 looking at her work, with a smile. 
 
 She had done well to wait. Those impalpable 
 weapons she used to see in the air had become 
 palpable at last. Yes ; she had waited wisely. 
 This was self-defence, not murder. She had the 
 triumph without the name of crime. 
 
 " So you must come prowling about here, and 
 be shot," she said to him, as if they were alone 
 together. 
 
 And she spurned him with her foot. 
 
 As by this indignity she touched and broke 
 down the last limit of womanliness, she felt ft 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 809 
 
 great exulting thrill of liberty, a mad sense of 
 power. Nothing could offer itself now that she 
 was not willing to do. Any future cruelty was a 
 trifle to this. Her joy in this homicide promoted 
 it to a murder. 
 
 She looked up. The group about Kerr were 
 all regarding her. She laughed triumphantly in 
 a dreadful bedlam tone, and flung her pistol at 
 Major Skerrett. 
 
 He caught the missile with his hand. 
 
 " Are you mad ? " said he. " Do you know 
 that you have killed your husband ? Take her 
 into the next room, men ! " 
 
 " Come, madam," said Galsworthy, gently. 
 " You did not know it. We are sorry it was 
 not one of us. We are Manor men, come to 
 take this Britisher prisoner, not to harm anybody 
 or anything here." 
 
 " Curse you all ! " she cried, and she made a 
 clutch at Sam's honest face. " I am not sorry, — 
 not 1 ! No ; glad, glad, glad ! And I '11 have 
 you all served so, — no, hung, hung for spies ! " 
 
 " Take her away, men ! " repeated Skerrett. 
 " We must confine her. But not here with this 
 dead man. Gently now, as gently as you can ; 
 remember she 's a woman ! " 
 
 " Woman ! " says Canady, holding her fingers 
 from his face. "No, by the Continental Con- 
 gress! she's a hell-cat." 
 
310 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 " No hope for liim with such a wound aa 
 that," said the Major, kneeling over Brothertoft 
 and examining his bloody forehead. " He seems 
 to be quite dead. See to him, Sappho ! Stand 
 by Major Kerr, Van Wart, while I dispose of the 
 woman ! " 
 
 "Sargn," mumbled Kerr, "I'm sashfied 't's 
 all a mshtake." 
 
 The two men dragged Mrs. Brothertoft, strug- 
 gling furiously, across into the parlor, and forced 
 her into an arm-chair before the fire. 
 
 Skerrett followed. Plato was in the hall, terri- 
 fied at the mischief he had caused. 
 
 " Run, Plato," said the Major, " and have Miss 
 Lucy's mare out. And you, Voltaire, don't look 
 so frightened, man ! We must make the best of 
 it. Bring the young lady down some back way ! 
 She must not see her father or her mother. 
 Horrible, horrible, all ! A dreadful end of all 
 this sorrow and sin ! " 
 
 He passed into the parlor. 
 
 The flickering firelight gave a dim reality to 
 the objects there. They stirred, they advanced 
 and retreated. The rich old family furniture 
 seemed eager to take part in the tragic acts 
 now rehearsing. 
 
 Major Skerrett, in the dimness, marked the 
 Vandyck on the wall. The torn curtain had not 
 been repaired. It still fell away at the upper 
 
ECWiN BftOtHERTOPT. 311 
 
 corner, revealing the heads of Colonel Brother* 
 toft and his white charger. A startling resem- 
 blance the portrait bore to him now lying dead 
 across the hall. It might almost seem as if the 
 spirit of the departed, with a bitter interest in 
 these scenes of old sorrow and joy, and in the 
 personages who still moved in them, had iden- 
 tified itself with the picture, and was stationed 
 there to watch events. 
 
 A single glance gave Major Skerrett these ob- 
 jects and impressions. He turned to the mis- 
 tress of the house. She sat, baffled and glaring, 
 held in the arm-chair by the two men. 
 
 " Madam," said Skerrett gravely, " I regret 
 that I must confine you. You have shown your 
 power to do harm, and threatened more. I can- 
 not take you with me for safety. If I left you 
 frecj you could start pursuit, and we should be 
 caught and hung, as you desire. Boys, tie her 
 in the chair. So as not to hurt her now ; but 
 carefully, so that she cannot stir hand or foot. 
 I hate to seem to maltreat a woman." 
 
 They belted her and corded her fast in the 
 chair. She wrestled frantically, and cursed 
 them with unwomanly words, such as no wo- 
 man should know. 
 
 " There you are, ma'am, fast ! " says Gals- 
 worthy, drawing back. " You 're tied so you 
 won't feel it, and so you lan't hur^ yourself or 
 anybody else." 
 
312 EDWIN BfiOTHERtOFT 
 
 Slcerrett heaped up the fire to burn steadily 
 and slowly. Then, with great tenderness of 
 manner, he laid a shawl over Mrs. Brothertoft's 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Madam," said he again, " I am sincerely 
 sorry that I must imprison you. I have tried 
 to make you as comfortable as possible. The 
 night is fine. This fire will burn till morning. 
 I must take your people all away with me, for 
 safety ; but they shall be despatched back, as 
 soon as we are out of danger, to release you, 
 and " — here his voice grew graver — " to bury 
 the Imsband whom you have killed, and in 
 whose death you triumph." 
 
 She made no answer. All the flickering of 
 the fire could not shake the cold look of defiance 
 now settled on her handsome face. The color 
 had faded from her cheeks. Her countenance 
 — rimmed with her black hair, disordered in 
 the struggle — was like the marble mask of a 
 Gorgon. 
 
 The Major paused a moment, listening if she 
 would speak. " It seems brutal to leave her 
 so," ho thought. " But what else can I do ? 
 She will grow calm by and by, and sleep. There 
 are worse places to pass the night in than a 
 comfortable arm-chair before a good fire." 
 
 " Good night, madam," he said, with no trace 
 o* a taunt in his tone. 
 
EDWIN BROTHEBTOF't. SIS 
 
 The cold look gave place to an expression 
 of utter malignancy and rage, at her impotence 
 to do further harm. 
 
 " Move on, men," said the Major, and fol- 
 lowed them. • 
 
 At the door he turned to survey the scene 
 once more. Its tragedy terribly fascinated him. 
 
 There sat the lady, with the fire shining on 
 her determined profile. She was quiet now ; 
 and, from the picture, the heads of the soldier 
 and his white horse as quietly regarded her. 
 
 Skerrett closed the door softly. 
 
 He listened an instant without. Would she 
 relent ? Would he hear a sob, and then a great 
 outburst of penitent agony, when, left to herself, 
 she faced the thought of this ghastly accident, 
 which she had adopted as a crime? 
 
 He listened. Not a sound ! 
 
 There was no time to lose, and the M^yor 
 hiirried after his men. 
 
XVII. 
 
 All this while Lucy had been waiting aux 
 ioasly in her chamber in the turret. 
 
 As twilight faded, she took her farewell of 
 river, slopes, groves, and mountains. With dy- 
 ing day, all that beloved scene sank deeper into 
 her memory. 
 
 At last Voltaire came and whispered : " They 
 are come. Be ready when I call ! " 
 
 She was ready ; and now, in these few mo- 
 ments, before she blew out her light and de- 
 parted, she studied the familiar objects about her 
 with new affection. 
 
 It seemed to her as if all the observation of 
 her past life had been half-conscious and dreamy. 
 
 The sudden ripening of her character, by this 
 struggle with evil, gave all her faculties force. 
 
 Commonplace objects were no longer common- 
 place. Everything in her roo'Ji became invested 
 with a spiritual significance. 
 
 " Good bye, my dear old mirror ! " she thought. 
 "You have given me much dumb sympathy 
 when I smiled or wept. You could not answer 
 
EDWIN 15R0THERT0FT. 3l5 
 
 my tearful questions, why my iunocent life must 
 be so dreary. I begin to comprehend at last the 
 Myself you have helped me to study. Good bye, 
 my bedside ! I had no mother's lap to rest my 
 head on when I prayed. But your cool, white 
 cushion never repelled me, whether I knelt in 
 doubt or in agony. Good bye, my pillow! 
 thanks for many a night of oblivion ! thanks 
 for many an awakening with hope iijuewed! 
 Good bye, kind, sheltering walls of nr/ refuge ! 
 The child you have known so long iv a woman. 
 Girlhood ends sharply here. The wjman says, 
 Good bye." 
 
 As she stood waiting for the sigii.*l of flight, 
 suddenly her mother's cry of alarm broke the 
 silence. 
 
 At that ill-omened voice, Lucy trembled, and 
 for one moment despaired. 
 
 Then came the sharp crack of the pistol-shot. 
 
 The shock startled her into courage. This 
 note of battle joined awaked all the combatant in 
 her. " I cannot hide here," she thought, " while 
 they are in danger for my sake. I cannot fight, 
 but I may help, if any one is hurt." 
 
 One more glance about her chamber, and then 
 she closed the door, and shut herself out into the 
 wide world. 
 
 At the top of- the staircase, the sound of a 
 struggle below met her. She paused, and shud- 
 
316 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 dered. Not for fear. Timidity seemed to je 
 expunged from the list of her possible emotions. 
 She shuddered for horror. 
 
 She recognized her mother's voice. She 
 heard those bedlam cries and curses. These 
 were the tones of a woman who had ejected the 
 woman, and was a wild beast. Feminine re- 
 serve had dropped at last, and the creature 
 appeared what her bad life had slowly made her. 
 
 " What final horror has done this ? " thought 
 Lucy. 
 
 She leaned cautiously over the banisters, and 
 beheld the scene in the hall. A sickening sight 
 for a daughter to see ! A strange scene in that 
 proud and orderly house ! Outward decorum, at 
 least, had always reigned there. Evil had now, 
 at last, undergone its natural development into 
 violence. 
 
 Pale and shivering with excitement, but con- 
 scious of a new-born sense of justice and an in- 
 exorable hardness of heart against guilt, Lucy 
 leaned forward, and saw her mother struggling 
 with the two men. She saw the alarmed ne- 
 groes. She saw the gentleman, whom she iden- 
 tified at a glance as the expected hero, and heard 
 his grave voice as he ordered Plato to make her 
 horse ready and Voltaire to seek herself. 
 
 " A dreadful end of all this sorrow and sin ! " 
 $he heard him say. 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 317 
 
 Lucy repeated these words to herself in a 
 whisper. " A dreadful end ! What does he 
 mean ? I do not see my father. Can it be ? 
 Did she fire the shot? Has she murdered the 
 body, as she has done her best to kill the soul ? " 
 
 Lucy sprang down the stairs, by Voltaire, and 
 into the dining-room. 
 
 There sat Major Kerr, drivelling entreaties to 
 his impassive sentry. 
 
 And on the floor, with a stream of blood flow- 
 ing over his temple and clotting his gray hair 
 lay a man, — her father ! 
 
 Sappho was moaning over him. 
 
 Lucy flung her aside, almost fiercely. She 
 crushed her own great cry of anguish. She 
 knelt by him and lifted the reverend head with 
 her arms. 
 
 And so it happened that when Edwin Brother- 
 toft, stunned by a sharp blow from a glanced 
 bullet and by his heavy fall, in a moment came 
 to himself and imclosed his eyes, he saw his 
 daughter's face hanging over him, and felt her 
 arms about his neck. Her tender arms em- 
 bracing him, — her lips at his. 
 
 Ah, moment of dear delight! when life re- 
 newed perceived that love was there to welcome 
 it and to baptize its birth with happy tears ! 
 
 Here Jierck Dewitt reappeared upon the scene. 
 
 Alarm had faUen upon him, like water on a 
 
318 EDWIN brotbektoft. 
 
 tipsy pate under a pump. He was sober enough 
 to perceive that he must -justify his outsidership 
 and make his desertion forgotten. He looked 
 through tlie window, took his cue, and then bus- 
 tled foiTvard officiously. He spoke, to be sure, 
 with a burr, and trod as if the floor were undu- 
 lating gayly beneath him; but why may not 
 haste and eagerness make tongue and feet trip ? 
 "Hooray, Ike!" cries he; "I've made all 
 right outside. Plato 's just bringing out your 
 horse. Miss. Thank you for looking after the 
 Sergeant, Miss," continued Jierck, blundering 
 down on his knees beside Mr. Brothertoft. 
 " How do you find yourself, Sergeant ? 0, 
 you '11 do. Only a little love-tap the ball gave 
 you. A drop of rum, — capital thing rum, al- 
 . ways, — a drop on a bit of brown paper, stuck on 
 the scratch, and you're all right. Peel a little 
 sick with the jar, don't you ? Yes. Well, we 
 must get you outside into the air. Now, then, 
 make a lift. Thank you, Miss. Now, again. 
 Why, Sergeant, you 're almost as steady on your 
 pins as I am. Now, Miss, you hold him on that 
 side, and here I am on this, stiff as the Lord 
 Chancelloir. Think you can step over the win- 
 dow-sill, Sargeant? Well done! And here we 
 are, out in the fresh air ! And here 's the boy 
 with the horse. All right! All right. Major; 
 here we are, waiting for you ! " 
 
EDWIN BKOTHEKTOI'T. 319 
 
 The last was said to Major Skerrettj who came 
 iinrrying out after them. 
 
 " You are not badly hurt, thank God ! " ho 
 said, grasping his friend's hand. 
 
 "Ko," replied the other, still feeble with the 
 shock, "Heaven does not permit such horror. 
 What have you done with her ? " 
 
 " I have left her confined in the parlor. We 
 bound her there, as tenderly as might be. She " 
 cannot suffer in person at all." 
 
 " I suppose I had better take your word for 
 it." 
 
 " Tou must. We must not dally a moment. 
 Some straggler may have heard the pistol shot 
 and be on our track. Now, boys, mount the 
 Major on his pony." 
 
 " My daughter, Skerrett ; you will give her 
 your liand for good-will," said the father. 
 
 In the hazy night she could but faintly see 
 her paladin, and he her. There was no time 
 for thanks and compliments. No time for Lucy 
 to search for the one look with all the woman 
 in it, and the one word with all the spirit in it, 
 that might express her vast passion of gratitude. 
 She gave him her hand, containing at least one 
 lobe of her heart. He pressed it hastily, and as 
 certainly a portion of his heart also was in his 
 palm, there may have been an exchange of lobes 
 in the hurry. 
 
820 EDWIN BEOTHEBTOFT. 
 
 " Hoist away, Sam ! " said Hendrecus Canady, 
 buckling to one of Major Kerr's limp legs. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " rejoined Galsworthy, on his side 
 boosting bravely at the lubberly carcass of the 
 prisoner, while Ike Van Wart held the runt 
 pony's head. " Seems to me these Britishers 
 get drunker when they 're drunk than we do." 
 
 " "We 're so full of the spirit of '76," rejoined 
 the root-doctor's son, " that no other kind of 
 spirit can please us." 
 
 " Cooducher take summuddy elsh, now, 
 boysh ? " boosily entreated poor Kerr ; " Shreniy 
 Clidn wantsh me." 
 
 Ah, Major ! Sir Henry must continue to want 
 you. Nobody listens to your deteriorated King's 
 English and no more of it shall be here re- 
 peated. 
 
 " We have not a moment to lose," said Major 
 Skerrett. " We must not let our success grow 
 cold. I have my prisoner, Mr. Brothertoft, and 
 your daughter is with you. Each of us will take 
 care of his own. For the first ten miles we had 
 better separate. I, with our friend the Major, 
 will make a dash along the straight road, and 
 you will take to the by-paths and the back 
 country, as we agreed. K there is any chase, 
 it will be after us, and we can all fight. I will 
 giro you charge of all the non-combatants. Vol- 
 taire, you and your family will travel with youi 
 master." 
 
EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 321 
 
 " Yes, sir," says Voltaire, "we nerer want to 
 toe this bouse again, so long as she 's there. 
 The women will come in the moruiDg, and they 
 can cut her loose." 
 
 " Well, your master will settle that. Until 
 Miss Lucy is out of danger you must all stay 
 by her. Where 's Jierck Dewitt ? " 
 
 " Here, sir," says Jierck, from behind Volante. 
 
 " You 've deceived me, and been drinking, 
 Jierck." 
 
 " I have, Major," the repentant man replied. 
 " I saw my wife going by, and everything grew 
 so black that I had to fire up a little, or I should 
 have stuck a knife into mo. But I 'm all righl 
 now. Trust me once more ! " 
 
 " I must ! Go with the lady ! Bring her safe 
 through, and I will forget that you have forgottep 
 yourself." 
 
 The two parties separated with " Good bye ' 
 God speed ! " 
 
 Major Kerr made an attempt at " Au revoir. 
 Miss Lucy." But his vinous consonants could 
 not find their places among his vinous vowels, 
 and liis civility was inarticulate. 
 
 Skerrett halted, and watched Volante an?ong 
 the yellow trees, until there was not even a 
 whisk of her tail to be seen across the luminous 
 haze of the cool starlit night of October. 
 
 " Noble horse ! lovely lady ! " he thought. 
 14* V 
 
322- EDWIN BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 " It is a sacrifice not to accompany and protect 
 her ; but she will be safe, and my duty is with 
 my prisoner. Now, ought I not to go back and 
 tell the wife that she did not kill her husband ? 
 Time is precious. She would only curse and say 
 she was sorry she missed. No ; I cannot bear 
 again to see a woman so dewomanized. I cannot 
 bear to think of that cruel virago as the mother 
 of this delicate girl. No ; let her stay there 
 alone, and think of herself as a murderess ! 
 Perhaps remorse may visit her in the dead of 
 night, — perhaps repentance in the holy stillness 
 of dawn." 
 
 Peter took his last look at the mansion. It 
 stood dim and unsubstantial in the mist, and 
 silent as a cenotaph. 
 
 He overtook his men, and pushed rapidly and 
 safely along. But still a vague uneasiness beset 
 him, lest, in these days of violence, some disaster 
 might befall that deserted house and its helpless 
 tenant. Long after he was involved in the dusky 
 defiles of the Highlands, he found himself paus- 
 ing and looking southward. Every sound in the 
 silent night seemed a cry for help from that 
 beautiful Fury he had left before the glimmer- 
 ing fire, with the portrait watching her, like a 
 ghost. 
 
 Poor Kerr ! plaintive at first, then sullen, then 
 surly, then doleful. The runt pony set its legs 
 
EDWm BEOTHERTOFT. 323 
 
 hard down on terra firma, and bumped the 
 bumptiousness all out of him. 
 
 All the good nature of his captors could not 
 better his case. He was sadly dejected in mind 
 and flaccid in person when the party issued 
 from the Highlands, a little after late moon- 
 rise. 
 
 Major Skerrett only waited till he saw the 
 pumpkins of the Pishkill plain, lying solitary or 
 social, and turning up their cheeks to the cool 
 salute of wan and waning Luna. Then he gave 
 his prisoner to Van Wart and Galsworthy, to be 
 put to bed at Putnam's quarters, and himself, 
 with Hendrecus, turned back to meet the fugi- 
 tives. 
 
 Let us now trace them on their flight from 
 Brothertoft Manor. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 The other party of fugitives took a more cir- 
 cuitous route, to the east, through that scantily 
 peopled region. 
 
 Volante stepped proudly along, pricking up 
 her ears to recognize familiar bugbears, and to 
 question strange stocks and stones, whether they 
 were "miching malicho" to horse-flesh. 
 
 Brothertoft walked by his daughter's side. 
 Only now and then • in their hurried march 
 could he take her hand and speak and hear 
 some word of tender love. But the conscious- 
 ness in each of the other's presence, and the 
 knowledge of the new birth of the holiest of all 
 the holy affections between them, was sufficient. 
 A vague bliss involved them as they hurried 
 through the dim night. And both evaded the 
 thought of that Hate tliey had left behind, — 
 that embodied Hate, helpless and alone, at 
 Brothertoft Manor. 
 
 The negroes trotted along, babbling comically 
 together. 
 
 Jierck Pcwitt led the way in silencC' 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 325 
 
 "1 shall never dare to face Major Skerrett 
 again, if I don't bring these people straight 
 through," — so he thought. " I am just sober 
 enough to walk my chalk if I pin my eyes to it. 
 If I look at anything else, or think of anything 
 else, this path '11 go to zigzagging, and splitting 
 up into squirrel-tracks, and climbing up trees. 
 Old Voltaire says he don't know these back 
 roads very well. If I lose the track, we shall 
 be nowhere." 
 
 The region a mile back from the river was 
 mostly forest then, with scattered clearings. Of- 
 ten the course of our fugitives was merely a 
 wood-road, or a cow-path, or an old trail. There 
 were giant boles stopping the way, and prone 
 trunks barricading it. There were bogs and 
 thickets to avoid. 
 
 It is bewildering business to travel through a 
 forest in the dark. Jierck Dewitt knew this well. 
 He did not distract his attention with talk, or 
 recalling the events of the evening. He held 
 tight with all his eyes and all his wits to the 
 track, commanding it not to divide or meander. 
 This severe application steadied liis brain. He 
 slowly sobered. The fine fumes of his potations 
 of Brothertoft Madeira, in the cellar, exhaled. 
 The coarser gases of rum from the paternal 
 jug split their exit through the sutures of his 
 BkuU. 
 
326 eijWin beothertoft. 
 
 It seemed a moment, it seemed a milleimium, 
 it was an liour, when the party reached the foot 
 of Cedar Ridge, almost three miles from the 
 Manor-House. 
 
 Cedar Ridge is a famous look-out. "What 
 you cannot see from there is not worth see- 
 ing," say the neighbors. It rises some three 
 hundred feet above the level of the river, and 
 surveys highlands north, uplands and lowlands 
 south, with Janus-like vision. 
 
 Long before Hendrecus Hudson baptized the 
 North River, Cedar Ridge was a sacred mount 
 — a hill of Sion — to the Redskins. Fire had 
 disforested the summit, and laid bare two bosomy 
 mounds, stereoscopic counterparts, with a little 
 depression between. A single cedar, old as the 
 eldest hUls, grew in this hollow. Around it 
 had generations of frowzy Indian braves held 
 frantic powwows, and danced their bow-legged 
 minuets. Many a captive had suffered the fate 
 of Saint Sebastian against its trunk, and dab- 
 bled the roots with his copper-colored blood. 
 Savory fragments of roast Iroquois had fattened 
 the soil. Fed on this unwholesome diet, and 
 topped every winter by Boreas, the tree made 
 hard, red flesh, and bloated into a stunted, 
 wicked-looking Dagon, as gnarled and knobby 
 as that old yew-tree of Fountains Abbey, which 
 — so goes the myth — was Joseph of Arima- 
 
fibWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 327 
 
 thea's staff, — planted by him there when he was 
 on his tour to convert the hairy Britons from 
 Angli to Ariffeli. 
 
 A famous point of view was Cedar Ridge, 
 named after this little giant, this squat sovereign 
 among evergreens. 
 
 Such a landmark attained without error, Jierck 
 Dewitt began to feel secure. He could relax 
 his strict attention to his duties as guide, and 
 let his thoughts confuse him again. 
 
 The moment he began to review the events 
 of the evening with a sobered brain, he grew 
 suddenly troubled. 
 
 He halted where the forest ceased on the 
 ridge, and the two bare mounds with the low 
 cedar appeared against the sky. He paused 
 there, and let Voltaire overtake him. 
 
 This was the third niglit of that old brave's- 
 travels. The present pace was telling on him. 
 He was puffing loud and long, as he stopped at 
 Jierck's signal. The others passed on up the 
 ridge. The white mare became a spot of light 
 in the open. 
 
 " Voltaire," whispered Jierck, " I did n't see 
 the Mistress around when we left the Manor. 
 Do you know what was done with her ? " 
 
 " Where was you, that you did n't see ? " asks 
 Voltaire, taking and yielding air in great gasps 
 between every word. 
 
328 EDWIN BEOTHKKTOI'T. 
 
 " Never mind that ! Wha / became of her ? " 
 
 " Why you know (puff) that she fired (gasp) 
 a pistol (explosion and sigh) at Master; and 
 everybody thought (wheeze) that she 'd shot him 
 dead." Here Voltaire took in a gallon or so 
 of night air, and delivered it slowly back, by the 
 pint, in the form of a chain of clouds, as white 
 as if they came from the lungs of a pure Cau- 
 casian. 
 
 This speech explained half the mystery to 
 Jierck. His curiosity seemed to become more 
 troublesome. He continued anxiously : " Yes, 
 yes, I know," — which he did not until this 
 moment. " But what was done with her after- 
 wards. I was outside, doing my part there." 
 
 " You was outside, was you ? " says Voltaire, 
 slowly recovering fluency. " Well, I guess they 
 wanted you inside." 
 
 " A man can't be in two places at once. What 
 did they want me for ? " 
 
 " Them two boys — the root-doctor's son and 
 Samuel Galsworthy — is as spry as any two boys 
 I ever see. Mighty spry and strong and handy 
 boys they is ; but they had a'most a orkud job 
 with Mistress, she tearing and scratching so. 
 They wanted another hand bad; but they got 
 through, and fixed her up right at last." 
 
 "Fixed her! How?" 
 
 " What you in such an orful hurry aboxxt ? 
 Let a man take brefif, won't you ? " 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 329 
 
 " Yes ; but speak quick ! What did they do 
 with her ? Is she left there ? " 
 
 " Leff thar ! " says Voltaire, relapsing into full 
 patois. " Whar would dey leave her ? She 's 
 done tied up in a big arm-cheer in de parlor. 
 An' dar she '11 stay ail dis bressed night, jess 
 like a turkey truss up fur to be roast." And 
 he gave a little, triumphant chuckle, that seemed 
 to remember old cruelties he had suffered at her 
 hands. 
 
 Jierck made no answer. He seemed to need 
 breath as much as the negro. He gave a little 
 gasp, and sprang up the hill-side. 
 
 Puzzled, Voltaire followed slowly after. 
 
 While they talked, the others had climbed to 
 the top of the ridge, and halted to rest where 
 the old cedar stood barring the way. 
 
 Jierck Dewitt came panting up to the summit. 
 
 He turned and glanced hastily over the hazy 
 breadth of slumbering landscape below. * 
 
 Belts of mist lay in the little valleys. Beyond 
 was the river, a broad white pathway, like a 
 void. And beyond again, the black heaps of 
 the mountains westward. Here and there in 
 the vague, a dot of light marked a farm-house. 
 The lanterns of the British frigates were to be 
 seen twinkhng like reflections of star* in water. 
 
 It -may have been fancy, but in the silence 
 Lucy thought that she heard the far-away sound 
 
330 EDWIN BKOTHERTOFT, 
 
 of the Tartar's bell striking four bells, ten o'clock, 
 and her consorts responding. 
 
 Jierck continued peering intently into the 
 dark. 
 
 His seeming alarm communicated itself to the 
 party. 
 
 "What is it?" said Brothertoft. "Do you 
 fear pursuit ? " 
 
 " No," whispered Jierck. 
 
 His monosyllable sent a shiver to all their 
 hearts. There was a yeiled scream in this single 
 word, — a revelation of some terrible panic await- 
 ing them. 
 
 " I must see farther," resumed Dewitt, in the 
 same curdling tone ; and he sprang up the 
 mound on the right. 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft, impressed by this strange 
 terror, followed. 
 
 He was within a dozen feet of the summit, 
 and its wider reach of view, when Jierck leaped 
 down and seized him tight by both shoulders. 
 Jierck caught breath. Then, with his face close 
 to the other's, — " My God ! " he hissed, " I 've 
 set the house on fire. We 've left that woman 
 there, tied, to burn to death." 
 
XIX. 
 
 Edwin Brotheetopt shook off the man's clutch 
 of horror, and stared southward. 
 
 A dull glow, like the light of moonrise through 
 mist, was visible close to the dark line of the 
 horizon. 
 
 Instantly, as he looked, the glow deepened. 
 The black mass of the Manor-House appeared 
 against the light. The fire must be in the rear 
 and below. An alarm-gun from the frigate came 
 booming through the silence. 
 
 While they stood paralyzed, Edwin Brothertoft 
 sprang down from the mound, tore, his daugh- 
 ter from the saddle, and was mounted himself 
 quick as thought. 
 
 " I must save her ! " he cried, — " your mother, 
 my wife ! " 
 
 He was gone. 
 
 A moment they could see the white horse, 
 like a flash of light, as she flung down the 
 break-neck hill-side. 
 
 Then she leaped into the mist, and a moment 
 more they could hear her hoofs clattering. 
 
332 EDWIN . BROTHEETOFT. 
 
 They stood appalled and speechless. 
 
 Heart-beat by heart-beat it seemed that the 
 fire grew intenser. All the world was blotted 
 out for the gazers, except that one red spot, 
 like a displaced moonrise, far to the southward. 
 
 Fire was not master yelf. Who could say ? 
 Only three long miles. He might save her. 
 Other succor might come. 
 
 Lucy gave one more look into that ocean 
 of mist where she knew her father was strug- 
 gling. Then, quick but quiet, she seized poor 
 Jierck Dewitt's arm. 
 
 " Come," she said ; " show me the way, — 
 the shortest way. I will follow my father." 
 
XX. 
 
 Brothertopt galloped down the hill-side. He 
 had no whip or spur, but the mare took in his 
 passion, made it her own, and dashed forward 
 madly. No winding by comfortable curves for 
 them ! They bore straight for the house. 
 
 Three miles from Cedar Ridge, — three miles 
 to go! and broken country, all hill and gully! 
 No sane man could gallop it by day. A night 
 ride there might be the dream of a madman. 
 There were belts of forest, dense and dark, with 
 trees standing thick as palisades. There were 
 ravines crowded with thorny thickets. There 
 were stony brooks, and dry channels stonier. 
 There were high walls slanting up the sharp 
 slopes of the scattered clearings. Down was 
 steep, and up was steep, and it was all up and 
 down. But, though darkness trebled the dan- 
 ger, horse or rider never shrank. They bore 
 straight on. Three miles to go! 
 
 And while they galloped, the rider's thought 
 galloped. Sometimes it burst out into a cry of 
 encouragement for his horse; sometimes it wai 
 
334 EDAVIN brothebtopt. 
 
 unspoken ; but all the while it went on wildly, 
 thus : — 
 
 " On, Volants ! Straight for that light to tho 
 south ! Fires move fast ; we must go faster. Only 
 three miles away, and there she sits bound, — and 
 the flames coming, — she I ouce loved, God knows 
 how faithfully ! Gallop, gallop, Volante ! 
 
 " Bravely ! here we are down the ridge ! 
 Now, stretch out over this smooth bit of clear- 
 ing ! Yes ; that black line is a stone wall. 
 Measure it, Volante ! Not four feet ! Good 
 practice for our first leap ! Easy now, steady ! 
 Hurrah ! Over and a foot to spare ! Well done, 
 horse ! And I have been a plodding foot-soldier ! 
 But I can ride still, like a boy, side-saddle or no 
 saddle. A Brothertoft cannot lose the cavalier. 
 We shall win. 
 
 " What, Volante ? Nothing to fear, — that 
 white strip in the dell ! Only a brook. Barely 
 twelve feet to leap. Never mind the dark and 
 the bad start ! B,emember my wife, — she burns, 
 if we flinch. Now, together ! Hurrah ! Over, 
 thank God ! Splashed, but safe over and away ! 
 
 " A clearing again. Shame, Volante ! Are 
 you a ploughman's horse, that you labor so 
 clumsily in these furrows ? See that horrible 
 glow upon the sky ! This wood hides it again. 
 Idle forest! why was it not burned clean from 
 the ground a century ago ? Everything baffles. 
 
EDWIN BfiOTHEETOFT. 335 
 
 No, Volante ! No turning aside for this wind- 
 row! Over, over! Through, through, and now 
 straight on ! Yes ; the hill is steep, but we 
 must gallop down it. No stumbling. What! 
 another wall, and higher ? You shrink ! No, — 
 you must. She shall not burn ! Now, God 
 help us ! Down ? No ; up and o£f ! HurraJi ! 
 
 " How we have rattled through those two 
 miles! And here is the road. Easier travel- 
 ling, if you can only take that worm fence ! 
 The top bars are sure to be rotten. A fair start, 
 my good mare, and do your best! Bravely 
 again! I knew we should crash over. Plain 
 sailing now ! What, limping, flagging, Volante ? 
 Shame ! This is a road fit for a lady's summer- 
 evening canter. Shake out, Volante ! Let me 
 see your stride ! Show your Lincolnshire blood ! 
 The winner in this race wins Life, — Life, do you 
 hear ? Wake up there, you farmers ! Turn out 
 and help ! Fire at Brothertoft Manor. Fire ! 
 
 "Faster, faster! Are we too late? Never! 
 I see the glow brighten against the sky ; but the 
 night is still as death; fire will move slow. 
 We shall see at the turn of the road. Faster 
 now 1 She must not burn, sitting there, where I 
 saw her by the dear fireside of the years gone 
 by, — sitting bound, and the flames snarling. 
 Ah! I so loved her! I so trusted her! We 
 were young. Life was so beautiful! God was 
 
336 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 SO good! It was miserable that she should 
 wound me, and more cruelly wound her own 
 soul. But I have forgiven her. 0, let me save 
 her, if only to speak peace and pardon ! She 
 shall not burn. A dozen strides, and we can see 
 the house. Perhaps this great light is the sta- 
 bles. No, — everything ! Fire everywhere. Too 
 late ! too late ! Never ! I can burn. She shall 
 not." 
 Aud they galloped up the lawn. 
 
XXI. 
 
 " I AM FffiE, a new-comer on the scene at Broth- 
 er toft Manor-House. 
 
 "I was a spark from Jierck Dewitt's flint, a 
 flash of his powder, a feeble smoulder, a pretty, 
 graceful little flame, peering about for something 
 j^utritious. I was weak. I get force as I go. 
 Let me once fairly touch fuel, and I will roar 
 you, roar you, — ay, and roast you too ! 
 
 " What a grand pile of rubbish I see, now that 
 I can light up this dusky den of a cellar ! Let 
 me burrow here ! Let me scamper here I Aha, 
 I am warm and strong 1 A leap now ! Hurrah ! 
 I am so large and vigorous that I can multiply 
 myself. Go, little flames, rummage everywhere. 
 Blaze, my children, flash in the corners, find 
 what you like, eat and grow fierce. &row fierce 
 and agile ! I mean to exhibit you by and by. 
 You must presently run up stairs, make your- 
 selves broad and slender, dance, exult, and de- 
 vour everywhere. 
 
 " A drop of the famous Brothertoft Madeira, 
 now, for Fire and family! Here goes at the 
 
 15 T 
 
338 EDWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 
 
 wine-room. I cannot stop to draw corks. Down 
 go the shelves ! Crash go the 1)ottles ! Drink, 
 flames, drink ! What nectar ! How this black 
 hole of a , cellar shines ! Fine wine makes me 
 hungry for finer fare ! I could eat titbits now. 
 Perhaps I shall find them up stairs. A cradle 
 with a fat bambino, — that would be a sweet 
 morsel ! A maiden's bed with a white-limbed 
 maiden on it, — that I could take finely. Come 
 flames, my children, up stairs, and let us see 
 what we can find ! Up, my strongest, my hun- 
 griest, my drunkest flames ! up and follow ! 
 " I am Fire ! This house and aU that bo in it 
 
XXII 
 
 Mbs. BROTHERTOiT; sat iu the parlor of the d& 
 Berted mansion, bound, helpless, and alone. 
 
 She was exhausted and weak after her furious 
 struggle with her captors. Mental frenzy had 
 wearied her mind. 
 
 As Major Skerrett closed the door, and she was 
 left solitary, a little brief sleep, like a faint, fell 
 upon her. 
 
 It could have lasted but a moment, for when 
 she suddenly awoke, the final footsteps of the re- 
 tiring party were still sounding upon the gravel 
 road. 
 
 She listened intently. The sound ceased. 
 Human presence had departed. Silence about 
 her, — except that the fire on the hearth hissed 
 and muttered, as fire imprisoned is wont to do, 
 in feeble protest against its powerlessness. 
 
 This moment of sleep seemed to draw a line 
 sharp as death between two eras in Mrs. Brother 
 toft's history. From the hither side of this em- 
 phatic interval of oblivion she could survey her 
 past life apart from the present. Violence, Force, 
 
340 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 had at last intervened in lier career, and made 
 their mark sharp as the sudden cleft of an earth- 
 quake in a plaui. 
 
 She had now the opportunity, as she sat bound, 
 strictly but not harshly, before a comfortable fire, 
 to review her conduct and approve or condemn. 
 She could now ask herself why Force had come 
 in to baffle her plans, — what laws she had broken 
 to merit this inevitable penalty of failure and 
 insulting punishment. 
 
 There was a pause in her life, such as is given 
 to all erring and guilty lives many times in life, 
 and to all souls in death, to look at past ruin 
 quietly, and plan, if they will, with larger wisdom 
 for the time to come. 
 
 She rapidly put together her facts, and without 
 much difficulty comprehended the plot of Kerr's 
 capture and Lucy's evasion. It angered her to 
 be defeated by a " silly child," as she had named 
 her. But she put this aside for the moment. 
 A graver matter was to be considered. 
 
 She thought of her husband, lying in the 
 dining-room, slain, as she supposed, by her hand. 
 
 Then, in her soul, began a great and terrible 
 battle. " You are free ! " her old companion 
 Furies whispered her. " Free of that incubus, 
 your husband. Such triumph well repays you 
 for the insult of a few hours' bondage." 
 
 But then a low voice within her seemed to ask, 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEUTOFT. 341 
 
 " Triumph ! Can you name it triumph that you 
 have trampled on your womanhood, and done 
 murder to a man who gave you only love and 
 only pity when you wronged him ? " 
 
 " Be proud of yourself, beautiful creature ! " 
 whispered the Turies. " You are an imperial 
 womaii, rich, masterly, and skilful, with a bril- 
 liant career before you." 
 
 " Humble yourself before God and your own 
 soul, miserable woman ! " the inner voice re- 
 plied. "Repent, or that murdered man will 
 take his stand at your side forever." 
 
 " He owed you this vengeance," her evil spir- 
 its hinted, " for your great disappointment. If 
 he had not been a nerveless dreamer, full of 
 feeble scruples and sham ambitions, you would 
 have had all your heart desired. He basely 
 cheated you. He promised everything, and per- 
 formed nothing. He was the pride of the Prov- 
 ince ; he let himself sink into insignificance. 
 Poor-spirited nobody ! It was a kindness to 
 snuff out his mean and paltry life." 
 
 " Did you see his gentle face as he fell ? " tlie 
 counter influence made answer. " How gray 
 and old he was ! Do you remember him ? — it 
 seems but yesterday — a fair youth, kindling 
 with the hopes that to him were holy. You 
 loved him sometimes, — do you not recognize 
 those moments as your noblest ? Have not 
 
342 EDWIN BROTHEBTOFT. 
 
 yours been the false ambitions and the idle 
 dreams ? Is not all this misery and failure the 
 result of your first trifling with sin, and then 
 choosing it? Disloyal woman, — if you are a 
 woman, and not a fiend, — your cruelty has 
 brought defeat and shame upon you ! Profit by 
 this moment of quiet reflection! see how the 
 broken law revenges itself!" 
 
 "Yes, madam," the other voices here inter- 
 rupted, " you cannot escape what your weakness 
 calls shame. You will never live down scandal. 
 The untempted people will never admit you to 
 their ranks. Scorn them. Do not yield to 
 feeble regrets. Be yourself, — your brave, de- 
 fiant self!" 
 
 The Furies were getting the better. The 
 virago was more and more overpowering the 
 woman. Sometimes she sat patient. Some- 
 times she raged and struggled impoteutly with 
 her bonds. It was terrible in the dim parlor to 
 watch her face, and mark the tokens of that mad 
 war within. 
 
 The fire in the cliimney had been slowly heat- 
 ing the logs all this time. They were ripe to 
 blaze. Suddenly they burst into a bright flame. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft looked up and saw herself in 
 the mirror over the fireplace. There was hardly 
 time for a thrill of self-admiration. The same 
 fiash that showed her her own face revealed also 
 
EDWIN BftOTaEtlTOE"r. 34S 
 
 the reflection of the portrait behind her. She 
 saw the heads of Colonel Brothertoft and his 
 white horse looking through the torn curtain. 
 She had not glanced that way since her scene of 
 yesterday evening with the picture. She had 
 evaded a sight tliat recalled her treason. Now it 
 forced itself upon her. Here she was bound; 
 and there, over her own head in the mirror, was 
 a ghostly shadow of what ? 
 
 What! was this the ghostlier image of her 
 husband's very ghost ? Was he there in the can- 
 vas ? Had he stolen away out of that dead 
 thing once his body, lying only a few steps and 
 two doors off? Was he there watching her? 
 Why did he wear that triumphant smile? He 
 was not used to smile much in the dreary old 
 times ; — never to sneer as this semblance was 
 doing. Even that beast, the white horse, shared 
 in his master's exultation over her captivity, — 
 his nostrils swelled, and he seemed to pant for 
 breath enough to neigh over a victory. 
 
 She stared an instant, fascinated by that faint 
 image. There was a certain vague sense of 
 relief in its presence. This shadow of her hus- 
 band murdered might be a terror ; but he in- 
 tervened a third party in the hostile parley 
 and the thickening war between her two selves. 
 This memento of remorse came to the succor 
 of the almost beaten relics of her better nature, 
 
344 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 and commanded them to turn and make head 
 again against that reckless, triumphant, bedlam 
 creature, who was fast gaining the final mastery 
 and absorbing her total being. 
 
 Was it thus? Had this image of a ghost 
 come to say, " My wife, the old tie cannot break. 
 I come to plead with you not to annihilate the 
 woman, not to repel the medicine of remorse, 
 and make yourself an incurable, irreclaimable 
 fiend," — was this his errand of mercy ? 
 
 Or did he stand there to hound on the Fren- 
 zies, spiritual essences, to her, to him visible 
 beings, whom she felt seducing her? Was he 
 smiling with delight to see her spirit zigzagging 
 across the line between madness and sanity, and 
 staggering farther, every turn, away from self- 
 control ? Which was this shadow's office ? 
 
 While she trembled between these questions, 
 still staring at those two reflections in the mirror, 
 . — herself and that image of the portrait, — sud- 
 denly the flash of flame in the chimney went 
 out. A downward draught sent clouds of white 
 smoke drifting about the room. 
 
 Mrs. Brothertoft peered a moment into the 
 darkness. Her own reflection in the mirror was 
 just visible, as she stirred her head. She missed 
 the other. But there were strange sounds sud- 
 denly awakened, — a strange whispering through 
 the house. 
 
EDWIN 3E0THEET0FT 345 
 
 So long as her seeming, ghostly companion 
 was visible, she had kept down her terror. Now, 
 as she fancied it still present but unseen, a great 
 dread fell upon her. She writhed in her bonds 
 to turn and face that portrait on the wall. She 
 could, witli all her pains, only move enough 
 to see a little corner of the curtain. 
 
 Did it move ? Would something unearthly 
 presently put aside those dusky folds, and come 
 rustling to her side ? 
 
 She listened a moment, and then screamed 
 aloud. 
 
 The sound of her own voice a little reassured 
 her. She laughed harshly, and her soliloquy 
 went on, but wilder, and without the mild en- 
 treaties of her better self. 
 
 " What a fool I am to disturb myself with 
 mere paint and canvas ! But I will have that 
 picture burnt, — yes, burnt, to-morrow morning. 
 The man is gone, and every relic of him and 
 his name shall perish from the earth. How 
 plainly I seem to see him lying there dead, 
 with his face upturned ! What ? Do dead men 
 stir ? I think he stirred. Do you dare to lift 
 your finger and point at me ? I had a right to 
 shoot housebreakers. Put down your finger, 
 sir ! You will not ? Bah ! Do what you please, 
 you cannot terrify me. You shall be burnt, 
 burnt, — do you hear? I smell fire strangely. 
 
 ]5* 
 
'^46 EDWIN BHOTHERtOFT. 
 
 The smoke from that chimney, — yes, nothing 
 else. I am afraid I shall be cold before morn- 
 ing ; but now I am feverish. The air seems hot 
 and dry. I suppose I have grown excited, tied 
 here. What is that low rustling all the while ? 
 Sometimes it seems to come from the cellar, 
 then it is here. Any one in this room ? Speak ! 
 Dewitt, Sarah, is that you come home ? No an- 
 swer ; and this whispering grows louder. Some 
 other chimney must be smoking. I can hardly 
 breathe. I must try to sleep, or I shall go mad 
 before morning with that dead man in the house. 
 Put down your finger, sir ! Don't point at me 
 like a school-boy! What! Is he coming? Is 
 that his step I hear in the hall? Let me see, 
 he has only two steps to make to the door, five 
 across the hall, then two more and he could lean 
 over and whisper what he thought of me." 
 
 She listened awhile to the strange sounds 
 below, and then went on : " If you come in here, 
 Edwin Brothertoft, and speak to me, I shall go 
 crazy. I cannot hear any of your meek talk. 
 Lie where you are till morning, and then, if 
 you wish, you shall be buried. Perhaps burning 
 was a little too harsh. Morning is not many 
 hours away. It must be nearly ten o'clock. 
 But if this smoke grows any thicker, I shall cer- 
 tainly smother. These ghastly noises get louder 
 and louder. What can that crash be? Is th« 
 
EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 347 
 
 dead man coming ? Help, help ! Keep him 
 away! Mr. Brothertoft, Edwin, if you love me, 
 pray stop fumbling at that latch. You know 
 how indulgent you always were to my little 
 fancies; do not come in, if you please. I am 
 afraid, Edwin, afraid. I am so fevered, tied 
 here by those cursed brigands, that I shall go 
 mad. I am suffocating with this smoke. Will 
 some one bring me a little water? But when 
 you come, do not look into that room across 
 the hall. There is a gray-headed man lying 
 there. He may say I murdered him. Do not 
 take notice of him, he was always weak-minded. 
 He will say I insulted, wronged, dishonored him, 
 and made his life a burden and a shame. Do 
 not listen to scandal against a woman ; but bring 
 me a drop, one drop of water to cool my throat, 
 for I am burning with a horrible fever. If these 
 strange noises underneath and all around do not 
 cease, I shall certainly go mad. What can it 
 mean ? I hear sounds like an army. I would 
 rather not receive your friends at present, Mr. 
 Brothertoft, if it is their feet and voices I hear. 
 This smoke makes my eyes red, and you always 
 were proud of my beauty, you know. What ! 
 have they lighted their torches, those ghosts in 
 the hall ? Or is this glow through the room the 
 moon ? No. My God ! Fire ! I shall bum. 
 Lucy, Lucy ! Edwin, help ! " 
 
XXIII. 
 
 Edwin Bbothertopt came galloping up to the 
 flames. Had he won this race, with a life for 
 its prize ? 
 
 The maddened mare tore forward, as if she 
 would leap in among the loud riot there. 
 
 Fire everywhere ! A mob of arrogant, roar- 
 ing, frenzied flames possessed the cellar and the 
 ground-floor. Each window, so long a peaceful 
 entrance for sunbeams, now glowed with light 
 within, or thrust out great cruel blades of fire, 
 striking at darkness. Fire sheathed the base of 
 the turret. Agile flames were climbing up its 
 sides, and little playful flashes seized the creep- 
 ers that overhung Lucy's window, and, clinging 
 to these, peered in through the panes, looking 
 for such diet as they craved. 
 
 The husband turned the corner of the house, 
 and galloped up to the window, — that window 
 where an hour ago he had stood gazing at the 
 proud, hateful face of the woman he loved so 
 bitterly. 
 
 The white horse and its rider looked in at the 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 849 
 
 window. And this is what the one quick, com- 
 prehensive glance of horror showed them, as a 
 draught of air dragged the smoke away. 
 
 Opposite, on the wall, the two heads of the 
 picture were just yielding to the flames around 
 them. Little buds of flame were sprouting 
 through the floor, little tendrils wreathing the 
 doors, and drawing a closer circle about the fig- 
 ure at their centre. There she sat, as if this 
 scene was prepared to illuminate her beauty. 
 A gush of air lifted the smoke like a curtain, 
 and there she was sitting, her black hair tower- 
 ing above her pale forehead, her white arms 
 bound to the chair, and the red light of h^r 
 diamond resting upon her white bosom. 
 
 The smoke had half sufibcated her. But she 
 was revived by the sudden flood of air, as a 
 burned door gave way. She turned her head 
 toward the window, — did her spirit tell her that 
 the heart she had wounded was there ? She 
 lifted her feeble head as her husband dashed 
 forward, and it seemed to him that, amid all 
 the snarling and roaring of the flames, he could 
 hear her moan, " Help, Edwin ! Help ! " 
 
 The bulbs of flame through the floor shot up 
 and grew rank, the wreaths of flame reached 
 out and spread fast as the beautiful tendrils of 
 a magic vine, the smoke drifted together again, 
 and hid the room and the figure sitting there. 
 
850 EDWIN BROtHERTOFT. 
 
 Over tlie carpet of flame, through the bower of 
 flame, where long streamers redder than autumn 
 hung and climbed, through the thick, blinding, 
 suffocating, baffling smoke, Edwin Brothertoft 
 sprang in to save his wife. 
 
 God help him, for his love is strong ! 
 
 By this time, from the Tartar frigate and her 
 consorts, boats'-crews were making for the burn- 
 ing house. They hoped to handle and furl the 
 flames, as they woiild a flapping maintopsail in a 
 gale. By this time the Manor people were also 
 hurrying up, with neighborly intent to fling 
 looking-glasses and crockery from the windows, 
 and save them. 
 
 The Tartars were exhilarated by the splendid 
 spectacle of fire in revolt. It was indeed a wild 
 and. passionate scene. From every window fin- 
 gers of flame beckoned the world to behold it. 
 And now on Lucy's turret Fire had hoisted its 
 banner, as in a castle the flag goes up when the 
 master comes to hold holiday. 
 
 The sailors gained the foot of the lawn. This 
 pageant burst upon them. They sprang for- 
 ward with a hurrah. Suddenly the foremost 
 paused and huddled together. What is it? 
 
 A dark figure, bearing some heavy burden, 
 appeared at the only window of the front where 
 the flames were not overflowing in full streams 
 and foiiutaining upward. 
 
EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 351 
 
 The figure came fighting forward Fire 
 shouted, and clutched at it. Smoke poured 
 around, to bewilder it. The figure — a man's 
 form — staggered and fell. Inward or outward 
 — inward into that fiery furnace, or outward 
 toward the quiet, frosty air of night — the sailors 
 could not see. 
 
 They rushed on more eagerly, but this time 
 without the cheer. 
 
 Only the bravest, with Commodore Hotham 
 himself at their head, dared face the flames, and 
 touch the scorching heat to seek for that es- 
 caping figure they had seen. 
 
 They found him lying without, under the 
 great window, — a man, and in his arms a 
 burned and blackened thing. It might be, they 
 thought, a woman. 
 
 They carried them away where the air was 
 cool, and the crisp frost was unmelted on the 
 grass. The man breathed, and moaned. No 
 one knew his face, masked with black smoke. 
 
 With the neighbors, Mrs. Dewitt now came 
 running up, and joined the group. 
 
 " See ! " said she, with a shudder. " This was 
 my mistress. She always wore this diamond on 
 her neck in the evening. She is dead. No ; she 
 breathes ! " 
 
 Yes; there was the gem, showing red refleo- 
 tious of the flames. An hour ago the woman 
 
352 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 
 
 had been a beauty, and the diamond a point of 
 admiration, saying, " Mark this white neck and 
 this fair bosom ! " Now it made the utter ruin 
 there more pitiful. 
 
 Some one led forward Volante, drooping and 
 all in a foam. There was evidently some mys- 
 tery in this disaster. " Take these burned crea- 
 tures to the nearest house," said Hotham. 
 " And now, boys, some of you try to save the 
 stables. Some come with me at the house. 
 There were more people in it." 
 
 The sailors fought fire. The others carried 
 the two bodies to Bilsby's farm-house. The 
 flames showed them their path under the red- 
 leaved trees of October. 
 
 The same ruddy liglit was guiding Lucy 
 Brothertoft on her way to what a little while ago 
 was home. 
 
 Long before she reached the spot, the roar and 
 frenzy of the flames had subsided. 
 
 Nothing was left but the ragged walls and 
 the red ruins of tlie Manor-House. It had been 
 punished by fire for the misery and sin it had 
 sheltered. 
 
 A guard of sailors, under a lieutenant, pro- 
 tected what little property had been saved. 
 Lucy learned from them how an unknown man 
 had rescued her mother to die away from thQ 
 flames. 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEKTOFT. 353 
 
 She left Voltaire to make some plausible story 
 of the kidnapping, and to invent a release of 
 hers from the captors' hands, when the fire they 
 had accidentally kindled was discovered. 
 
 She hastened to help the father she loved and 
 the mother she pitied so deeply. 
 
 Jierck Dewitt followed her to Bilsby's door. 
 
 " Go, Jierck ! " she said. " It makes me 
 shudder to see you, and think of this dreadful 
 harm you have done. Go and tell the whole 
 to Major Skerrett." 
 
 " Will you speak to my wife, Miss Lucy, and 
 show her how she is to blame, — how her wrong 
 sent me wrong? Tell her how she and I are 
 linked in with ruin here. Periiaps it will help 
 you to forgive me if you can better her." 
 
 Lucy promised. 
 
 She entered the farm-house to encounter her 
 holy duties with her parents. 
 
 Jierck hurried off to meet Major Skerrett, give 
 him the sorrowful history of the night, and warn 
 him away from a region that would be alive by 
 daylight, and bayonetting haystacks and hollow 
 trees for kidnappers. 
 
 The penitent fellow could get no farther on his 
 return than Cedar Ridge. There he saw the red 
 embers of the Manor-House watching him from 
 the edge of the horizon, like the eye of a Cy- 
 clops, He was fascinated, and sank down at the 
 
2i54 EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 
 
 foot of the uncanny old cedar, sick with horror 
 and fatigue. 
 
 Skerrett and Canady, pressing anxiously on, 
 found Jierck there at sunrise, asleep and half 
 dead with cold. They roused him, and heard 
 his story. 
 
 A little wreath of smoke alone marked the site 
 of the Manor-House. Here was the starting- 
 point, there was the goal of Edwin Brothertoft's 
 night gallop. It thrilled the Major to hear of 
 that wild ride, and to fancy he saw the white 
 horse dashing through the darkness on that 
 noble errand of mercy. 
 
 " Some men would have said, ' Curse her ! let 
 her burn ! She 's hurt me worse than fire '11 
 hurt her,' " says Hendrecus. " Some would have 
 took the turns of the road, and got to the house 
 when it was nothing but chimbleys. Some 
 would have been afeard of being known, and shot 
 for a rebel. I've heard say that the Patroon 
 was n't one of the strong kind ; but he 's done a 
 splendid thing here, and I 'm proud of myself 
 that I was born on the same soil, and stand a 
 chance to have some of the same natural grit 
 into me." 
 
 Nothing further could be Jone, and it was not 
 safe to loiter. The three returned over the 
 Highlands to Putnam's army. And that day, 
 and for many days, Peter Skerrett meditated oa 
 
EDWIN BBOTHEBTOFT. 365 
 
 this terrible end of the sorrow and sin at Broth- 
 ertoft Manor. He traced with ghastly interest 
 the different paths by which vengeance con- 
 verged upon the guilty woman, and saw with 
 wliat careful method her crime had prepared its 
 own punishment. " God grant," said he, " that 
 she may live to know what love and pity did to 
 save her from the horror of her penalty ! " 
 
XXIV. 
 
 Would that marred and ruined being, once the 
 baautiful Mrs. Brothertoft, ever revive enough 
 to ask and receive forgiveness from her hus- 
 band? 
 
 Lucy did not dare to hope it. She watched the 
 breathing corpse, and looked to see it any mo- 
 ment escape from its bodily torture into death. 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft was but little harmed by 
 the flames. A single leap had carried him 
 through the fiery circle which was devouring his 
 wife, as she sat bound. In an instant he had 
 dragged her away over the falling floor, cut her 
 free, and was at the window struggling through. 
 He had been almost stifled by the smoke, but his 
 hurts were slight. In a few days he was at his 
 wife's bedside. 
 
 He alone could interpret the sad, sad language 
 of her suffering moans. Her soul, half dormant, 
 in a body robbed of all its senses, seemed to per- 
 ceive his presence and his absence by some spir- 
 itual touch. Would she ever hear his words of 
 peace? 
 
EDWIN BEOTHEETOFT. 357 
 
 The red, ripe leaves grew over-ripe, and fell, 
 and buried October. Then came the first days 
 of November, witli their clear, sharp sunshine, 
 and bold, blue sky, and massive white clouds, 
 sailing with the northwest wind a month be- 
 fore the snow-drifts. Sweet Indian summer fol- 
 lowed. Its low southern breezes whispered the 
 dying refrain of the times of roses and passion- 
 ate sunshine. 
 
 Edwin Brothertoft sat by his wife's window 
 ore twilight of that pensive season. 
 
 A new phase in his life had begun from the 
 night of the rescue. By that one bold act of 
 heroism he had leaped out of the old feebleness. 
 He felt forgotten forces stir in him. His long 
 sorrow became to him as a sickness from which a 
 man rises fresh and purified. 
 
 In this mood, with the dim landscape before 
 him, a symbol of his own sombre history, and 
 the glowing sky of evening beyond, symbolizing 
 the clear and open regions of his mind's career 
 henceforth, — in this mood he grew tenderer for 
 his wife than ever before. 
 
 It was no earthly love he felt for her. That 
 had perished long ago. Deceit on her side 
 wounded it. Disloyalty killed it. The element 
 of passion was gone. There would have been a 
 deep sense of shame in recalling his lover fond- 
 ness once for a woman since unfaithful. But 
 
858 EDWIH BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 now he looked back upon her wrongs and his 
 errors as irremediable facts, and he could pity 
 both alike. The tendency of such a character as 
 hers, so trained as hers, to some great rebellion 
 against the eternal laws, some great trial of its 
 strength with God, and to some great and final 
 lesson of defeat, became plain to him. The law 
 of truth in love and faith in marriage is the 
 law a woman is likely to break if she is a law- 
 breaker. 
 
 She had broken it, and he divined the spiritual 
 warfare and the knowledge of defeat and degrar 
 dation which had been her spiritual punishment, 
 bitterer to bear than tliis final corporeal ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Entering into her heart and reading the 
 thoughts there, he utterly forgave and pitied 
 her. 
 
 And for himself, — what harm had she done 
 him ? None, — so he plainly saw. Except for 
 the disenchanting office of this great sorrow, 
 he would have lived and died a worldly man. 
 When his poetic ardors passed with youth, he 
 would have dwindled away a prosperous gen- 
 tleman, lost his heroic and martyr spirit, and 
 smiled or sneered or trembled at the shout for 
 freedom through the land. Except for this great 
 sorrow, his graceful gifts would have made him a 
 courtier, his refinement would have become fas 
 
fcbWiN BllOTIlERTOFt. 359 
 
 tidiousness, he would have learned to idolize the 
 status quo, and then, when the moment came for 
 self-sacrifice, he would have been false to his 
 nobler self. That meanness and misery he had 
 escaped. That he had escaped it, and knew 
 himself to be a man wholly true, was victory. 
 The world might repeat its old refrain of dis- 
 appointment in his career ; it might say, " He 
 promised to be our brilliant leader, — he is no- 
 body." But it could never say, " See, there is 
 Brothertoft ! He was an ardent patriot ; but 
 wealth spoiled him, the Court bought him, and 
 he left us meanly." 
 
 " My life," he thought, " has been somewhat a 
 negative. I have missed success. I have missed 
 the joy of household peace. And yet I bear no 
 grudge against my destiny. I have never for 
 one moment been false to the highest truth, and 
 that is a victory greater than success." 
 
 These last words he had spoken aloud. 
 
 In reply, he heard a stir and a murmur from 
 his wife. 
 
 He turned to her, and in the dusk he could 
 see that her life was recoiling from death to gain 
 strength to die. Voice and expression returned 
 to her. 
 
 " Edwin ! " she called to him, feebly. 
 
 "Jane ? " he answered. 
 
 In the pleading tone of her cry, in the sveet 
 
360 EDWIN BROTHEKTOFT. 
 
 affection of his one word of response, each read 
 the other's heart. There was no need of long 
 interpretation. To her yearning for pardon and 
 love, her name upon his lips gave full assurance 
 that both were granted. 
 
 She reached blindly for his hand. He took 
 hers tenderly. And there by the solemn twilight 
 they parted for a time. Death parted them. 
 She awoke in eternity. He stayed, to share a 
 little longer in the dreamy work of life. 
 
XXV. 
 
 A WORD of farewell to Maior Kerr. 
 
 He had a horrid, horrid time at Fishkill. 
 
 Little but pork and beans to eat, little but 
 apple-jack to drink, nothing but discomfiture to 
 think of. 
 
 He experienced shame. 
 
 A letter was conveyed to him from Lucy 
 Brothertoft. She wrote, as kindly as might be, 
 what her real feelings had been toward him. 
 She also described the sad tragedy of the night 
 of his capture. 
 
 The conviction that he was a shabby fellow 
 had by this time pierced Kerr's pachyderm. He 
 was grateful to Lucy that she felt no contempt 
 for him. But her gentle dignity reproached his 
 unmanliness to her, and he became a very de- 
 jected penitent. 
 
 General Burgoyne has been an important 
 character behind the scenes of this drama. He 
 was a clever amateur playwright, and while our 
 personages have been doing and suffering, the 
 General has been at work a^ a historical play, 
 
 IS 
 
362 EDWIN BEOTHERTOFT. 
 
 which he meant to name, " Saratoga, or the Last 
 of the Rebels." There was some able acting in 
 it, and all the world watched for the catastrophe 
 quite breathless and agape. A brilliant pageant 
 of a surrender closed the play, in which, to the 
 general surprise, it was Jack Burgoyne, and not 
 Horatio Gates, who gave up the sword and 
 yielded the palm. 
 
 This news came flying down to Fishkill within 
 ten days after Major Kerr's capture. 
 
 The unlucky fellow heard of the great take of 
 British and Hessian officers. He began to fear 
 prisoners were a drug in the market, and he 
 must eat Continental fare till his stomach was 
 quite gone. 
 
 " Write to Sir Henry Clinton," said Old Put, 
 good-naturedly, " that I '11 swap you for your 
 value in the Yankees he took with the Highland 
 forts." 
 
 Kerr indited a doleful account of his diet and 
 impending dyspepsia to his General. 
 
 " I must have him back," said Sir Henry. 
 " Anybody can be an Adjutant ; but nobody in 
 His Majesty's army can carve a saddle of mutton, 
 or take out a sidebone, with Kerr." 
 
 The "swap" was arranged. The Major was 
 put on board the Tartar, opposite Brothertoft 
 Manor. He went off a sadder and a wiser man. 
 
 His capture had served its purpose of amusing 
 
EDWIN BROTHEEtOFT. 363 
 
 Putnam's desponding forces. The General had 
 been able to write to Washington, " We have lost 
 the Highland forts; but we have taken an Ad- 
 jutant " ; — and Humphreys had composed a 
 doggerel, beginning, — "0 Muse, inspire my 
 feeble pen, To sing a deed of merit, Performed 
 to daunt the enemy, By Major Peter Skerrett." 
 
 Poor Kerr ! when he reached New York, he 
 was all the time haunted by regrets for his lost 
 bride. " Up again, and take another ! " is the 
 only advice to be given under such circum- 
 stances. Some other flower of lower degree 
 must be a substitute for the rose. 
 
 Cap'n Baylor, late of a whaler, now the chief 
 oil man of New York, had a daughter Betty. 
 She was a dumpy little maid. Flippers were 
 her hands, fin-like were her feet. Nothing stat- 
 uesque about her; but she tinkled with coin, 
 and that tintinnabulation often opens the eyes 
 of Pygmalion. 
 
 Her the Major wooed, and glibly won. 
 
 Cap'n Baylor oiled out his son-in-law's debts. 
 Kerr resigned his Adjutancy, and took his wife 
 home. 
 
 Gout presently carried oflF the knobby old Earl 
 of Bendighi The Bucephalus colt made Brother 
 Tom acephalous, by throwing him over a wall. 
 Brother Dick succumbed to Bacchus. Harry 
 Kerr, our Kerr, became the sixth Earl of 
 Bendigh. 
 
364 EDWIN BBOTItEETOFT. 
 
 His dumpy Countess studied manners in Eng- 
 land, and acquired the delicious languor of a 
 lady's-maid. She wore, morning, noon, and 
 night, white gloves tight as thumbikins. She 
 consumed perfume by the puncheon. But she 
 was an honest, merry soul, who would stand no 
 bullying. She kept Kerr in order, and made 
 him quite a tolerably respectable fellow at last. 
 
 By and by, out of supreme gratitude to her 
 for his wedded bliss, he had the Baylor arms 
 looked up at the Herald's office. They werxj 
 found, and quartered with his own, and may 
 still be seen on the coat of the Kerrs, Bendigh 
 branch, as follows : " On a rolling sea vert, a 
 Leviathan rampant, sifflant proper. Crest, a 
 hand grasping a harpoon. Motto, Illic spibat, 
 — There she blows." 
 
XXVI. 
 
 General Vaughan came down the river from 
 Kingston, smelling of arson. Sir Henry Clinton 
 destroyed the Highland forts and retired to New 
 York. The Continental outposts forthwith re- 
 occupied Peekskill. 
 
 With them came Peter Skerrett, and there 
 were bristles on his upper lip a week or so old. 
 
 He hastened at once toward the Bilsby farm, 
 where the Brothertofts had found shelter. He 
 turned aside on the way to see the ruins of the 
 Manor-House. 
 
 It was still brilliant October. K the trees that 
 first put on crimsons and purples now were sere 
 and bare, later comers kept up the pageant. 
 Indeed, the great oaks had only just consented 
 to the change of season. It took sharp frosts to 
 scourge green summer out of them. 
 
 The woods seemed as splendid to Peter Sker- 
 rett as when he looked over them on the day 
 of his adventure here. Nothing was altered, 
 except in one forlorn spot. 
 
 There, instead of the fine old dignified Manor- 
 
366 EDWIN BEOTaEfttOii"r. 
 
 House, appeared only a dew-sodden heap of cin 
 ders and ashes, — the tragic monument of a 
 tragedy. 
 
 " It did well to perish," thought Skerrett. 
 " It had sheltered crime. Its moral atmosphere 
 was tainted. The pure had fled from it. Hap- 
 piness never could dwell there." 
 
 Peter stood leaning against a great oak-tree, 
 and studying the scene. The autumn leaves 
 around him dallied and drifted, and fell into tho 
 lap of earth. He lingered, he hesitated, and let 
 his looks dally with the vagrant leaves, as they 
 circled and floated in the quiet air, choosing the 
 spots where they would lay them down and die 
 
 Just now he was in such eager haste; and 
 now he hesitated, he lingered, he shrank from ar 
 interview he had ardently anticipated. 
 
 The fair girl he had aided to save from a mis- 
 erable fate, — her face, seen for a moment dimly 
 by starlight, ever haunted him. These heavj 
 sorrows, coming upon her young life, filled him 
 with infinite pity. As he thought of her, the 
 undeveloped true lover in him began to de- 
 velop. 
 
 And now, standing in this place where he had 
 first seen her in a moment of peril, where he 
 had felt the grateful pressure of her hand, he 
 perceived how large and vigorous his passion had 
 grown from these small beginnings. 
 
EDWIN BKOTHEETOFT. 867 
 
 He feared the meeting he had yearned for. 
 It was to assure him whether this was really love 
 he felt, or but another passing fancy like the 
 others past. 
 
 And if it were the great, deep love he hoped, — 
 if, when he saw her face, and touched her hand, 
 and heard her voice again, his soul recognized 
 hers as the one companion soul, — this filled him 
 with another dread. 
 
 For if to know himself a lover, and half foresee 
 that, after long and thorough proof of worthiness, 
 he might be beloved, were the earliest thrill of 
 an immortal joy ; so this meeting, if it named 
 him lover, and yet convinced him by sure tokens 
 that his love would never be returned, was the 
 first keen pang of a sorrow immeasurable. 
 
 No wonder that he waited, and traced the cir- 
 cuits of tlie falling leaves, and simulated to his 
 mind a hundred motives for delay. 
 
 It was so still in the warm, sunshiny afternoon 
 that he could hear the crumbling cinders fall in 
 the ruins, and all about him the ceaseless rustle 
 of the showering foliage. 
 
 But presently a noise more articulate sounded 
 on the dry carpet of the path behind him. A 
 light footstep was coming slowly toward thi> 
 desolated spot. It seemed to Skerrett that he 
 divined whose step would bring her hither to 
 read again the lesson of the ruins. 
 
868 EDWIN BROTHERTOFT. 
 
 He walked forward a little, that his sudden 
 appearance against the oak might not startle 
 the new-comer. He would not turn. It was 
 new to the brave and ardent fellow to perceive 
 timidity in his heart, and to evade an encounter 
 with any danger. 
 
 The footstep quickened, — a woman's surely. 
 In a moment he heard a sweet voice call his 
 name. 
 
 A shy and timorous call, a gentle, trembling 
 tone, — it came through the sunshine and made 
 all the air music. 
 
 Her voice ! It was the voice he had longed 
 and dreaded to hear. But now he feared no 
 more. He believed that his immortal joy was 
 begun, and these tremors of his soul, in answer 
 to the trembles of her call, could never be the 
 earliest warnings of an agony. 
 
 He saw her face again, fairer than he had 
 dreamed, in the happy sunlight. He felt again 
 the thankful pressure of her hand. He listened 
 to her earnest words of gratitude. 
 
 They spoke a little — he gravely, she tear- 
 fully — of the tragedy of her mother's life. This 
 shadow deepened the tenderness of the lover. 
 And she, perceiving this, drew closer to him, 
 giving tokens, faint but sure, as he fancied, of 
 the slow ripening happiness to grow henceforth. 
 
 Then she guided him to see his Mend, her 
 father. 
 
EDWm BROTHERTOFT. 369 
 
 The level sunbeams of evening went before 
 them in the path. They disappeared amid the 
 wood. Golden sunshine flowed after them. The 
 trees showered all the air full of golden leaves 
 of good omen. 
 
 It seems the fair beginning of a faithful love. 
 
 Will it end in doubt, sorrow, shame, and for- 
 giveness ; or in trust, joy, constancy, and peace ? 
 
 THE END.