"My wound is well enough for me to go now."

"'Twill be better still to-morrow."

But Peyton, deep in his own preoccupation, neither deduced aught from the drift of her remarks nor saw the tender glances which attended them. While he was making some insignificant answer, the maid, in moving the candelabrum on the spinet, accidentally brushed therefrom his hat, which had been lying on it. She picked it up, in great confusion, and asked his pardon.

"'Twas my fault in laying it there," said he, receiving it from her.

"I'm careless with my things. I make no doubt, since I've been here, I've more than once given your mistress cause to wish me elsewhere."

"La, sir," said Molly, "I don't think--_any_ one would wish you elsewhere!" Whereupon she left the room, abashed at her own audacity.

"The devil!" thought Peyton. "I should feel better if some one did wish me elsewhere."

As he continued gazing into the fire, and his task loomed more and more disagreeably before him, he suddenly bethought him that Elizabeth, in taking her evening walk, showed no disposition for a private meeting. Dwelling on that one circ.u.mstance, he thought for awhile he might have been wrong in supposing she loved him. But then the previous night's incident recurred to his mind. Nothing short of love could have induced such solicitude. But, then, as she sought no last interview, might he not be warranted in going away and leaving the disclosure to come gradually, implied by the absence of further word from him? Yet, she might be purposely avoiding the appearance of seeking an interview. The reasons calling for a prompt confession came back to him. While he was wavering between one dictate and another, in came Mr. Valentine, with a tobacco pipe.

Like an inspiration, rose the idea of consulting the octogenarian. A man who cannot make up his own mind is justified in seeking counsel.

Elizabeth could suffer no harm through Peyton's confiding in this sage old man, who was devoted to her and to her family. Mr. Valentine's very words on entering, which alluded to Peyton's pleasant visit as Elizabeth's guest, gave an opening for the subject concerned. A very few speeches led up to the matter, which Harry broached, after announcing that he took the old man for one experienced in matters of the heart, and receiving the admission that the old man _had_ enjoyed a share of the smiles of the s.e.x. But if the captain had thought, in seeking advice, to find reason for avoiding his ugly task, he was disappointed. Old Valentine, though he had for some days feared a possible state of things between the captain and Miss Sally, had observed Elizabeth, and his vast experience had enabled him to interpret symptoms to which others had been blind. "She has acted towards you," he said to Peyton, "as she never acted towards another man. She's shown you a meekness, sir, a kind of timidity." And he agreed that, if Peyton should go away without an explanation, it would make her throw aside other expectations, and would, in the end, "cut her to the heart." Valentine hinted at regrettable things that had ensued from a jilting of which himself had once been guilty, and urged on Peyton an immediate unbosoming, adding, "She'll be so took aback and so full of wrath at you, she won't mind the loss of you. She'll abominate you and get over it at once."

The idea came to Peyton of making the confession by letter, but this he promptly rejected as a coward's dodge. "It's a d.a.m.ned unpleasant duty, but that's the more reason I should face it myself."

At that moment the front door of the east hall was heard to open.

"It's Miss Elizabeth and her aunt," said Valentine, listening at the door.

"Then I'll have the thing over at once, and be gone! Mr. Valentine, a last kindness,--keep the aunt out of the room."

Before Valentine could answer, the ladies entered, their cheeks reddened by the weather. Elizabeth carried a small bunch of belated autumn flowers.

"Well, I'm glad to come in out of the cold!" burst out Miss Sally, with a retrospective shudder. "Mr. Peyton, you've a bitter night for your going." She stood before the fire and smiled sympathetically at the captain.

But Peyton was heedful of none but Elizabeth, who had laid her flowers on the spinet and was taking off her cloak. Peyton quickly, with an "Allow me, Miss Philipse," relieved her of the wrap, which in his abstraction he retained over his left arm while he continued to hold his hat in his other hand. After receiving a word of thanks, he added, "You've been gathering flowers," and stood before her in much embarra.s.sment.

"The last of the year, I think," said she. "The wind would have torn them off, if aunt Sally and I had not." And she took them up from the spinet to breath their odor.

Meanwhile Mr. Valentine had been whispering to Miss Sally at the fireplace. As a result of his communications, whatever they were, the aunt first looked doubtful, then cast a wistful glance at Peyton, and then quietly left the room, followed by the old man, who carefully closed the door after him.

While Elizabeth held the flowers to her nostrils, Peyton continued to stand looking at her, during an awkward pause. At length she replaced the nosegay on the spinet, and went to the fireplace, where she gazed at the writhing flames, and waited for him to speak.

Still laden with the cloak and hat, he desperately began:

"Miss Philipse, I--ahem--before I start on my walk to-night--"

"Your walk?" she said, in slight surprise.

"Yes,--back to our lines, above."

"But you are not going to _walk_ back," she said, in a low tone. "You are to have the horse, Cato."

Peyton stood startled. In a few moments he gulped down his feelings, and stammered:

"Oh--indeed--Miss Philipse--I cannot think of depriving you--especially after the circ.u.mstances."

She replied, with a gentle smile:

"You took the horse when I refused him to you. Now will you not have him when I offer him to you? You must, captain! I'll not have so fine a horse go begging for a master. I'll not hear of your walking. On such a night, such a distance, through such a country!"

"The devil!" thought Harry. "This makes it ten times harder!"

Elizabeth now turned to face him directly. "Does not my cloak incommode you?" she said, amusedly. "You may put it down."

"Oh, thank you, yes!" he said, feeling very red, and went to lay the cloak on the table, but in his confusion put down his own hat there, and kept the cloak over his arm. He then met her look recklessly, and blurted out:

"The truth is, Miss Philipse, now that I am soon to leave, I have something to--to say to you." His boldness here forsook him, and he paused.

"I know it," said Elizabeth, serenely, repressing all outward sign of her heart's blissful agitation.

"You do?" quoth he, astonished.

"Certainly," she answered, simply. "How could you leave without saying it?"

Peyton had a moment's puzzlement. Then, "Without saying what?" he asked.

"What you have to say," she replied, blushing, and lowering her eyes.

"But what have I to say?" he persisted.

She was silent a moment, then saw that she must help him out.

"Don't you know? You were not at all tongue-tied when you said it the evening you came here."

Peyton felt a gulf opening before him. "Good heaven," thought he, "she actually believes I am about to propose!"

Now, or never, was the time for the plunge. He drew a full breath, and braced himself to make it.

"But--ah--you see," said he, "the trouble is,--what I said then is not what I have to say now. You must understand, Miss Philipse, that I am devoted to a soldier's career. All my time, all my heart, my very life, belong to the service. Thus I am, in a manner, bound no less on my side, than you--I beg your pardon--"

"What do you mean?" She spoke quietly, yet was the picture of open-eyed astonishment.

"Cannot you see?" he faltered.

"You mean"--her tone acquired resentment as her words came--"that I, too, am bound on _my_ side,--to Mr. Colden?"

"I did not say so," he replied, abashed, cursing his heedless tongue.

He would not, for much, have reminded her of any duty on her part.

She regarded him for a moment in silence, while the clouds of indignation gathered. Then the storm broke.

"You poltroon, I _do_ see! You wish to take back your declaration, because you are afraid of Colden's vengeance!"

"Afraid? I afraid?" he echoed, mildly, surprised almost out of his voice at this unexpected inference.