Anderson listened attentively. Here was a division of opinion within the same family; the father intensely loyal, the daughter somewhat inclined to a.n.a.lysis. A new light was thrown upon her from this very instant which afforded him a very evident satisfaction, a very definite and conscious enjoyment as well. To have discovered this mind of apparent candor and unaffected breadth was of supreme import to him at this critical moment. And he felt a.s.sured that he had met with a character of more than ordinary self-determination which might, if tuned properly, display a capacity for prodigious possibilities, for in human nature he well knew the chord of self-interest to be ever responsive to adequate and opportune appeal.

Marjorie might unconsciously prove advantageous to him. It was essential for the maturing of his plans to obtain Catholic cooperation. She was a devout adherent and had been, insofar as he had been able to discover, an ardent Whig. True, he had but few occasions to study her, nevertheless today had furnished him with an inkling which gave her greater breadth in his eyes than he was before conscious of. The remark just made might indicate that she favored foreign rule in the interest of religious toleration, yet such a declaration was by no means decisive. Still he would labor to this end in the hope that she might ultimately see her way clear to cooperate with him in his designs.

"We are losing vast numbers through the Alliance," volunteered Anderson.

"I suppose so," admitted Mr. Allison. "Many of the colonists cannot endure the thought of begging a.s.sistance from a great Roman Catholic power. They fear, perhaps, that France will use the opportunity to inflict on us the worst form of colonialism and destroy the Protestant religion."

"But it isn't the Protestants who are deserting," persisted Anderson.

"The Catholics are not unmindful of the hostile spirit displayed by the colonists in the early days. They, too, are casting different lots."

"Not we. Every one of us is a Whig. Some have faltered, but we do not want them."

"And yet the reports from New York seem to indicate that the recruiting there is meeting with success."

"The Catholic regiment? I'll wager that it never will exist except on paper. There are no Tories, no falterers, no final deserters among the American Catholics."

"What efforts are being made in Philadelphia?" asked Marjorie.

"None--that I know of," was the grave reply. "I did hear, however, that an opportunity would be given those who are desirous of enlisting in New York."

Marjorie sat and watched him.

"I heard Father Farmer was invited to become its chaplain," observed Mr.

Allison.

"Did he?"

"He did not. He told me himself that he wrote a kind letter with a stern refusal."

And so they talked; talked into the best part of an hour, now of the city's activities, now of the Governor, now of the success of the campaign, until Anderson felt that he had long overstayed his leave.

"I am sorry to leave your company." Then to Marjorie, "At Shippen's tomorrow?"

"Yes. Will you come for me? If you won't I daresay I shall meet you there."

"Of course I shall come. Please await me."

III

That there was a state of pure sensation and of gay existence for Marjorie in the presence of this man, she knew very well; and while she felt that she did not care for him, nevertheless she was conscious of a certain subtle influence about him which she was powerless to define. It has been said that not all who know their mind know their own heart; for the heart often perceives and reasons in a manner wholly peculiar to itself. Marjorie was aware of this and the utmost effort was required of her to respond solely to the less alluring promptings of her firm will.

She would allow him to see her again that she might learn more about him and his strange origin. Stephen had suggested to her the merest suspicion concerning him. There was the possibility that the germ of this suspicion might develop,--and in her very presence. The contingency was certainly equal to the adventure.

It was not required that she pay a formal call on Peggy. Already had that been done, immediately after the announcement of the engagement, when she had come to offer congratulations to the prospective bride upon her enviable and happy fortune. The note, which again had come into her possession upon Stephen's return of it, whose contents were still unknown to her, she had restored to Peggy, together with a full explanation of its loss and its subsequent discovery. One phase of its history, however, she had purposely overlooked. It might have proved embarra.s.sing for her to relate how it chanced to fall into the hands of Stephen. And inasmuch as he had made no comment upon its return, she was satisfied that the incident was unworthy of the mention.

Anderson called promptly on the hour and found her waiting. They left the house at once and by mutual agreement walked the entire distance.

This was preferable, for there was no apparent haste to reach their destination, and for the present no greater desire throbbed within them than the company of their own selves. For they talked continually of themselves and for that reason could never weary of each other's company.

The country about them was superb. The fields stood straight in green and gold on every side of the silvery road. Beside them as they pa.s.sed, great trees reared themselves aloft from the greensward, which divided the road from the footpath, and rustled in the breeze, allowing the afternoon sunshine to reveal itself in patches and glimpses; and the air between was a sea of subdued light, resonant with the liquid notes of the robin and the whistle of the quail, intruders upon the uniform tranquillity of the hot Sunday afternoon.

"Does it not strike you that there are but few persons with whom it is possible to converse seriously?"

"Seriously?" asked Marjorie. "What do you call seriously?"

"In an intelligent manner, together with perfect ease and attention."

"I suppose that this is true on account of the great want of sincerity among men."

"That, as well as the impatient desire we possess of intruding our own thoughts upon our hearer with little or no desire of listening to those which he himself may want to express."

"We are sincere with no one but ourselves, don't you think? The mere fact of the entrance of a second person means that we must try to impress him. You have said that prosperity thrives on pretense."

"And I repeat it. But with friends all guile and dissimulation ceases.

We often praise the merits of our neighbor in the hope that he in turn will praise us. Only a few have the humility and the whole-hearted simplicity to listen well and to answer well. Sincerity to my mind is often a snare to gain the confidence of others."

There was depth to his reasoning, Marjorie thought, which was riddle-like as well. It was amazing to her how well he could talk on any given topic, naturally, easily, seriously, as the case might be. He never seemed to a.s.sume the mastery of any conversation, nor to talk with an air of authority on any subject, for he was alive to all topics and entered into them with the same apparent cleverness and animated interest.

He stopped suddenly and exerted a gentle though firm pressure on her arm, obliging her to halt her steps. Surprised, she turned and looked at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

There was no response. Instead, she looked in the direction of his gaze.

Then she saw.

A large black snake lay in graceful curves across their path several rods ahead. Its head was somewhat elevated and rigid. Before it fluttered a small chickadee in a sort of strange, though powerless fascination, its wings partly open in a trembling manner, its chirp noisy and incessant, its movement rapid and nervous, as it partly advanced, partly retreated before its enchanter. Nearer and nearer it came, with a great scurrying of the feet and wings, towards the motionless head of the serpent. Until Anderson, picking a stone from the roadside, threw a well-aimed shot which bounded over the head of the snake, causing it to turn immediately and crawl into the recesses of the deep underbrush of the adjoining field. The bird, freed from the source of its sinister charm, flew out of sight into safety.

"Thank G.o.d!" Marjorie breathed. "I was greatly frightened."

"Nothing would have saved that bird," was the reply. "It already was powerless."

Marjorie did not answer to this, but became very quiet and pensive. They walked on in silence.

Nearing the home of Peggy, they beheld General Arnold seated before them on the s.p.a.cious veranda in the company of his betrothed. Here was intrusion with a vengeance, Marjorie thought, but the beaming face and the welcoming expression soon dispelled her fears.

"Miss Shippen," Anderson said, as he advanced immediately toward her to seize her hand, "allow me to offer my tender though tardy congratulations. It was with the greatest joy that I listened to the happy announcement."

"You are most kind, Mr. Anderson, and I thank you for it," was the soft response.

"And you, General," said Marjorie. "Let me congratulate you upon your excellent choice."

"Rather upon my good fortune," the Governor replied with a generous smile.

Peggy blushed at the compliment.

"How long before we may be enabled to offer similar greetings to you?"

he asked of Mr. Anderson, who was a.s.sisting Marjorie into a chair by the side of Peggy.