There! It was out. She had guessed aright.

"I thought as much," she said quietly.

"Then why did you ask me?"

"Listen," she began. "Do you recall the night you asked me to be of some service to you?"

"Perfectly."

"I have thought over that subject long and often. I wondered wherein that service could lie. During the night of Peggy's affair it dawned upon me that this stranger to whom I was presented, might be more artful than honest. I decided to form his acquaintance so that I might learn his ident.i.ty, together with his mission in the city. I cherished the ambition of drawing certain information from him; and this I felt could be accomplished only by an a.s.sumed intimacy with him."

Stephen stopped suddenly. His whole person was tense and magnetic as he stared at her.

"Marjorie!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean it?"

"Truly. I read his character from the first. His critical att.i.tude displeased me. But I had to pretend. I had to."

"Please! Please forgive me." He turned and seized suddenly both her hands. "I thought,--I thought,--I cannot say it. Won't you forgive me?"

Her eyes dropped. She freed her hands.

"Then I tricked you as well," she exclaimed with a laugh.

"And you mean it? I am made very happy today, happier than words can express. What loyalty! You have been helping me all the time and I never knew it. Why did you not tell me this before?"

"You never gave me leave. I wanted to talk to you so much, and you seemed to forbid me.... I prayed for an opportunity, and none came."

"I am very sorry."

"Anderson interested me only in this,--he came into our society for a very definite purpose, the nature of which I was most desirous of learning. I know now that he is not of our faith, although he pretends to be. He is not of French extraction, yet he would lead one to a.s.sume that he was. He is a British officer and actively engaged in the service of the enemy. At present the recruiting of the proposed regiment of Catholic Volunteers for service with the enemy is his immediate work. He hopes to find many displeased and disloyal members of our kind. Them he would incorporate into a company of deserters."

"You have learned that from him?"

"Aye! And more. General Arnold has been initiated into the scheme. I do not know what to think except that he has yielded to some influence. His antipathy toward us would require none, nevertheless I feel that some undue pressure has been brought to bear upon him."

"Anderson?" he asked.

"I do not know. At any rate he will bear watching. I think he is about to ask for a more important command."

Stephen then told her of his adventures, relating to her wholly and candidly the details of his suspicions, together with his plan for the future. Throughout it all she listened with attention, so much interested that she was scarce aware that they were crossing the wide road before her own home. Her eyes had been about her everywhere as they walked, yet they had failed to perceive anything.

"Won't you come in?" she asked. "You are almost a stranger here now."

"I would like to more than I can tell you; but truly I have business before me which is pressing. Pardon me just once more, please."

"Mother would be pleased to see you, you know," she insisted.

"I should like, indeed, to see your mother. I shall stop to see her, just to inquire for her."

"Will you come when this terrible business is completed?"

"Gladly. Let us say,--next week. Perhaps you might be pleased to come canoeing with me for the s.p.a.ce of an afternoon?"

"I should be delighted. Next week?"

"Yes. Next week. I shall let you know."

"Here is mother, now."

He went in and shook her hand, inquiring diligently concerning her.

IV

As Stephen walked away from the home of his beloved, ruminating over the strange disclosures of the day and how satisfactory and gratifying they were to him, his state of mind was such that he was eager for the completion of the more serious business that was impending so that he might return to her who had flooded his soul with new and sudden delight. Never was he more buoyant or cheerful. He was cheerful, notwithstanding his remorse.

For he did chide himself over his absurd stupidity. He should have known her better than to have entertained, for even a pa.s.sing moment, a thought of her inconstancy, and that he should have so misjudged her,--her whom he himself would have selected from among his host of acquaintances as the one best fitted for the office a.s.sumed,--disturbed him not a little. His own unworthiness filled him with shame. Why did he question her?

And yet he would have given his own life to make her happy, he who was quietly allowing her to vanish out of it. He tried to explain his fallacy. First of all, the trend of circ.u.mstances was decidedly against him. There was his arrest and subsequent trial, days when he had longed to be at her side to pursue the advantages already gained. Then there were the days of his absence from town, the long solid weeks spent in trailing Anderson, and in meeting those who had been approached by him in the matter of the recruiting. It was well nigh impossible, during this time, to seize a moment for pleasure, precious moments during which Anderson, as he thought, had been making favorable progress both with his suit and with his sinister work. If Marjorie had forgotten him quite, Stephen knew that he alone was responsible. Him she had seen but seldom; Anderson was ever at her side. No girl should be put to this test. It was too exacting.

Despite his appreciation of these facts, his soul had been seized with a very great anguish over the thought of his lost prize; and if he had failed to conceal his feelings in her presence, it was due to the fact that his sensitive nature was not equal to the strain imposed upon it.

Who can imagine the great joy that now filled his heart to overflowing as a result of his conversation today, when he learned from her own lips that throughout it all she had been steadfast and true to him alone? His great regard for her was increased immeasurably. Her character had been put to the test, and she had emerged more beautiful, more radiant, more steadfast than before.

This new a.n.a.lysis led him to a very clear decision. First of all he would defeat the cunning Anderson at his own game; then he would rescue his countrymen from their unfortunate and precarious condition; and, finally, he would return to Marjorie to claim his reward. Altogether he had spent an advantageous and a delightful afternoon. He was ready to enter the meeting house with renewed energy.

CHAPTER VII

I

The hall was very ordinary within. Small in proportion to its great high ceiling, bleak in its white-washed walls and scantily covered floor, oppressive from its damp, stifling air and poor ventilation, it gave every indication of the state of disuse into which it had fallen. It was no more than an anteroom to the vestry of the church, though quite detached from it, yet one could almost feel through the stout south wall the impenetrable weight of darkness which had settled down within the great building beyond. The gloomy shadows had penetrated here, too, for although the antechamber contained a half dozen windows, they were shuttered and barred against every hue of twilight from the outside. The very atmosphere was indicative of the sinister nature of the business at hand.

To the front of the room a small platform stood surmounted by a table, surrounded by chairs. Several men occupied these, interested in a conversation, somewhat subdued in its tone and manner. The chairs, settees, and benches throughout the rest of the room, were being filled by the so-called volunteers, who entered and took their places with an air of wonder and indecision. Already two-thirds of the seats were taken, and every face turned and re-turned to the door at every footfall.

The small door to the side was, of course, barred; but, in response to the slightest knock, it was opened by an attendant, a.s.signed for that purpose. Names were asked and the cards of admission were collected with a certain formality before the aspirant gained admittance. There was no introduction, no hurry, no excitement.

"What's your name?" the man at the door was heard to say to one who already had tapped for admittance.

"Cadwalader," was the reply. "James Cadwalader."

"Got your card?"

There was no response, only the production of a small white card.

A strong, athletic individual, clad in a checked shirt and a red flannel jacket, a leathern ap.r.o.n, and a pair of yellow buckskin breeches, entered and stood for a moment looking about the hall. His eyes fell upon the group gathered around the table at the forward end of the room.

Two of them he recognized, Colonel Clifton and John Anderson, the latter with his back to the audience. There were many familiar faces in the chairs throughout the room, some of whom had expected him, and accordingly gave him a slight recognition. Slowly, and in a manifestly indifferent manner, he made his way to the front of the chairs where he seated himself, and listened sharply to the little group conversing upon the platform until he had satisfied himself that there was nothing of importance under discussion.