“After all, Corny Littlepage,” said Anneke, turning her face towards me with an indescribable character of fun and feeling so blended in it, as fairly to puzzle me, “you must admit that your exploit in the hand-sled was sufficiently ridiculous to last a young man for some time!”
“I confess it all, Anneke, and shall have a care how I turn boy again in a strange place. I am rejoiced to find, however, that you look upon the foolish affair of the slide as more grave than that of the supper, which I was fearful might involve me in serious disgrace.”
“Neither is very serious, Mr. Littlepage, though the last might have proved awkward, had not the Mayor known the ways of the young men of the town. They say, however, that nothing so bold has ever before been attempted in that way, in Albany, great as are the liberties that are often taken with the neighbours’ hen-coops.”
And she laughed, and this time it was naturally, and without the least restraint.
“I hope you will not think it shabby in me, if I seem to wish to throw all the blame on this harum-scarum Guert Ten Eyck. He drew me into both affairs, and into the last, in a great measure, innocently and ignorantly.”
“So it is understood, and so it would be understood, the moment Guert Ten Eyck was found to be connected with the affair at all.”
“I may hope, then, to be forgiven, Anneke?” I said, holding out a hand to invite her to accept it as a pledge of pardon.
Anneke did not prudishly decline putting her own little hand in mine, though I got only the ends of two or three slender delicate fingers; and her colour increased as she bestowed this grace.
“You must ask forgiveness, Corny,” she answered,—I believe she now used this familiar name simply to show how completely she had forgotten the little spleen she had certainly felt at my untoward exhibition in the street.—“You must ask forgiveness of those who possess the right to pardon. If Corny Littlepage chooses to slide down hill, like a boy, what right has Anneke Mordaunt to say him nay?”
“Every right in the world—the right of friendship—the right of a superior mind, of superior manners—the right that my——”
“Hush!—that is Mr. Bulstrode’s footstep in the passage, and he will not understand this discussion on the subject of my manifold rights. It takes him some time, however, to throw aside his overcoats, and furs, and sword; and I will just tell you that Guert Ten Eyck is a dangerous master of ceremonies for Corny Littlepage.”
“Yet, he has sense enough, feeling enough, heart enough to admire and love Mary Wallace.”
“Has he told you this, so soon! But, I need not ask, as he tells his love to every one who will listen.”
“And to Miss Wallace herself, I trust, among the number. The man who loves, and loves truly, should not long permit its object to remain in any doubt of his feelings and intentions. It has ever appeared to me, Miss Mordaunt, as a most base and dastardly feeling in a man to wish to be certain of a woman’s returning his love, before he has the manliness to let his mistress understand his wishes. How is a sensitive female to know when she is safe in yielding her affections, without this frankness on the part of her suitor? I’ll answer for it that Guert Ten Eyck has dealt thus honestly and frankly with Mary Wallace.”
“That is a merit which cannot be denied him,” answered Anneke, in a low, thoughtful tone of voice. “Mary has heard this from his own mouth, again and again. Even my presence has been no obstacle to his declarations, for three times have I heard him beg Mary to consider him as a suitor for her hand, and entreat her not to decide on his offer until he has had a longer opportunity to win her esteem.”
“And this you will admit, Miss Mordaunt, is to his credit, is manly, and like himself?”
“It is certainly frank and honourable, Mr. Littlepage, since it enables Miss Wallace to understand the object of his attentions, and leaves nothing to doubt, or uncertainty.”
“I am glad you approve of such fair and frank proceedings;—though but a moment remains to say what I wish, it will suffice to add, that the course Guert Ten Eyck has taken towards Mary Wallace, Cornelius Littlepage would wish to pursue towards Anneke Mordaunt.”
Anneke started, turned pale; then showed cheeks that were suffused with blushes, and looked at me with timid surprise. She made no answer; though that earnest, yet timid gaze, long remained, and for that matter, still remains, vividly impressed upon my recollection. It seemed to express astonishment, startled sensibility, feminine bashfulness, and maiden coyness; but it did not appear to me that it expressed displeasure. There was no time, however, to ask for explanations, since the voices of Herman Mordaunt and Bulstrode were now heard at the very door, and, at the next instant, both entered the room.
Chapter XIV
“My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by,
With thy proudly arch’d and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye—
“Thus, thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains:
Away! who overtakes me now, shall claim thee for his pains.”
—The Arab to His Steed
Bulstrode seemed happy to meet me, complaining that I had quite forgotten the satisfaction with which all New York, agreeably to his account of the matter, had received me the past spring. Of course, I thanked him for his civility; and we soon became as good friends as formerly. In a minute or two, Mary Wallace joined us, and we all repaired to the breakfast-table, where we were soon joined by Dirck, who had been detained by some affairs of his own.
Herman Mordaunt and Bulstrode had the conversation principally to themselves for the first few minutes. Mary Wallace was habitually silent; but Anneke, without being loquacious, was sufficiently disposed to converse. This morning, however, she said little beyond what the civilities of the table required from the mistress of the house, and that little in as few words as possible. Once or twice I could not help remarking that her hand remained on the handle of a richly-chased tea-pot, after that hand had performed its office; and that her sweet, deep blue eye was fixed on vacancy, or on some object before her with a vacant regard, in the manner of one that thought intensely. Each time as she recovered from these little reveries, a slight flush appeared on her face, and she seemed anxious to conceal the involuntary abstraction. This absence of mind continued until Bulstrode, who had been talking with our host on the subject of the movements of the army, suddenly directed his discourse to me.
“I hope we owe this visit to Albany,” he said, “to an intention on your part, Mr. Littlepage, to make one among us in the next campaign. I hear of many gentlemen of the colonies who intend to accompany us in our march to Quebec.”
“That is somewhat farther than I had thought of going Mr. Bulstrode,” was my answer, “inasmuch as I have never supposed the king’s forces contemplated quite so distant a march. It is the intention of Mr. Follock and myself to get permission to attach ourselves to some regiment and to go forward as far as Ticonderoga, at least; for we do not like the idea of the French holding a post like that, so far within the limits of our own province.”
“Bravely said, sir; and I trust I shall be permitted to be of some assistance when the
