“When,” continues Jack, “I found Delaney had gone away, I was in a quandary. I by no means desired to go alone to see Captain Wynne. At last I made up my mind to ask Hugh. If there came a quarrel it should be mine. I resolved there should be no fight if I could help it, and that there might be trouble if Hugh were first to see his cousin I felt sure. The small sword was out of the question, but the pistol was not. I intended no such ending, and believed I had the matter well in my own hands. When I found Hugh at the quarters I told him quietly the whole story.
“That he was in a mad rage at his aunt I saw. I hate to see Hugh smile in a certain way he has, with his lips set close. He said nothing save that he would go with me, and that I was altogether in the right. He was reluctant to promise he would leave me to speak alone, but at last I did get him to say so.
“Mr. Arthur Wynne was alone in his room at the inn, and would see us. He was writing, and turned from his table, rising as we entered. He looked red and angry, in a soiled dressing-gown, and I thought had been drinking. He did not ask us to be seated, and we remained standing until our unpleasant talk came to a close.
“He said at once, ‘My good cousin, I presume I owe to you the note I have had from Miss Peniston to-day.’
“‘You do not,’ said Hugh, not looking at all displeased.
“‘Indeed? I had hoped you had come to offer me the only satisfaction in life your slanders have left me. My health is no longer such as to forbid the use of a pistol.’
“‘Pardon me,’ said I, ‘this is my affair, and not Mr. Wynne’s. I have had the honour of late to hear Mr. Delaney relate what passed in the jail.’
“‘Have you, indeed? An old story,’ said Arthur Wynne.
“‘None the less a nasty one. I had also the pleasure to tell Miss Peniston that you suggested to the traitor Arnold to use my friend’s known loyalty as a safe means of getting to Sir Henry Clinton a letter which was presumably a despatch as to exchange of prisoners, but was really intended to convey to Sir Henry the news that the scoundrel Arnold was willing to sell his soul and betray his country.’
“‘Who told you this nonsense?’ said the captain, coming toward us.
“‘Major Andre,’ said I. ‘You may have my friend’s word for that.’
“‘It is a lie!’ he cried.
“‘Men about to die do not lie, Mr. Wynne. It is true.’
“The man’s face changed, and he got that slack look about the jaw I have heard Hugh describe. To my astonishment he did not further insist on his denial, but said coldly, ‘And what then?’
“‘Nothing,’ said I. ‘Having told what I knew to a woman, I had no mind to have you say I had slandered you behind your back. That is all.’
“‘Is it, indeed? And which of you will give me the honour of your company to-morrow?’
“‘Neither,’ said I. ‘We do not meet men like you.’
“His face flushed. ‘Coward!’ he said.
“‘If I am that,’ said I, pretty cool, and shaking a little after my silly way, ‘you know best, and will remember, I fancy, for many a day. Good-morning, sir.’
“On this he cried out, ‘By——! this shall not pass! I—I will post you in every inn in town, and my cousin too. No man shall dare—”
“‘Stop a little,’ said Hugh. ‘If it comes to that I shall know what to do, and well enough. I have no desire to put my own blood to open shame, but if this matter goes further, I shall publish Mr. Delaney’s statement, and that, sir, will close to you every gentleman’s house here and in London too.’
“‘And shall you like it better to have it known that you were General Arnold’s agent?’
“I saw Hugh’s face lose its quiet look, and again he smiled. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I should tell my own story and Mr. Andre’s to his Excellency, and then, my good cousin, I should kill you like a mad dog, and with no ceremony of a duel. You warned me once when I was a mere boy. It is my turn now. As there is a God in heaven, I will do as I have said.’
“‘Two can play at that game,’ said Arthur. Hugh made no reply.
“And on this we left the man standing, and went forth without another word.
“‘I think his fangs are drawn,’ said Hugh. And indeed that was my opinion. I made up my mind, however, that at the least unpleasant rumour of any kind, I would take such a hand in the matter as would save Hugh from having to go to extremities.”
With the date of a week or so later I find added: “The man thought better of it, I dare say, when the drink wore off; how much of his folly was due to that I cannot tell. It was plain that my dear Darthea had let him go at last. Was it because her sweet pity distressed her to wound a man once dear that she was held so long in this bondage? or was it that absence, said to be the enemy of love, was, in a woman of her sense of honour, a reason why she should not break her word until she had a more full assurance of being right?
“I think he slowly lost his place in the heart won when Darthea was younger, and perhaps carried away by vain notions, which lost value as time went on. Such men have for the best of women a charm we cannot understand.”
I have left Jack to tell a part of my life which I am glad to leave to another than I. I heard no more of my cousin except that he had made up his mind to go home under his parole. This did not fill me with grief. I had the sense to know that for many a day Darthea were better left alone.
My Aunt Gainor had recovered from the remorse which, as usual with her, followed upon some futile attempt to improve the machinery of other folks’ fates. In fact, although Darthea closed her doors upon Mistress Wynne and would on no account see her, my aunt was already beginning to be pleased with the abominable trap she had set, and was good enough to tell me as much.
For three days after Jack had informed me as to the drama my aunt had planned I stayed away from her, being myself in no very happy state of mind, and unwilling to trust myself. When at last, of a Saturday afternoon, I came in on Mistress Wynne, she got up from her accounts, which she kept with care, saying at once: “It is a week since you were here, sir, and of course I know why. That long-tongued girl-boy has been prating, and your lordship is pleased to be angry, and Darthea is worse, and will not see me because I had the courage to do what you were afraid to do.”
“Upon my word, Aunt Gainor,” said I, “you are a little too bad. I was here four days ago, and have I said an impatient word? If I was angry I have had no chance to say so.” Nor had I.
“Then if you are not angry you ought to be.” She seemed to me bigger than ever, and to have more nose than usual. “You ought to be. I made a fool of myself, and all for you; and because I have burned my fingers in pulling your goose out of the fire, you must get into a passion. You have no need to smile, sir. I suppose it were finer to say chestnuts, but a goose she is, and always will be, and I love her like a child. Your soft-hearted Excellency was to see me last week, and saying that he had no children, I, that have no right to any, said I was as ill off, and we looked at each other and said nothing for a little, because God had given to neither the completeness of life. Is he stern, sir! I don’t think it. We talked of General Arnold, and of poor Peggy his wife, and as to all this he was willing enough, and frank too. Despite Dr. Bush and Mr. Adams, he can talk well when he has a mind to. But when I said a word of poor Andre”, I had better have kept my tongue quiet, for he said quickly: ‘Mistress Wynne, that is a matter I will never hear of willingly. I ask your pardon, madam.’ I could do no more than excuse my want of thought, and we fell to discussing tobacco-growing.”
“But what more of Darthea?” said I, for all the generals in the world were to me as nothing compared with one little woman.
“Oh, there is no more, except that I am unhappy. I will never again be kind to anybody. I am only a miserable, useless old maid.” And here she began to cry, and to wet a fine lace handkerchief.
Just now comes in saucy Miss Margaret Chew,—we call her Peggy,—and is rather flustered by my aunt in tears. “O Mistress Wynne,” she says, “I beg pardon. I—”
“What for?” says my aunt. “My Manx cat has eaten the raspberry jam. That is all.” Whereon we laugh, and the little lady, being pretty-spoken, says she wishes she was Mistress Wynne’s cat, and while my aunt dries her eyes goes on to say, “Here is a note for you to dine with us and Mr. Washington, and I was bid write it, and so I did on the back of the queen of hearts for a compliment, madam,” and with this she drops a curtsey.
My aunt, liking beauty and wit combined, kissed her, and said she would come.
This diversion cleared the sky, which much needed clearing, and Miss Chew being gone away, my aunt detained me who would willingly have followed her.
After that I comforted her a little as to Darthea, and said she could no more keep up being angry than a June sky could keep cloudy, and that, after all, it was just as well Darthea knew the worst of the man. I related, too, what Jack had told, and said that now my cousin would, I thought, go away, and we—thank Heaven!—be quit of him forever.
“And yet I must see him once,” she said, “and you too. I have put that deed in the hands of James Wilson, and he has taken counsel of our friend Mr. Attorney-General Chew.”
“I suppose you are right, Aunt Gainor,” said I. “The man is bad past belief, but he has lost Darthea, which is as much punishment as I or any could desire. I think with you this estate business should some way be settled, and if it is to be his, I have no mind to leave the thing in doubt, and if it be mine or my father’s, I for one do not want it. I have enough, and no wish to muddle away my life as a Welsh squire.”
“We shall see,” said my aunt, not at all of my opinion, as I readily perceived. “We shall see. He shall have justice at our hands, and James Wilson will be here at four to-morrow, and you too, Hugh, whether you like it or not.”
I did not, and I said so. She had written my cousin that she desired to see him concerning the deed. Whether from interest, or what, I know not, he had replied that he would be with her at half-past four.
Thus it happened that I was to see Arthur Wynne once more, and indeed I felt that my aunt was right, and that it were as well all our accounts but closed they should be; as to that I was fully advised in my own mind.
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