University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

The sudden appearance of the city constable, a functionary
whose person was not unknown to most of the
company, brought every man at table to his feet, the Rev.
Mr. Worden, Dirck and myself, included. For my own
part, I saw no particular reason for alarm, though it at
once struck me that this visit might have some connection
with the demolished supper, since the law does not, in all
cases, suffer a man to reclaim even his own, by trick or
violence. As for the constable himself, a short, compact,
snub-nosed, Dutch-built person, who spoke English as if it
disagreed with his bile, he was the coolest of the whole
party.

“Vell, Mr. Guert,” he said, with a sort of good-natured
growl of authority, “here I moost coome ag'in! Mr. Mayor
woult be happy to see you, and ter Tominie, dat ist of your
party; and ter gentleman dat acted as clerk, ven he lectured
old Doortje, Mr. Mayor's cook.”

Mr. Mayor's cook! Here, then, a secret was out, with a
vengeance! Guert had not reclaimed his own lost supper,
which, having passed into the hands of the Philistines, was
hopelessly gone; but he had actually stolen and eaten the
supper prepared for the Mayor of Albany,—Peter Cuyler,
a man of note, and standing, in all respects; a functionary
who had held his office from time immemorial;—the lamp
was the symbol of authority, and not the sign of an inn, or
an eating-house;—the supper, moreover, was never prepared
for one man, or one family, but had certainly been got up
for the honourable treatment of a goodly company;— fifteen
stout men had mainly appeased their appetites on it;
and the fragments were that moment under discussion
among half-a-dozen large-mouthed, shining negro faces, in
the kitchen! Under circumstances like these, I looked inquiringly

at the Rev. Mr. Worden—and the Rev. Mr. Worden
looked inquiringly at me. There was no apparent
remedy, however; but, after a brief consultation with Guert,
we, the summoned parties, took our hats and followed Dogberry
to the residence of Mr. Mayor.

“You are not to be uneasy, gentlemen, at this little interruption
of our amusements,” said Guert, dropping in between
Mr. Worden and myself, as we proceeded on our
way, “these things happening very often among us. You
are innocent, you know, under all circumstances, since you
supposed that the supper was our own—brought back by
direct means, instead of having recourse to the shabby delays
of the law.”

“And whose supper may this have been, sir, that we
have just eaten?” demanded Mr. Worden.

“Why, there can be no harm, now, in telling you the
trut', Dominie; and I will own, therefore, it belonged in law
to Mr. Mayor Cuyler. There is no great danger, however,
as you will see, when I come to explain matters. You
must know that the Mayor's wife was a Schuyler, and my
mother has some of that blood in her veins, and we count
cousins as far as we can see, in Albany. It is just supping
with one's relations, a little out of the common way, as you
will perceive, gentlemen.”

“Have you dealt fairly with Mr. Littlepage and myself,
sir, in this affair?” Mr. Worden asked, a little sternly. “I
might, with great propriety, lecture to a cook, on the eighth
commandment, when that cook was a party to robbing you
of your supper; but how shall I answer to His Honour, Mr.
Mayor, on the charge which will now be brought against
me? It is not for myself, Mr. Guert, that I feel so much
concern, as for the credit and reputation of my sacred office,
and that, too, among your disciples of the schools of
Leyden!”

“Leave it all to me, my dear Dominie—leave it all to
me,” answered Guert, well disposed to sacrifice himself,
rather than permit a friend to suffer. “I am used to these
little matters, and will take care of you.”

“I vill answer for t'at,” put in the constable, looking over
his shoulder. “No young fly-away in Allponny hast more
knowletge in t'ese matters t'an Mr. Guert, here. If any

potty can draw his heat out of the yoke, Mr. Guert can.
Yaas — yaas — he know all apout t'ese little matters, sure
enough.”

This was encouraging, of a certainty! Our associate
was so well known for his tricks and frolics, that even the
constable who took him calculated largely on his address in
getting out of scrapes! I did not apprehend that any of us
were about to be tried and convicted of a downright robbery;
for I knew how far the Dutch carried their jokes of this
nature, and how tolerant the seniors were to their juniors;
and especially how much all men are disposed to regard any
exploit of the sort of that in which we had been engaged,
when it has been managed adroitly, and in a way to excite
a laugh. Still, it was no joke to rob a Mayor of his supper,
these functionaries usually passing to their offices through
the probationary grade of Alderman.[1] Guert was not free
from uneasiness, as was apparent by a question he put to the
officer, on the steps of Mr. Cuyler's house, and under the
very light of the official lamp.

“How is the old gentleman, this evening, Hans?” the
principal asked, with some little concern in his manner. “I
hope he and his company have supped?”

“Vell, t'at is more t'an I can telt you, Mr. Guert. He
look't more as like himself, when he hat the horse t'ieves
from New Englant taken up, t'an he hast for many a tay.
'Twas most too pat, Mr. Guert, to run away wit' the Mayor's
own supper! I coult have tolt you who hast your own tucks
and venison.”

“I wish you had, Hans, with all my heart; but we were
hard pushed, and had a strange Dominie to feed. You know
a body must provide well for company.”

“Yaas, yaas; I understants it, and knows how you moost
have peen nonplush't to do sich a t'ing; put it was mo-o-st
too pat. Vell, we are all young, afore we live to be olt—
t'at effery potty knows.”

By this time the door was open, and we entered. Mr.
Mayor had issued orders we should all be shown into the
parlour, where I rather think, from what subsequently passed,
he intended to cut up Guert a little more than common, by
exposing him before the eyes of a particular person. At all
events, the reader can judge of my horror, at finding that
the party whose supper I had just helped to demolish, consisted,
in addition to three or four sons and daughters of the
house, of Herman Mordaunt, Mary Wallace, and Anneke!
Of course, everybody knew what had been done; but, until
we entered the room, Mr. Mayor alone knew who had done
it. Of Mr. Worden and myself even, he knew no more
than he had learned from Dootje's account of the matter;
and the cook, quite naturally, had represented us as rogues
feigning our divinity.

Guert was a thoroughly manly fellow, and he did us the
justice to enter the parlour first. Poor fellow! I can feel
for him, even at this distance of time, when his eye first fell
on Mary Wallace's pallid and distressed countenance. It
could scarcely be less than I felt myself, when I first beheld
Anneke's flushed features, and the look of offended propriety
that I fancied to be sparkling in her estranged eye.

Mr. Mayor evidently regarded Mr. Worden with surprise,
as indeed he did me; for, instead of strangers, he probably
expected to meet two of those delinquents whose faces were
familiar to him, by divers similar jocular depredations, committed
within the limits of his jurisdiction. Then the circumstance
that Mr. Worden was a real Dominie, could not
be questioned by those who saw him standing, as he did,
face to face, with all the usual signs of his sacred office in
his dress and air.”

“I believe there must be some mistake here, constable!”
exclaimed Mr. Mayor. “Why have you brought these two
strange gentlemen along with Guert Ten Eyck?”

“My orters, Mr. Mayor, wast to pring Dootje's `rapscallion
Tominie,' and his `rapscallion frient;' and t'at is one, and
t'is ist t'ot'er.”

“This gentleman has the appearance of being a real
clergyman, and that too, of the church of England.”

“Yaas, Mr. Mayor, t'at is yoost so. He wilt preach
fifteen minutes wit'out stopping, if you wilt give him a plack
gownt; and pray an hour in a white shirt.”[2]

“Will you do me the favour, Guert Ten Eyck, to let me
have the names of the strangers I have the pleasure to receive,”
said the mayor, a little authoritatively.

“Certainly, Mr. Mayor; certainly, and with very great
pleasure. I should have done this at once, had we been
ushered into your house by any one but the city constable.
Whenever I accompany that gentleman anywhere, I always
wait to ascertain my welcome.”

Guert laughed with some heart at this allusion to his own
known delinquencies, while Mr. Cuyler only smiled. I
could see, notwithstanding the severe measures to which he
had resorted in this particular case, that the last was not
unfriendly to the first, and that our friend Guert had not
fallen literally among robbers, in being brought to the place
where we were.

“This reverend dominie,” continued Guert, as soon as
he had had his laugh, and had ventured to cast a short, inquiring
glance at Mary Wallace, “is a gentleman from
England, Mr. Mayor, who is to preach in St. Peter's the
day after to-morrow, by special invitation from the chaplain;
when, I make no doubt, we shall all be much edified; Miss
Mary Wallace among the rest, if she will do him the honour
to attend the service—good, and angelic, and forgiving, as
I know she is by nature.”

This speech caused all eyes to turn on the young lady,
whose face crimsoned, though she made no reply. I now
felt satisfied that Guert's manly, frank, avowed, and sincere
admiration had touched the heart of Mary Wallace, while

her reason condemned that which her natural tenderness
encouraged; and the struggle in her mind was then, and
long after, a subject of curious study with me. As for
Anneke, I thought she resented this somewhat indiscreet, not
to say indelicate though indirect avowal of his feelings towards
his mistress; and that she looked on Guert with even
more coldness than she had previously done. Neither of
the ladies, however, said anything. During this dumb-show,
Mr. Cuyler had leisure to recover from the surprise of discovering
that one of his prisoners was really a clergyman,
and to inquire who the other might be.

“That gentleman, then, is in fact a clergyman!” he
answered. “You have forgotten to name the other, Guert.”

“This is Mr. Corny Littlepage, Mr. Mayor—the only
son of Major Littlepage, of Satanstoe, Westchester.”

The Mayor looked a little puzzled, and I believe felt somewhat
embarrassed as to the manner in which he ought to
proceed. The incursion of Guert upon his premises much
exceeded in boldness, anything of the kind that had ever
before occurred in Albany. It was common enough for
young men of his stamp to carry off poultry, pigs, &c.,
and feast on the spoils; and cases had occurred, as I afterwards
learned, in which rival parties of these depredators
preyed on each other — the same materials for a supper
having been known to change hands two or three times
before they were consumed—but no one had ever presumed,
previously to this evening, to make an inroad even on Mr.
Mayor's hencoop, much less to molest the domains of his
cook. In the first impulse of his anger, Mr. Cuyler had
sent for the constable; and Guert's club, with its place of
meeting being well known, that functionary having had
many occasions to visit it, the latter proceeded thither forthwith.
It is probable, however, a little reflection satisfied the
mayor that a frolic could not well be treated as a larceny; and
that Guert had some of his own wife's blood in his veins.
When he came to find that two respectable strangers were
implicated in the affair, one of whom was actually a clergyman,
this charitable feeling was strengthened, and he changed
his course of proceeding.

“You can return home, Hans,” said Mr. Mayor, very
sensibly mollified in his manner. “Should there be occasion

for your further services, I will send for you. Now,
gentlemen,” as soon as the door closed on the constable, “I
will satisfy you that old Peter Cuyler can cover a table, and
feed his friends, even though Guert Ten Eyck be so near a
neighbour. Miss Wallace, will you allow me the honour to
lead you to the table? Mr. Worden will see Mrs. Cuyler,
in safety, to the same place.”

On this hint, the missionary stepped forward with alacrity,
and led Mrs. Mayoress after Mary Wallace, with the
utmost courtesy. Guert did the same to one of the young
ladies of the house; Anneke was led in by one of the young
men; and I took the remaining young lady, who, I presumed,
was also one of the family. It was very apparent
we were respited; and all of us thought it wisest to appear
as much at our ease as possible, in order not to balk the
humour of the principal magistrate of the ancient town of
Albany.

To do Mr. Mayor justice, the lost time had been so well
improved by Doortje, that, on looking around the table, I
thought the supper to which we were thus strangely invited,
was, of the two, the best I had seen that evening. Luckily,
game was plenty; and, by means of quails, partridges,
oysters, venison patties, and other dishes of that sort, the
cook had managed to send up quite as good a supper, at ten
o'clock, as she had previously prepared for nine.

I will not pretend that I felt quite at my ease, as I took
my seat at the table, for the second time that night. All the
younger members of the party looked exceedingly grave, as
if they could very well dispense with our company; the old
people alone appearing to enter into the scene with any
spirit. Anneke did not even look at me, after the first
astounded look given on my entrance; nor did Mary Wallace
once cast her eyes towards Guert, when we reached
the supper-room. Mr. Mayor, notwithstanding, had determined
to laugh off the affair; and he and Mr. Worden soon
became excellent friends, and began to converse freely and
naturally.

“Come, cousin Guert,” cried Mr. Mayor, after two or
three glasses of Madeira had still further warmed his heart,
“fill, and pledge me—unless you prefer to give a lady. If

the last, everybody will drink to her, with hearty good-will.
You eat nothing, and must drink the more.”

“Ah! Mr. Mayor, I have toasted one lady, to-night, and
cannot toast another.”

“Not present company excepted, my boy?”

“No, sir, not even with that license. I pledge you, with
all my heart, and thank you, with all my heart, for this generous
treatment, after my own foolish frolic;—but, you know
how it is, Mr. Mayor, with us Albany youths, when our
pride is up, and a supper must be had—”

“Not I, Guert; I know nothing about it; but should very
well like to learn. How came you, in the first place, to
take such a fancy to my cook's supper? Did you imagine
it better than Van Brunt's cook could give you?”

“The supper of Arent Van Brunt's cook has disappeared
—gone on the hill, I fancy, among the red-coats; and, to
own the truth, Mr. Mayor, it was yours, or nothing. I had
invited these gentlemen to pass the evening with us. One
of our blacks happened to mention what was going on here,
and hospitality led us all astray. It was nothing more, I do
assure you, Mr. Mayor.”

“And so your hospitable feelings made your guests work
for their supper, by sending them to preach to old Doortje,
while you were dishing up my ducks and game?”

“Your pardon, Mr. Mayor; Doortje had dished-up, before
she went to lecture. Your cook is too well trained to neglect
her duty, even to hear a sermon by the Rev. Mr. Worden!
But, these gentlemen were quite as much deceived as
the old woman; for, they supposed we were after our own
lost goods, and did not know that you dwelt here; and were
as much my dupes as old Doortje herself. Truth obliges me
to own this much, in their justification.”

There was a general clearing up of countenances, at
this frank avowal; and I saw that Anneke, herself, turned
her looks inquiringly upon the speaker, and suffered a smile
to relieve the extreme gravity of her sweet countenance.
From that moment, a very sensible change came over the
feelings and deportment of the younger part of the company,
and the conversation became easier and more natural. It
was certainly much in our favour to have it known, we had
not officiously and boyishly joined in a gratuitous attempt

to rob and insult this particular and unoffending family, but
that Mr. Worden and I supposed we were simply aiding in
getting back those things which properly belonged to our
hosts, and getting them back, too, in a manner of which the
party we supposed we were acting against, would certainly
have no right to complain, inasmuch as they had set the
example. Guert was encouraged to go on further with his
explanations; which he did, in his own honest, candid
manner, exculpating us, in effect, from everything but being
a little too much disposed to waggery, for a minister of the
church, and his pupil, who had just commenced his travels.

Anneke's face brightened up, more and more, as the explanations
proceeded; and, soon after they were ended, she
turned to me in a very gracious manner, and inquired after
my mother. As I sat directly opposite to her, and the table
was narrow, we could converse without attracting much attention
to ourselves; Mr. Mayor and his other guests keeping
up a round of reasonably noisy jokes, on the events of
the evening, nearer the foot of the table.

“You find some customs in Albany, Mr. Littlepage, that
are not known to us, in New York,” Anneke observed,
after a few preliminary remarks had opened the way to further
communication.

“I scarce know, Miss Anneke, whether you allude to
what has occurred this evening, or to what occurred this
afternoon?”

“To both, I believe,” answered Anneke, smiling, though
she coloured, as I thought, with a species of feminine vexation;
“for, certainly, one is no more a custom with us than
the other.”

“I have been most unfortunate, Miss Mordaunt, in the
exhibitions I have made of myself in the course of the few
hours I have passed in this, to me, strange place. I am
afraid you regard me as little more than an overgrown boy,
who has been permitted by his parents to leave home sooner
than he ought.”

“This is your construction, and not mine, Mr. Littlepage.
I suppose you know—but, we will talk of this in the
other room, or at some other time.”

I took the hint, and said no more on the subject while at
table. Mr. Mayor, I suppose in consideration of our having

gone through the exactions of one feast already that evening,
permited us to leave the supper-room much earlier than
common, and the hour being late, the whole party broke up
immediately afterwards. Before we separated, however,
Herman Mordaunt approached me, in a friendly, free way,
and invited me to come to his house at eight next morning
to breakfast, requesting the pleasure of Dirck's company at
the same time; the invitation to the latter going through
me. It is scarcely necessary to say how gladly I accepted,
and how much I was relieved by this termination of an adventure
that, at one moment, menaced me with deep disgrace.
Had Mr. Mayor seen fit to pursue the affair of the
abstraction of his first supper in a serious vein, although
the legal consequences could not probably have amounted
to anything very grave, they might prove very ridiculous;
and I have no doubt they would have brought about a very
abrupt termination of my visit to the north. As it was, my
mind was vastly relieved, as I believe was the case also
with that of the Rev. Mr. Worden.

“Corny,” said that gentleman, after we had wished Guert
good-night, and were well on our way to the inn again,
“this second supper has helped surprisingly to digest the
first. I doubt if our new acquaintance, here, will be likely
to turn out very profitable to us.”

“Yet, sir, you appeared to take to him exceedingly, and
I had thought you excellent friends.”

“I like the fellow well enough too; for he is hearty, and
frank, and good-natured; but there was some little policy in
keeping on good terms with him. I 'm afraid, Corny, I did
not altogether consult the dignity of my holy office, this
morning, on the ice! It is exceedingly unbecoming in a
clergyman, to be seen running in a public place like a school-boy,
or a youngster contending in a match. I thought,
moreover, I overheard one of those young Dutchmen call
me the `Loping Dominie;' and so, taking altogether, it
struck me it would be wisest to keep on good terms with this
Guert Ten Eyck.”

“I see your policy, sir, and it does not become me to deny
it. As for myself, I confess I like Guert surprisingly, and
shall not give him up easily; though he has already got me
into two serious scrapes in the short time we have been acquainted.

He is a hearty, good-natured, thoughtless young
fellow; who, Dutchman-like, when he does make an attempt
to enjoy life, does it with all his heart.”

I then related the affair of the hand-sled to Mr. Worden,
who gave me some of that sort of consolation, of which a
man receives a great deal, as he elbows his way through
this busy, selfish world.

“Well, Corny,” said my old master, “I am not certain
you did not look more like a fool, as you rolled over from
that sled, than I looked while `loping' from our friends in
the sleigh!”

We both laughed as we entered the tavern; I, to conceal
the vexation I really felt, and Mr. Worden, as I presume,
because he was flattered with the belief that I must have
appeared quite as ridiculous as himself.

Next morning I proceeded to Herman Mordaunt's residence
at the earliest hour the rules of society would allow.
I found the family established in one of those Dutch edifices,
of which Albany was mainly composed, and which stood a
little removed from the street—having a tiny yard in front,
with the stoop in the gable, and that gable towards the yard.
The battlement-walls of this house diminished towards the
high apex of a very steep roof by steps, as we are all so
much accustomed to see, and the whole was surmounted by
an iron weathercock, that was perched on a rod of some
elevation. It was always a matter of importance with the
Dutch to know which way the wind blew; nor did it comport
with their habits of minute accuracy, to trust to the
usual indications of the feeling on the skin, the bending of
branches, the flying of clouds, or the driving of smoke; but
they must and would have the certainty of a machine, that
was constructed expressly to let them know the fact. Smoke
might err, but a weathercock would not!

No one was in the little parlour into which I was shown
by the servant who admitted me to the house, and in whom
I recognised Herman Mordaunt's principal male attendant,
of the household in New York. How pleasantly did that
little room appear to me, in the minute or two that I was
left in it alone. There lay the very shawl that Anneke had
on, the day I met her in the Pinkster Field; and a pair of
gloves that it seemed to me no other hands but hers were

small enough to wear, had been thrown on the shawl, carelessly,
as one casts aside a thing of that sort, in a hurry.
A dozen other articles were put here and there, that denoted
the habits and presence of females of refinement. But the
gloves most attracted my attention, and I must needs rise
and examine them. It is true, these gloves might belong to
Mary Wallace, for she, too, had a pretty little hand, but I
fancied they belonged to Anneke. Under this impression,
I raised them to my lips, and was actually pressing them
there, with a good deal of romantic feeling, when a light
footstep in the room told me I was not alone. Dropping the
gloves, I turned and beheld Anneke herself. She was regarding
me with an expression of countenance I did not then
know how to interpret, and which I now hardly know how
to describe. In the first place, her charming countenance
was suffused with blushes, while her eyes were filled with an
expression of softened interest, that caused my heart to beat
so violently, that I did not know but it would escape by the
channel of the throat. How near I was to declaring all I
felt, at that moment; of throwing myself at the feet of the
dear, dear creature, and of avowing how much and engrossingly
she had filled both my waking and sleeping thoughts
during the last year, and of beseeching her to bless the remainder
of my days, by becoming my wife! Nothing prevented
this sally, but the remark which Anneke made,
the instant she had gracefully curtsied, in return to my
confused and awkward bow, and which happened to be this:

“What do you find so much to admire in Miss Wallace's
gloves?” asked the wilful girl, biting her lip, as I fancied,
to suppress a smile, though her cheeks were still suffused,
and her eyes continued to give forth that indescribable expression
of bewitching softness. “It is a pair my father
presented to her, and she wore them last evening in compliment
to him.”

“I beg pardon, Miss Mordaunt—Miss Anneke—that is—
I beg pardon. Is there not a very delightful odour about
those gloves—that is, I was thinking so, and was endeavouring
to ascertain what it might be by the scent.”

“It must be the lavender with which we young ladies are
so coquettish as to sprinkle our gloves and handkerchiefs—
or it may be musk. Mary is rather fond of musk, though

I prefer lavender. But what an evening we had, Mr. Littlepage!
and what an introduction you have had to Albany!
and most of all, what a master of ceremonies!”

“Do you then dislike Guert Ten Eyck as an acquaintance,
Miss Anneke?”

“Far from it. It is quite impossible to dislike Guert;
he is so manly; so ready to admit his own weaknesses; so
sincere in all he does and says; so good natured; and, in
short, so much that, were one his sister, she might wish him
to be, and yet so much that a sister must regret.”

“I thought last evening that all the ladies felt an interest
in him, notwithstanding the numberless wild and ill-judged
things he does. Is he not a favourite with Miss Wallace?”

The quick, sensitive glance that Anneke gave me, said
plainly enough that my question was indiscreet, and it was no
sooner put than it was regretted. A shadow passed athwart
the sweet face of my companion, and a moment of deep,
and, as I fancied, of painful thought succeeded. Then a
light broke over all, a smile illumined her features, after
which a light girlish laugh came to show how active were
the agents within, and how strong was the native tendency
to happiness and humour.

“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.