University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Guert Ten Eyck was profoundly impressed with what
he had heard, in his visit to the fortune-teller. It affected
his spirits, and, as will be seen, it influenced all his subsequent
conduct. As for myself, I will not say that I totally
disregarded what had passed; though the effect was greatly
less on me, than it was on my friend. The Rev. Mr. Worden,
however, treated the matter with great disdain. He
declared that he had never before been so insulted in his life.
The old hag, no doubt, had seen us all before, and recognised
him. Profiting by a knowledge of this sort—that was
very easily obtained in a place of the size of Albany—she
had taken the occasion to make the most of the low gossip
that had been circulated at his expense. “Loping Dominie,
indeed,” he added; “as if any man would not run to save
his life! You saw how it was with the river, Corny, when
it once began to break up, and know that my escape was
marvellous. I deserve as much credit for that retreat, boy,
as Xenophon did for his retreat with the Ten Thousand. It
is true, I had not thirty-four thousand, six hundred and fifty
stadia to retreat over; but acts are to be estimated more by
quality, than by quantity. The best things are always of
an impromptu character; and, generally, they are on a small
scale. Then, as for all you tell me about Guert; why, the
hussy knew him — must have known him, in a town like
Albany, where the fellow has a character that identifies him
with all sorts of fun and roguery. Jack, and Moses, too!
Do you think the inspiration of even an evil spirit, or of
forty thousand devils, would lead a fortune-teller to name

any horse Moses? Jack might do, perhaps; but Moses
would never enter the head of even an imp! Remember,
lad, Moses was the great law-giver of the Jews; and such a
creature would be as apt to suppose a horse was named
Confucius, as to suppose he was named Moses!”

“I suppose the inspiration, as you call it, sir, would lead
a clever fortune-teller to give things as they are; and to
call the horses by their real names, let them be what they
might.”

“Ay, such inspiration as this miserable, old, wrinkled,
impudent she-devil enjoys! Don't tell me, Corny; there is
no such thing as fortune-telling; at least, nothing that can
be depended on in all cases—and this is one of downright
imposition. `Loping Dominie,' forsooth!”

Such were the Rev. Mr. Worden's sentiments on the subject
of Mother Doortje's revelations. He exacted a pledge
from us all, to say nothing about the matter; nor were we
much disposed to be communicative on the subject. As for
Guert, Dirck, Jason, and myself, we did not hesitate to converse
on the circumstances of our visits, among ourselves,
however; and each and all of us viewed the matter somewhat
differently from our Mentor. I ascertained that Jason
had been highly gratified with what had been predicted on
his own behalf; for what was wealth in his eyes had been
foretold as his future lot; and a man rarely quarrels with
good fortune, whether in prospective, or in possession. Dirck,
though barely twenty, began to talk of living a single life
from this time; and no laughter of mine could induce the
poor lad to change his views, or to entertain livelier hopes.
Guert was deeply impressed, as has been said; and feeling
no restraint in the matter of his own case, he took occasion
to speak of his visit to the woman, one morning that Herman
Mordaunt, the two ladies, Bulstrode, and myself, were sitting
together, chatting, in the freedom of what had now become
a very constant intercourse.

“Are such things as fortune-tellers known in England,
Mr. Bulstrode?” Guert abruptly commenced, fastening his
eyes on Mary Wallace, as he asked the question; for on
her were his thoughts running at the time.

“All sorts of silly things are to be found in Old England,
Mr. Ten Eyck, as well as some that are wise. I believe

London has one or two soothsayers; and I think I have
heard elderly people say that the fashion of consulting them
has somewhat increased, since the court has been so German.”

“Yes,” Guert innocently replied; “I find it easy to believe
that; for, it is a common saying, among our people,
that the German and Low Dutch fortune-tellers are the best
known. They have had, or pretend to have had, witches
in New England; but no one, hereabouts, puts any faith in
the pretence. It is like all the bragging of these boastful
Yankees!”

I observed that Mary Wallace's colour deepened; and
that, in biting off a thread, she profited, by the occasion, to
avert her face in such a manner, that Bulstrode, in particular,
could not see it.

“The meaning of all this,” put in Major Bulstrode
“is, that our friend Guert has been to pay a visit to Mother
Doortje's; a woman of some note, who lives on the hill,
and who has a reputation, in that way, among these good
Albanians! Several of our mess have been to see the old
woman.”

“It is, Mr. Bulstrode,” Guert answered, in his manly
way, and with a gravity which proved how much he was in
earnest. “I have been to see Mother Doortje, for the first
time in my life; and Corny Littlepage, here, was my companion.
Long as I have known the woman by reputation,
I have never had any curiosity to pay her a visit, until this
spring. We have been, however; and, I must say, I have
been greatly surprised at the extent of the knowledge of this
very extraordinary person.”

“Did she tell you to look into the sweetmeat-pot, for the
lost spoon, Mr. Ten Eyck,” Anneke inquired, with an archness
of eye and voice, that sent the blood to my own face,
in confusion. “They say, that fortune-tellers send all prudent,
yet careless housewives, to the sweetmeat-pots, to look
for the lost spoons! Many have been found, I hear, by this
wonderful prescience.”

“Well, Miss Anneke, I see, you have no faith,” answered
Guert, fidgeting; “and people who have no faith, never
believe. Notwithstanding, I put so much confidence in
what Doortje has told me, that I intend to follow her advice,
let matters turn out as they may.”

Here Mary Wallace raised her thoughtful, full, blue eyes
to the face of the young man; and they expressed an intense
interest, rather than any light curiosity, that even her woman's
instinct and woman's sensitiveness could not so far
prevail, as to enable her to conceal. Still, Mary Wallace
did not speak, leaving the others present to maintain the
discourse.

“Of course, you mean to tell us all about it, Ten Eyck,”
cried the Major; “there is nothing more likely to succeed,
with an audience, than a good history of witchcraft, or something
so very marvellous, as to do violence to common sense,
before we give it our faith.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Bulstrode; these are things I cannot
well mention; though, Corny Littlepage will testify, that
they are very wonderful. At any rate, I shall go into the
bush, this spring; and Littlepage and Follock, being excellent
companions, I propose to join their company. It will
be late, before the army will be ready to move; and, by that
time, all three of us propose to join you before Ticonderoga;
if, indeed, you succeed in getting so far,”

“Say, rather, in front of Montreal; for, I trust, this new
Commander-In-Chief will find something more for us to do,
than the last one did. Shall I have a sentinel placed at
Doortje's door, in your absence, Guert?”

The smile, this question produced, was general; Guert,
himself, joining in it; for his good-nature was of proof.
When I say the smile was general, however, I ought to except
Mary Wallace, who smiled little, that morning.

“We shall be neighbours, then,” Herman Mordaunt
quietly observed; “that is to say, if you mean, by accompanying
Corny and Dirck to the bush, you intend to go
with them to the patent, lately obtained by Messrs. Littlepage
and Van Valkenburgh. I have an estate, in that
quarter, which is now ten years old; and these ladies have
consented to accompany me thither, as soon as the weather
is a little more settled, and I can be assured that our army
will be of sufficient force to protect us from the French and
Indians.”

It is unnecessary for me to say with what delight Guert
and I heard this announcement! On Bulstrode, however, it
produced an exactly contrary effect. He did not appear, to

me, to be surprised, at a declaration that was so new to
us; but several expressions fell from him, that showed he
had no idea the two estates, that of Herman Mordaunt's, and
that which belonged to us, lay so near together. It was by
means of his questions, indeed, that I learned the real facts
of the case. It appeared that Herman Mordaunt's business,
in Albany, was to make some provisions in behalf of this
property, on which he had caused mills to be erected, and
some of the other improvements of a new settlement, to be
made, two or three years before; and which, by the progress
and events of the war, was getting to be in closer proximity
to the enemy, than was desirable. Even where the
French lay, at Ticonderoga, his mills, in particular, might
be thought in some danger, though forty or more miles distant;
for parties of savages, led on by white men, frequently
marched that distance through the forests, in order to break
up a settlement and to commit depredations. But the enemy
had crossed Lake George, the previous summer, and had
actually taken Fort William Henry, at its southern extremity,
by siege. It is true, this was the extent of their inroad;
and, it was now known, that they had abandoned
this bold conquest, and had fallen back upon Ty and Crown
Point, two of the strongest military positions in the British
colonies. Still, Ravensnest, as Herman Mordaunt's property
was called, was far from being beyond the limits of
sorties; and the residence, at Albany, was solely to watch
the progress of events in that quarter, and to be near the
scene. If he had any public employment, it remained a
profound mystery. A new source of embarrassment had
arisen, however; and this it was that decided the proprietor
to visit his lands in person. The fifteen or twenty families
he had succeeded in establishing on the estate, at much cost
and trouble, had taken the alarm at the prospect of a campaign
in their vicinity; and had announced an intention of
abandoning their huts and clearings, as the course most
expedient for the times. Two or three had already gone
off towards the Hampshire Grants, whence they had originally
come; profiting by the last of the snow; and, it was
feared, that others might imitate their caution.

Herman Mordaunt saw no necessity for this abandonment
of advantages over the wilderness, that had been obtained

at so much cost and trouble. The labour of a removal,
and a return, was sufficient, of itself, to give a new direction
to the movements of his settlers; and, as their first entrance
into the country had been effected through his agency, and
aided by his means, he naturally wished to keep the people
he had got to his estate with so much difficulty, and at so
much cost, at their several positions, as long, at least, as he
conceived it to be prudent. In these circumstances, therefore,
he had determined to visit Ravensnest in person, and
to pass a part, if not most of the summer, among his people.
This would give them confidence, and would enable him to
infuse new life into their operations. It would seem, that
Anneke and Mary Wallace had refused to let Mr. Mordaunt
go alone; and, believing, himself, there was no danger in
the course he was about to take, the father and guardian,
for Mary Wallace was Herman Mordaunt's ward, had
yielded to the importunities of the two girls; and it had been
formally decided that they were all to proceed together, as
soon as the season should get to be a little more advanced.
Intelligence of this intention had been sent to the settlers;
and its effect was to induce them to remain at their posts, by
pacifying their fears.

I might as well add, here, what I learned subsequently,
in the due course of events. Bulstrode had been made acquainted
with Herman Mordaunt's plans, they being sworn
friends, and the latter warmly in the interest of the former's
suit; and he had known how to profit by the information.
It was now time to put the troops in motion; and several
parties had already marched towards the north, taking post
at different points that it was thought desirable to occupy,
previously to the commencement of the campaign. Among
other corps under orders of this nature, was that commanded
by Bulstrode; and he had sufficient interest, at head-quarters,
to get it sent to the point nearest to Ravensnest; where
it gave him the double advantage, of having it in his power
to visit the ladies, on occasion, while, at the same time, he
must appear, to them, somewhat in the character of a protector.
The object of Dirck and myself, in visiting the
north, was no secret; and, it was generally understood, that
we were to go to Mooseridge; but we did not know, ourselves,
that Herman Mordaunt had an estate so near us.

This intelligence, as has been said, I now ascertained, was
as new to Bulstrode as it was to myself.

The knowledge of many little things I have just mentioned,
was obtained by me only at intervals, and by means
of observation and discourse. Nevertheless, the main points
were determined on the morning on which Guert referred to
his visit to the fortune-teller, and in the manner named.
The conversation lasted an hour; nor did it cease, until all
present got a general idea of the course intended to be pursued
by the different parties present, during the succeeding
summer.

It happened, that morning, that Bulstrode, Dirck, and
Guert withdrew together, the two last to look at a horse the
former had just purchased, leaving me alone with the young
ladies. No sooner was the door closed on the retiring
members of our party, than I saw a smile struggling about
the handsome mouth of Anneke; Mary Wallace continuing
the whole time thoughtful, if not sad.

“And you were of the party at the fortune-teller's, too, it
seems, Mr. Littlepage,” Anneke remarked, after appearing
to be debating with herself on the propriety of proceeding
any farther in the subject. “I knew there was such a person
in Albany, and that thrifty housekeepers did sometimes
consult her; but I was ignorant that men, and educated men,
paid her that honour.”

“I believe there is no exception in the way of sex or
learning, to her influence, or her authority. They tell me
that most of the younger officers of the army visit her,
while they remain here.”

“I would much like to know if Mr. Bulstrode has been
of the number! He is young enough in years, though so
high in rank. A major may have as much curiosity as an
ensign; or, as it may appear, dear Mary, of a woman who
has lost her grandmother's favourite dessert-spoon.”

Mary Wallace gave a gentle sigh, and she even raised
her eyes from her work; still, she made no answer.

“You are severe on us, Anneke;” for, since the affair on
the river, the whole family treated me with the familiarity
of a son or a brother—“I fancy we have done no more than
Mr. Mordaunt has done in his day.”

“This may be very true, Corny, and not make the consultation

the wisest thing in nature. I hope, however, you
do not keep your fortune a secret, but let your friends share
in your knowledge!”

“To me the woman was far from being communicative,
though she treated Guert Ten Eyck better. Certainly, she
told him many extraordinary things, of the past even; unless,
indeed, she knew who he was.”

“Is it probable, Mr. Littlepage,” said Mary Wallace,
“that any person in Albany should not know Guert Ten
Eyck, and a good deal of his past history? Poor Guert
makes himself known wherever he is!”

“And, often much to his advantage,” I added—a remark
that cost me nothing; but which caused Mary Wallace's
face to brighten, and even brought a faint smile to her lips.
“All that is true; yet there was something wild and unnatural
in the woman's manner, as she told these things!”

“All of which you seem determined to keep to yourself?”
observed Anneke, as one asks a question.

“It would hardly do to betray a friend's secrets. Let
Guert answer for himself; he is as frank as broad day, and
will not hesitate about letting you know all.”

“I wish Corny Littlepage were only as frank as twilight!”

“I have nothing to conceal—and least of all from you,
Anneke. The fortune-teller told me that the queen of my
heart was the queen of too many hearts; that the river had
done me no harm; and that I must particularly beware of
what she called Knights-Barrownights.”

I watched Anneke closely, as I repeated this warning of
Mother Doortje; but could not read the expression of her
sweet and thoughtful countenance. She neither smiled nor
frowned; but she certainly blushed. Of course, she did not
look at me—for that would have been to challenge observation.
Mary Wallace, however, did smile, and she did look
at me.

“You believe all the wizzard told you, Corny?” said
Anneke, after a short pause.

“I believed that the queen of my heart was the queen of
many hearts; that the river had done me no harm—though
I could not say, or see, that it had done me much good; and
that I had much to fear from Knights-Barrownights. I

believed all this, however, before I ever saw the fortune-teller.”

The next remark that was made came from Anneke, and
it referred to the weather. The season was opening finely,
and fast; and it could not be long before the great movements
of the year must commence. Several regiments had
arrived in the colonies, and various officers of note and rank
had accompanied them. Among others who had thus crossed
the Atlantic for the first time, was my Lord Howe, a young
soldier of whom fame spoke favourably, and from whom
much was expected in the course of the anticipated service
of the year. While we were talking over these things,
Herman Mordaunt re-entered the room, after a short absence,
and he took me with him to examine his preparations for
transporting the ladies to Ravensnest. As we went along, the
discourse was maintained, and I learned many things from
my older and intelligent companion, that were new to me.

“New lords, new laws, they say, Corny,” continued
Herman Mordaunt; “and this Mr. Pitt, the great commoner,
as some persons call him, is bent on making the British
empire feel the truth of the axiom. Everything is alive in
the colonies, and the sluggish period of Lord Loudon's command
is passed. Gen. Abercrombie, an officer from whom
much is expected, is now at the head of the King's troops,
and there is every prospect of an active and most important
campaign. The disgraces of the few last years must be
wiped out, and the English name be made once more to be
dreaded on this continent. The Lord Howe of whom Anneke
spoke, is said to be a young man of merit, and to possess
the blood of our Hanoverian monarchs; his mother
being a half-sister, in the natural way, of his present Majesty.”

Herman Mordaunt then spoke more fully of his own
plans for the summer—expressed his happiness at knowing
that Dirck and myself were to be what he called his neighbours—though,
on a more exact computation, it was ascertained,
that the nearest boundaries of the two patents, that
of Ravensnest, and that of Mooseridge, lay quite fourteen
miles apart, with a dense and virgin forest between them.
Nevertheless, this would be making us neighbours, in a
certain sense; as gentlemen always call men of their own

class neighbours, when they live within visiting distance, or
near enough to be seen once or twice in a year. And such
men are neighbours, in the sense that is most essential to
the term—they know each other better; understand each
other better; sympathize more freely; have more of the
intercourse that makes us judges of motives, principles, and
character, twenty-fold, than he who lives at the gate, and
merely sees the owner of the grounds pass in and out, on
his daily avocations. There is, and can be no greater absurdity,
than to imagine that the sheer neighbourhood, or
proximity of position, makes men acquainted. That was
one of Jason Newcome's Connecticut notions. Having been
educated in a state of society in which all associated on a
certain footing of intimacy, and in which half the difficulties
that occurred were “told to the church,” he was for ever
fancying he knew all the gentry of Westchester, because he
had lived a year or two in the county; when, in fact, he had
never spoken to one in a dozen of them. I never could
drive this notion out of his head, however; for looking often
at a man, or occasionally exchanging a bow with him on
the highway, he would insist was knowing him, or what he
called, being “well acquainted;” a very favourite expression
of the Danbury man's; though their sympathies, habits,
opinions, and feelings, created so vast a void between the
parties, they hardly understood each other's terms, and ordinary
language, when they did begin to converse, as sometimes
happened. Notwithstanding all this, Jason insisted to
the last that he knew every gentleman in the county, whom
he had been accustomed to hear alluded to in discourse, and
when he had seen them once or twice, though it were only
at church. But Jason had a very flattering notion, generally,
of his own acquisitions on all subjects.

Herman Mordaunt had made careful provision for the
contemplated journey; having caused a covered vehicle to
be constructed, that could transport not only himself and
the ladies, but many articles of furniture that would be required
during their residence in the forest. Another conveyance,
strong, spacious, and covered, was also prepared
for the blacks, and another portion of the effects. He
pointed out all these arrangements to me with great satisfaction,
dwelling on the affection and spirit of the girls with

a pleasure he did not affect to conceal. For my own part,
I have always been of opinion, that Anneke was solely influenced
by pure, natural regard, in forming her indiscreet
resolution; while her father was governed by the secret expectation
that the movement would leave open the means of
receiving visits and communications from Bulstrode, during
most of the summer. I commended the arrangements, made
one or two suggestions of my own in behalf of Anneke and
Mary, and we returned to our several homes.

A day or two after this visit to the workshops, and the
conversation related, the —th took up its line of march
for the north. The troops defiled through the narrow streets
in the neighbourhood of the barracks, half an hour after
the appearance of the sun, preceded and followed by a long
train of baggage-wagons. They marched without tents,
however, it being well understood that they were going into
a region where the axe could at any time cover thousands
of men, in about the time that a camp could be laid out,
and the canvass spread. Hutting was the usual mode of
placing an army under cover in the forest; and a dozen
marches would take the battalion to the point where it was
intended it should remain, as a support to two or three other
corps still further in advance, and to keep open the communications.

Bulstrode, however, did not quit Albany in company with
his regiment. I had been invited, with Guert and Dirck, to
breakfast at Herman Mordaunt's that morning; and, as we
approached the door, I saw the Major's groom walking his
own and his master's horse, in the street, near by. This
was a sign we were to have the pleasure of Bulstrode's company
at breakfast. Accordingly, on entering the room, we
found him present, in the uniform of an officer of his rank,
about to commence a march in the forests of America. I
thought him melancholy, as if sad at parting; but my most
jealous observation could detect no sign of similar feeling
on the part of Anneke. She was not quite as gay as usual,
but she was far from being sad.

“I leave you, ladies, with the deepest regret,” said Bulstrode,
while at table, “for you have made this country
more than a home to me—you have rendered it dear.”

This was said with feeling; more than I had ever seen

Bulstrode manifest before, and more than I had given him
credit for possessing. Anneke coloured a little; but there
was no tremor in the beautiful hand, that held a highly-wrought
little tea-pot suspended over a cup, at that very
moment.

“We shall soon meet again, Harry,” Herman Mordaunt
remarked, in a tone of strong affection; “for, our party will
not be a week behind you. Remember, we are to be good
neighbours, as well as neighbours; and, if the mountain
will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain.”

“Which means, Mr. Bulstrode,” said Mary Wallace, with
one of her sweet smiles, and one that was as open and natural
as childhood itself, “that you are Mahomet, and we
are the mountain. Ladies can neither travel, with comfort,
in a wilderness, nor visit a camp, with propriety, if they
would.”

“They tell me, I shall not be in a camp at all,” answered
the soldier; “but in good, comfortable log-barracks, that
have been built for us by the battalion we relieve. I am
not without hopes, they will be such as even ladies will not
disdain to use, on an emergency. There ought to be no
Mahomet, and no mountain, between such old and intimate
friends.”

The conversation then turned on the plans and expectations
of the respective parties; and the usual promises were
made, of being sociable and good neighbours, as had just
been suggested. Herman Mordaunt evidently wished to
consider Bulstrode as one of his family; a feeling that might
excuse itself to the world, on the score of consanguinity;
but which, it was easy enough, for me, to see, had its origin
in a very different cause. When Bulstrode rose to take his
leave, I wished myself away, on account of the exhibition
of concern it produced; while the desire to watch the effect
on Anneke, would have kept me rooted to the floor, even
had it been proper that I should retire.

Bulstrode was more affected than I could have thought
possible. He took one of Herman Mordaunt's hands into
his own, and pressed it warmly, for some little time, before
he could speak at all.

“God only knows what this summer is to see, and

whether we are ever to meet again, or not,” he then said;
“but, come what may, the past, the happy past, is so much
gained from the commonplace. If you never hear of me
again, my dear kinsman, my letters to England will give
you a better account of my gratitude, than anything I can
say in words. They have been written as your kindnesses
have been bestowed; and they faithfully pourtray the feelings
to which your hospitality and friendship have given
rise. In a possible event, I have requested that every one
of them may be sent to America, for your special perusal—”

“Nay, my dear Harry, this is foreboding the very worst,”
interrupted Herman Mordaunt, dashing a tear from his eye,
“and is making a very short separation, a more serious
matter than one ought—”

“Nay, sir, a soldier, who is about to be posted within
striking distance of his enemy, can never speak, with confidence,
of separations that are to be short. This campaign
will be decisive, for me,”—glancing towards Anneke—“I
must return a conqueror, in one sense, or I do not wish to
return at all. But, God bless you, Herman Mordaunt, as
your own countrymen call you; a thousand years could not
efface from my heart, the remembrance of all your kindness.”

This was handsomely expressed; and the manner in
which it was uttered, was as good as the language. Bulstrode
hesitated a moment—looked at the two girls in doubt
—and first approached Mary Wallace.

“Adieu, excellent Mary Wallace,” he said, taking her
offered hand, and kissing it with a freedom from emotion,
that denoted it was only friendship and respect which induced
the act—“I believe, you are a severe critic on Catos
and Scrubs; but, I forgive all your particular backbitings,
on account of your general indulgence and probity. You
may meet with a thousand mere acquaintances, before you
find another who shall have the same profound respect for
your many virtues, as myself.”

This was handsomely said, too; and it caused Mary Wallace
to remove the handkerchief from her eyes, and to utter
her adieus cordially, and with some emotion. Strangers
say that our women want feeling—passion; or, if they have
it, that it is veiled behind a mask of coldness, that takes

away from its loveliness and warmth; that they are girlish
and familiar, where they might better be reserved; and distant,
and unnatural, where feeling and nature ought to
assert their sway. That they have less manner, in all respects,
in that of self-control, and perhaps of self-respect, in
their ordinary intercourse, and in that of acting, where it
may seem necessary so to do, I believe to be true; but, he
who denies an American girl a heart, knows nothing about
her. She is all heart; and the apparent coldness is oftener
the consequence of not daring to trust her feelings, and her
general dislike to everything artificial, than to any want of
affections. Two girls, educated, however, as had been
Anneke and Mary Wallace, could not but acquit themselves
better, in such a scene, than those who had been less accustomed
to the usages of polite life, which are always, more or
less, the usages of convention.

On the present occasion, Mary Wallace was strongly
affected; it would not have been possible, for one of her
gentle nature and warm affections, to be otherwise, when an
agreeable companion, one she had now known intimately
near two years, was about to take his leave of her, on an
errand that he himself either thought, or affected so well to
seem to think, might lead to the most melancholy issue.
She shook hands with Bulstrode, warmly; wished him good
fortune, and various other pleasant things; thanked him for
his good opinion, and expressed her hope, as well as her
belief, that they should all meet again before the summer
was over, and again be happy in each other's society.

Anneke's turn came next. Her handkerchief was at her
eyes; and, when it was removed, the face was pale, and the
cheeks were covered with tears. The smile that followed,
was sweetness itself; and, I will own, it caused me a most
severe pang. To my surprise, Bulstrode said nothing. He
took Anneke's hand, pressed it to his heart, kissed it, left a
note in it, bowed, and moved away. I felt ashamed to watch
the countenance of Miss Mordaunt, under such circumstances,
and turned aside, that observation might not increase the
distress and embarrassment she evidently felt. I saw
enough, notwithstanding, to render me more uncertain than
ever, as to the success of my own suit. Anneke's colour
had come and gone, as Bulstrode stood near her, acting his

dumb-show of leave-taking; and, to me, she seemed far
more affected than Mary Wallace had been. Nevertheless,
her feelings were always keener and more active than those
of her friend; and, that which my sensitiveness took for the
emotion of tenderness, might be nothing more than ordinary
womanly feeling and friendship. Besides, Bulstrode was
actually her relative.

We men all attended Bulstrode to his horse. He shook
us cordially by the hand; and, after he had got into the
saddle, he said — “This summer will be warmer than is
usual, even in your warmy-cold climate. My letters from
home give me reason to think that there is, at last, a man
of talents at the head of affairs; and the British empire is
likely to feel the impulse he will give it, at its most remote
extremities. I shall expect you three young men to join the
—th, as volunteers, as soon as you hear of our moving in
advance. I wish I had a thousand like you; for that affair
of the river tells where a man will be found when the time
comes. God bless you, Corny!” leaning forward in his
saddle, to give me another shake of the hand; “we must
remain friends, coute qui coute.”

There was no withstanding this frankness, and so much
good-temper. We shook hands most cordially; Bulstrode
raised his hat and bowed; after which he rode away, as I
fancied, at a slow, thoughtful, reluctant pace. Notwithstanding
the kindness of this parting, I had more cause than
ever to regret Bulstrode had appeared among us; and the
scenes of that morning only confirmed me in a resolution,
previously adopted, not to urge Anneke to any decision, in
my case, at a moment when I felt there might be so much
danger it would be adverse.