Part 27 (2/2)

”I like you. I wish you would remain and share my loneliness.”

”I would, my lady, only I feel in honour bound to go to Mr. Fonda.”

Claudia pa.s.sed her arm around the Scottish girl's slim waist.

”Come,” she coaxed, ”be my companion! Be more friend than servant, more sister than friend. For I, also, begin to love you, with your dark eyes and yellow hair, and your fine hands and sweet, fresh skin, like a child from a bath.”

They both laughed, looking at each other with a gaze shy but friendly, like two who seem to think they are, perhaps, destined to love each other.

”I wish I might remain,” said the Scottish girl, reluctantly turning toward me.

”Are you for Caughnawaga?” I asked bluntly.

”Yes, sir.”

”Very well,” said I. ”Polly Johnson, may I take your carriage?”

”It is always at your command, Jack. But I am sorry that our little Scottish la.s.s must go.”

However, she gave the order to black Colas, who must drive us, also, because, excepting for Colas and poor Flora, and one slave left in Johnstown, all servants, slaves, tenants, and officers of Sir John's household had fled with the treacherous Baronet and were now G.o.d knows where in the terrific wilderness and making, without doubt, for the Canadas.

For personal reasons I was glad that the dishonoured man was gone. I should have been ashamed to take him prisoner. But I was deeply troubled on other accounts; for this man had gone northward with hundreds of my old neighbors, for the purpose of forming an army of white men and Indians, with which he promised to return and cut our throats and lay our beautiful countryside in ashes.

We had scarce any force to oppose Sir John; no good forts except Stanwix and a few block-houses; our newly-organized civil government was chaotic; our militia untried, unreliable, poorly armed, and still rotten with toryism.

To defend all this immense Tryon County frontier, including the river as far as Albany, only one regular regiment had been sent to help us; for what remained of the State Line was needed below, where His Excellency was busy ma.s.sing an army to face the impending thunder-clap from England.

As I stood by the window, looking out across the Vlaie at Maxon Ridge, where I felt very sure that hostile eyes were watching the Sacandaga and this very house, a hand touched my arm, and, turning, I saw Penelope Grant beside me.

”May I have a word alone with you, Mr. Drogue?” she asked in her serious and graver way--a way as winning as her lighter mood, I thought.

So we went out to the veranda and walked a little way among the apple trees, slowly, I waiting to hear what she had for my ear alone.

Beyond, by the well, I saw my Rangers squatting cross-legged on the gra.s.s in a little circle, playing at stick-knife. Beyond them a Continental soldier paced his beat in front of the gate which closed the mainland road.

Birds sang, suns.h.i.+ne glimmered on the water, the sky was softly blue.

The girl had paused under a fruit tree. Now, she pulled down an apple branch and set her nose to the blossoms, breathing their fresh scent.

”Well,” said I, quietly.

Her level eyes met mine across the flowering branch.

”I am sorry to disturb you,” said she.

”How disturb me?”

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