Part 25 (1/2)

Mr. Faringfield's face showed a sweep of conjectures, ranging from that of Ned's being in New York in service of his cause, to that of his being there as a deserter from it. Margaret flushed a moment, and then composed herself with an effort, for whatever issue this unexpected arrival might portend. The rest of us waited in a mere wonder touched with the old disquieting dread of painful scenes.

Old Noah, jealous of the single duty that his years had left him, and resentful of its frequent usurpation by Falconer's servant, always stayed up to attend the door till the last of the family had retired.

We now heard him shuffling through the hall, heard the movement of the lock, and then instantly a heavy tread that covered the sound of Noah's. The parlour door from the hall was flung open, and in strode the verification of our thoughts.

Ned's clothes were briar-torn and mud-spattered; his face was haggard, his hair unkempt, his left shoulder humped up and held stiff. He stopped near the door, and stared from face to face, frowning because of the sudden invasion of his eyes by the bright candlelight. When his glance fell upon Margaret, it rested; and thereupon, just as if he were not returned from an absence of three years and more, and heedless of the rest of us, confining his address to her alone, he bellowed, with a most malignant expression of face and voice:

”So you played a fine game with us, my lady--luring us into the dirty scheme, and then turning around and setting your husband on us in the act! I see through it all now, you underhanded, double-dealing s.l.u.t!”

”Are you speaking to me, sir?” asked Margaret, with dignity.

”Of course I am; and don't think I'll hold my tongue because of these people. Let 'em hear it all, I don't care. It's all up now, and I'm a hanged man if ever I go near the American camp again. But I'm safe here in New York, though I was d.a.m.n' near being shot when I first came into the British lines. But I've been before General Knyphausen,[7]

and been identified, and been acknowledged by your Captain Falconer as the man that worked your cursed plot at t'other end; and I've been let go free--though I'm under watch, no doubt. So you see there's naught to hinder me exposing you for what you are--the woman that mothered a British plot, and worked her trusting brother into it, and then betrayed him to her husband.”

”That's a lie!” cried Margaret, crimson in the face.

”What does all this mean?” inquired Mr. Faringfield, rising.

Paying no attention to his father, Edward retorted upon Margaret, who also rose, and who stood between him and the rest of us:

”A lie, is it? Perhaps you can make General Knyphausen and Captain Falconer believe that, now I've told 'em whose cursed husband it was that attacked me at the meeting-place, and alarmed the camp. You didn't think I'd live to tell the tale, did you? You thought to hear of my being hanged, and your husband promoted for his services, and so two birds killed with one stone! But providence had a word to say about that. The Lord is never on the side of plotters and traitors, let me tell you, and here I am to outface you. A lie, is it? A lie that your husband spoiled the scheme? Why, you brazen hussy, he came from New York that very night--he told me so himself! He had seen you, and you had told him all, I'll lay a thousand guineas!”

'Twas at the time a puzzle to me that Margaret should condescend to explanations with him as she forthwith did. But I now see how, realising that proofs of Philip's visit might turn up and seem to bear out Ned's accusation, she must have felt the need of putting herself instantly right with Tom and me, lest she might eventually find herself wrong with General Clinton and Captain Falconer.

”I own that Philip saw me that night,” she said, with a self-control compelled by her perilous situation. ”He came here by stealth, and took me by surprise. He found reason to suspect our plot, but till now I never knew 'twas really he that put the rebels on their guard. I thought he would be too late. 'Twas through no intention of mine that he guessed what was afoot. I never told Tom and Bert” (these words were meant for our ears) ”--or Captain Falconer--of his visit, for fear they might think, as you seem to, that I was to blame. That's all the truth, and we shall see whether Captain Falconer will believe you or me.”

Here Mr. Faringfield, whose patience at being so far ignored, though 'twas supported by the hope of receiving the desired enlightenment from their mutual speeches, was at length exhausted, put in with some severity.

”Pray, let us into these mysteries, one of you. Margaret, what is it I hear, of a visit from Philip? of a British plot? By heaven, if I thought--but explain the matter, if you please.”

”I have no right to,” said she, her face more and more suffused with red. ”'Tis not my secret alone; others are concerned.”

”It appears,” rejoined Mr. Faringfield, ”it is a secret that abides in my house, and therefore I have a right to its acquaintance. I command you to explain.”

”Command?” she echoed lightly, with astonishment. ”Is a married woman subject to her father's commands?”

”An inmate of my house is subject to my commands,” he replied, betraying his hidden wrath by a dark look.

”I beg your pardon,” said she. ”That part of the house which Philip has paid, or will pay, for my living in, is my own, for the time being. I shall go there--”

”You shall not leave this room,” cried her father, stalking toward the door. ”You fall back upon Philip's name. Very well, he has delegated the care of you to me in his absence. 'Tis time I should represent his authority over you, when I hear of your plotting against his country.”

”I have a right to be loyal to the king, above the authority of a husband.”

”If your loyalty extends to plotting against your husband's cause, you have not the right under my roof--or under Philip Winwood's part of it. I will know what this scheme is, that you have been engaged in.”

”Not from me!” said Margaret, with a resolution that gave a new, unfamiliar aspect to so charmingly feminine a creature.

”Oh, let her alone, father,” put in Ned, ludicrously ready for the faintest opportunity either to put his father under obligation or to bring down Margaret. ”I'll be frank with you. I've no reason to hide what's past and gone. She and Captain Falconer had a plan to make Was.h.i.+ngton a prisoner, by a night expedition from New York, and some help in our camp--”

”Which you were to give, I see, you treacherous scoundrel!” said his father, with contempt.