A Georgian Actress Act II. Rose London, Printed for Drury Lane Theatre, Nov. g, 1774. A Georgian Actress UNIT. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELES A Georgian Actress BY Pauline Bradford Mackie (Mrs. Herbert MUller Hopkins) Author of " Mademoiselle De Berny," " Ye Lyttle Salem Maide," etc. Illustrated by E. W. D. Hamilton BOSTON L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) MDCCCC Copyright, 1900 BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY (INCORPORATED) All rights reserved Colonial Jprrss Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Slmonds & Co. Boston, Mass., U. S. A. TO MY BROTHERS atrtJ Cecil Ucnntgton ffiadue THIS STORY IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 2131493 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE Miss ANN JOHNSON AS ROSE . Frontispiece " PEGGY BEGAN CROONING AN INDIAN LUL- LABY" 16 " HE GAVE THE LINES AS ONLY HE COULD GIVE THEM " . . \ 189 " SHE FASTENED THE LAST LETTER IN THE FRONT OF HER DRESS " . . .217 A Georgian Actress Chapter I "1V/T ADAME > " said Ann " tel1 me of 1\ A that England which lies over the sea where Peggy and I are to go some day." Madame, stepping back from the em- broidery-frame that she might draw with freedom the shining length of fine silk through the linen, replied monotonously : "It is a fertile country, surrounded by the sea " " I know all that," interrupted Ann, eagerly, " but tell me of the people. Bethink you, I have seen no man's face save my father's unless you would observe the Indians. No gentlewoman have I known other than yourself. Oh, how often at night have I stood lonely at my 8 A Georgian Actress window and put forth my arms. ' Even so, dear moon,' I say, ( do you shine white upon that mighty Rome of which I read, and in your light do lovers walk.' I think of Romeo and Juliet , which play, Madame, affects me profoundly, so that I sigh to my- self, yet not all for pain. But when the sun shines I think of England and the children playing in the meadows. I think I should be most content to frolic awhile with the little English children. I would tease them, but only very lovingly, and then I would make daisy-wreaths for them such as I have read about. I think the chil- dren must be sweeter than flowers even." Madame, matching the silk for the yellow heart of a rose, did not reply. The sunlight fell aslant the rich border of the cloth. Amidst loving lavishness of gold thread she laid in stitches in clear scarlet, green, purple, and blue. The blue was as the sky at noon and the purple soft as the twilight. The green held the greenness of the emerald spring. But the beauty of the scarlet colour thrilled her afresh whenever she drew the A Georgian Actress cover from the frame to recommence work. She herself had sown and tended the flax, gathered and spun it and bleached the threads, that this cloth for the altar might be the labour of her own hands. In the centre, where the service of the Holy Sacrament should repose, she would embroider a lamb in silk of the whiteness that gleams like silver. " I beg that you will urge upon my fa- ther the necessity of taking us soon to England," ventured Ann, timidly. Madame's hands shook so that she threaded her needle with difficulty. " How many times have I told you, Ann, that it is best to desire naught, neither pleasure nor power, neither wisdom nor love. Pleasure will burn to ashes ; power is a delusion ; wisdom is vanity. As for love, lo, love is emptiness." " I will have pleasure," cried Ann, pursing her lips obstinately. " As for power, that suffices for men. Neither care I for wisdom, which might grow irksome. But as for love, why, love is pleasure." " Love is pain," said her companion. io A Georgian Actress " Then love is pain and pleasure," per- sisted she, gaily. "The pain remains," ended Madame, sternly. Ann's mouth quivered. "You make me afraid when you talk so. Why should I wish to live if all is as you say ? " She rose and stood looking out of the window. Never had there been known such an autumn in the valley. " It is the smoke from old Maushope's pipe," said the Indians, as the hazy air grew bluer, filling the forest gaps with purple. Morning after morning the sun came up copper-coloured and the delicate hoar-frost vanished like a breath. Each moment of the magic days seemed deli- ciously prolonged. The tangled branches of the blackberry and the sumac's velvet plumes flamed along the byways and the outskirts of the forest. There was the soft, incessant sound of falling leaves and the bursting of pufF-balls, and, more distinct, the patter of nuts dropping, while louder yet rose the chattering of the squirrels. Flocks of birds drifted slowly southward. A Georgian Actress 1 1 Far as her gaze could reach Ann saw but the great forests, her prison walls. Through the dusky green of the pines showed the brilliant hues of the changing maple, the butternut, and hickory trees. " Of all things," she said aloud, with a defiant glance over her shoulder at her companion, " of all things, I hate trees." All the beauty of the autumn forest she beheld with listless eyes ; to all its mysterious melody she turned unheeding ears. Beyond, beyond, lay the world. Her sewing slipped from her fingers to the garden below. Indifferent to its fate, she watched with unseeing eyes the waving tree-tops. Her face suddenly brightened. She turned impulsively and knelt beside Madame, who, wearied by long standing before the embroidery-frame, had seated herself. " Dear Madame," coaxed the girl, " why will you never speak to me of my mother and forbid that I should even mention her name to my father ? What would you think if I told you that I knew, that I had guessed, the reason why ? " She held 12 A Georgian Actress her head back, looking up into the other's face, her eyes bright with mischievous spirit, her smile arch as that of one who had surprised a delightful secret. "Is it not because she was such a great and beau- tiful lady that you fear to tell me lest I should become vain of her memory and grow to care for worldly things ? Ah, you would reprove me if you but knew how precious is the thought of her. I picture to myself how, when Peggy and I go out into the world, those who knew our mother will whisper when our backs are turned. And though I shall hear them not, yet shall I know what they say. And if either of us looks good in their eyes they will say : f She has some- what of her mother's beauty.' And should one of us, by a lucky chance, address them with some poor grace of speech, they will smile and exchange glances and think : ' Now is her mother's brave wit hers.' Then shall I be happy. It will be as I now think. My mother's love, which here I never knew, awaits me in the world. For that love she A Georgian Actress 13 gave her friends will spring to life again in their hearts when they see her daughters. Thus will her memory rise to meet and bless us in the world. Ah, dear Madame, tell me who my mother was ! " Madame seldom accorded Ann a caress, yet now she stroked the rounded cheek. " And sometimes I have thought," con- tinued the girl, encouraged, " that perhaps you were her companion, watched over her as you do over Peggy and me, saw that what she wore became her beauty, your fingers plaited her long and shining hair" A strange smile flitted over the older woman's face. It chilled Ann, who rose slowly to her feet, half- frightened. " Perchance I should not have asked you," she faltered, " per- chance I do presume." " Have I ever failed in my duty to you ? " asked Madame. Ann's white throat swelled with an unuttered sob. The tears rushed to her eyes. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak, and hurried from the 14 A Georgian Actress room. She went down-stairs into the gar- den lying back of the castle. The high brick walls of this garden stretched well into the forest, seeming to push back the trees that crowded jealously forward and thrust long arms over the coping. A brook strayed across one corner and out again, and there a grotto had been built. Closely trimmed box bordered the flower beds and winding paths. There were no shade-trees because the shadow of the forest, varying with the position of the sun, always fell across some part of it. But there were a few fruit-trees and grape and honeysuckle arbours. In the spring the tulip beds planted by the High Dutch girl, and tended so sacredly by her daugh- ters, burst into gorgeous bloom. The negro women had some time since gathered the grapes and made them into wine and preserves for the long winter. But here and there a bunch, overlooked, had reached the perfection of ripeness and hung, a purple-black cluster with a wine-like ray where the sun shone through. Here Ann paused and ate A Georgian Actress 15 some of the grapes. Then picking the largest bunch in reach, she followed a path that led to the far corner of the garden. There she found her sister. "You are grown too great a girl to play with dolls, Peggy," she said, aus- terely, " bethink yourself that we shall soon go forth into the world where it behoves us to be nimble-witted through much learning to cope with what shall befall us therein, for by lack of knowl- edge, as well as inexperience, we may appear most strange and foolish in others' eyes." The little sister, seated on the ground, one doll clasped to her breast, glanced up wistfully. " Dear Ann," she entreated, " suffer me just this afternoon to play with them and to-morrow I will read with you." " I fear you like books none too well," sighed Ann ; " here are some grapes for you. They are, indeed, sweeter than honey." As she walked away she fell a-day-dreaming, and her tears of a moment ago were forgotten. 1 6 A Georgian Actress Left alone, Peggy began crooning an Indian lullaby to the doll in her arms. Turning after awhile to lay it down, she saw that a drift of leaves had been blown with mysterious suddenness over her other children propped in a row against the wall. As she began to brush the leaves away she heard the cawing of a crow in the pines outside. "Caw," she mocked, "caw-caw-caw. You are an idle chatterer, Jokawe ! " " Caw, caw," came the answer from the pine-trees. Peggy picked up a stick. " Caw," she mimicked, "idle chatterer. Go home to your wife and children, Jokawe." She flung the stick high up among the branches and looked to see the shining black body of Jokawe rise and circle away into the blue sky. Suddenly she sprang to her feet with a cry of terror. High in the branches a laughing face appeared. " Who are you ? " she cried. The face vanished. There came no " PEGGY BEGAN CROONING AN INDIAN LULLABY. A Georgian Actress 17 reply to her question. The boughs rustled. A moment later a young man swung from the branches and seated himself on the wall. " Who are you ? " she repeated. " I am Jokawe," mocked the stranger, "Jokawe, the crow-man who teaches the young crows caw-caw." Peggy stared up at him gravely. Her fear had passed, for she saw he was but a man as her father was, and belonged to that far world of which Ann talked so much. Moreover, she knew he was not Jokawe, the crow-man. For Jokawe had black wings instead of arms. "Wait you still," she said, "whilst I go get Ann." " No, no," cried he, " do not run away. I'll tell you who I am." The little maid's rosy mouth was firmly set. " I will go get Ann," she repeated. " Very well, then," he threatened, "when you return with her I shall be gone. I shall have turned into a crow and flown away. Caw ! " He pointed to 1 8 A Georgian Actress her dolls. "Your children will get cold if you uncover them. 'Twas I who flung down the leaves." Peggy knelt quickly and spread her arms over her dolls. He laughed. " I have watched you often ; sometimes I have flung down nuts and you have thought it a squirrel. And I have whistled. Listen," putting his fingers to his mouth. Was there a mocking-bird in the leaves above ? Ah, the melody, the sweetness ! As he ceased, Peggy raised her hand. " Hush," she whispered. Faintly from far-oflf forest depths, rising infinitely high and sweet and as softly dying away, came the answering song. " Do you not know me ? " asked the young man. " Look close." " I know you not," she said. " Try once again," he begged. " Why, fie on you, little maid, that you cannot read my features. Bear I no likeness to your father ? " Peggy, gazing with all will to please, laughed and put up her arms. " Ann, " A Georgian Actress 19 she cried, " Ann ! " Yet even as the name left her lips her arms fell. " Who are you ? " she whispered, frightened. " I," he mocked, " I am Ann." " Ann," said the little maid, piteously, " it is not you." The tears came to her eyes. " Ann," she added, faintly, " it grieves me sorely if this be you." " Caw-caw," he mimicked, " I am not Ann. I am Jokawe the crow-man, and my wife has one white wing and one black, but mine are both black and shining." Peggy stooped and gathered up her dolls. She made several steps blindly for the tears in her eyes. A hand was laid on her shoulder : the tantalising voice, grown gentle, spoke in her ear. " Forgive me, sweetheart, and look up. See, I am not Ann, but like Ann because I am her brother. Do not cry, J but jested. Am I not your brother as well as hers ? " Peggy smiled through her tears. " Oh, now I know," she cried, " you are Ann's and my brother in that strange world of 2O A Georgian Actress which she talks so much. Can you tell me if we shall find many brothers in that world?" " But one," he answered, " as I, though I hunt the wide world o'er, shall find but two sisters. 1 am just come home from London, where I was knighted by his Majesty. But let us sit down on the grass here behind these rose-bushes, that we be not observed, and I will tell you more." An hour passed. The breeze, beginning to freshen toward sunset, rippled the grass at their feet. Now and then Peggy shifted the position of the dolls in her arms. She was an entranced listener. For the first time she had forgotten Ann. At the castle the negroes prepared supper. Madame Van Vrankin had retired to the chapel to pray at this hour, as was her custom. In the semi-darkness of the drawing- room Ann sat at her spinet, playing all she loved best to comfort herself for her recent tears. Chapter II . ANN, unclosing happy eyes at sunrise the next morning, lay quietly. What sweet and delicious experience had been hers in sleep, that her waking soul still thrilled to the pleasure of it ? Fretting at last at the vain effort of memory to recall it, loath to pass from the fleeting dream to meet the sober day, she turned on her pillow to sleep again. But soon she raised herself restlessly to look out of the window and observe the weather. The movement brought her in line with the bar of red sunlight, which, falling across the coverlid, now streamed upon her slim body in its white nightrobe and the braid of black hair. Terunda, the green parrot, sleeping on a footpost of the ponderous bed, was also bathed in this refulgent light. 22 A Georgian Actress "Wake up, Peggy," cried Ann, "and see how strange the morning is." Peggy stirred in her sleep and flung out one arm. " I shall be your little mother," she murmured. " Now why will you be my little mother ? " coaxed Ann. But Peggy, not thus to be beguiled into speaking, wakened. "You were talking in your sleep," laughed Ann. " See how copper-coloured the light is this morning, more than ever." Peggy slipped out of bed and went over to the window. The sun, a fiery ball, hung low in a gray sky. The forest in the valley moved in waving undula- tions like the sea. " It is a storm sun," she announced ; " see how a mist creeps over it. And did you notice how the moon last night held water and tipped so that a hunter could have hung his bow on the horned end ? " She put up her hand and stroked Terunda, who had fluttered over and perched himself on her shoulder. " We shall have no more warm days now." A Georgian Actress 23 Peggy's prophecy came true. The long and delicious Indian summer was past. A damp and chilling wind arose and blew continuously, and the sun never showed its face from behind the gray mist. The first fire was lighted in the draw- ing-room, and Madame Van Vrankin, ever sensitive to the cold, sat shivering in front of it. All that bleak afternoon Ann sat on the hall window-seat, the heavy curtains drawn around her for warmth, while she read Rollins's Ancient History, her vivid imagination colouring the dull text ; read until her cheeks burned with excitement and her fingers grew cold from the bitter wind pouring in the window-cracks ; read until the twilight crept between her and the printed pages and the faintly tinged clouds of the cold sunset took on the form of her dreams. Peggy lingered in the garden unmindful of her dolls. She waited in vain the com- ing of yesterday's guest. She confided no word of the adventure to Ann, not in 24 A Georgian Actress obedience to a well-thought-out reason, but because she was by nature most secre- tive. After supper she sought the old Indian Naukoska, who kept the castle gate. " Naukoska," she asked, " what are the pines saying to-night ? Hear how they are talking, so loud ! " Old Naukoska took his pipe from his mouth and raised his head to listen. " They are singing the tale of The Wolf- brother" he said, after awhile. " Repeat it to me," begged the little maid, wistful to be beguiled from her disappointment. "The trees say it is a wild night," spoke Naukoska, in the Indian language which Peggy understood, " and that the wildness of the night makes them remem- ber the story of The Wolf-brother, for whenever the wind moans, its voice brings to mind a tale that is sad." " I should prefer a merry tale to-night, Naukoska," said the little maid, pleadingly, " one that will make me laugh." " Nay ; " he answered, " they tell but A Georgian Actress 25 the tale of The Wolf-brother to-night. They say that once upon a time there were two brothers and one sister, and that the three lived together, for their parents were dead. The sister, who was much given to the wearing of fine wampum and the braiding of her long hair with beads and to putting on long-fringed leggins and gay moccasins, had no time to care for the little brother. Neither did the elder brother have time, for the blood of manhood was rushing in him and he had shame to play with children. So the little brother grew lonely and ran away weeping. Now the sister heard him weep- ing as he ran, and she thought it was a dove mourning and hearkened not. He passed close by the elder brother, who heard him weeping also, but believed the sound to be the whimpering of a cub which had run into the bush after he had killed its mother for her fine coat. When the little brother did not come back, they knew he was lost in the forest and believed him dead. But when the snow melted and the soft rains fell, the elder brother 2 6 A Georgian Actress went forth on a long fishing trip. One after- noon near the close of day, he was out on the lake in his canoe. He heard some one singing : " ' My brother, my brother, I am turning into a wolf, I am turning into a wolf.' Then he saw his little brother standing on the shore. He paddled toward him, and on drawing near was frightened to behold him half-turned into a wolf. He reached the shore and drew his canoe upon the beach and sprang out. He ran toward his brother and strove to catch him in his arms, crying, My brother, my brother, come to me ! ' But the little brother eluded his embrace, and fled, still singing : " ' My brother, my brother, I am turning into a wolf, I am turning into a wolf.' Then he disappeared in the forest. "The hunter stood still and listened. Soon he heard the howling of a wolf. Then very sad he went away. At the A Georgian Actress 27 melting of the snows every year he went to that spot on the lake shore and called, but the Wolf-brother never came again. Thus goeth the tale which the pines are telling each other to-night, and some of the oldest trees remember hearing the little brother weep as he passed under their shade the day he ran away. Hear how soft they rustle now. They show thus how loud he wept." Naukoska fell to smoking his pipe again. Outside the wall the trees swayed wildly. The wind had broken the leaden sky, and now and then, through swiftly moving clouds, shone out a star burning brightly in the deep blue heavens. The story, the night, affected Peggy strangely. Why had not her brother come ? Was this precious, newly-found possession to be taken from her ? The deeply maternal instinct in the little maid had been stirred to its depths. All that was protecting and lovable in her had gone out to him. Old Naukoska's face, the stone wall, faded away. She seemed to 28 A Georgian Actress see her brother alone in the forest, no longer wearing the scarlet coat of yester- day, but a shaggy skin. Gaunt, longer of limb, in her fancy he turned and glared at her, and as she met his gaze she thrilled with terror. His smile was no longer pleasant, his eyes were those of a wolf! She sprang to her feet and shook the nodding Naukoska awake. " Naukoska, Naukoska ! " she cried, " open the gate ! " For suddenly she felt she must go to her brother, to wrap her arms around him, to press her face to his changed one, to hold him within her em- brace until that which was so strange, so ferocious, should pass away. " Naukoska," she cried, impatient at the old man's delay, " it is I, thy little daughter of the Singing Trees. Nau- koska, open the gate for me." Slowly he rose, unlocked and pushed open the heavy gate. " Thou wouldst go out and see how all goes in the forest to- night," he said indulgently, " To-morrow we shall have snow." It was a secret between these good A Georgian Actress 29 friends that every night he undid the gate and she stepped outside for a little while, breathing all the peace and balmy scents of the forest, enchanted that no walls surrounded her. Now, as she stood without in the majestic woods and felt the cool rush of air, unbroken by the wall, sweep over her, the hot impulse died down and she wondered at the lengths to which her imagination had carried her. Still, she was sure that something unfore- seen and terrible must have occurred to prevent her brother's coming, not realis- ing, in her ignorance of the world and its demands, that many things, not in them- selves serious, might intervene between the making and keeping of an appoint- ment. " Naukoska," she asked the old gate- keeper as she had many times before, " where is my father's home ? " And old Naukoska would answer : " There is a strip of forest and beyond lies the Indian village and still beyond that, is thy father's home." This time he did not reply. Turning, 30 A Georgian Actress she saw him nodding with sleep, for he was very old. She glanced at the upper right-hand wing of the castle where showed a patch of orange. Through the window came faintly the sweet sound of Ann's spinet. Madame Van Vrankin's room she could not see, but she knew she was there, spending her evening in soli- tude as was her custom. Old Naukoska, waking, found his com- panion gone. Doubting not that she had returned to the castle, he laboriously closed the heavy gate, then, reseating himself, puffed at the dying coal in his pipe. Meanwhile, Peggy followed fearlessly the forest path old Naukoska had so often pointed out to her. She heard the hooting of Ohowa, the owl. " Whoo, whoo," she mocked, " are your big eyes watching where I go, Ohowa ? " Far above her the big trees clashed their branches as Owera, the wind, passed over them. " I have heard the tale you whispered to the trees to-night, Owera," she said. A Georgian Actress 31 Presently she crossed the little stream and soon came to the Indian village. She made a half-circuit around it to avoid being seen and perhaps delayed. She noted that only the squaws and children were to be seen encircling the fires in front of the wigwams, and so judged that the warriors were on a long hunt. Naked children played with their dogs. A hand- some young squaw, her face gay with paint, her wild black hair falling on her shoulders, appeared to be relating a story to a group of women. As Peggy passed by a corn field, she was startled by a shrivelled old crone, who stepped across her path from out the rustling stalks. The little maid shud- dered, for she judged her to be the old woman of whom Naukoska had told her, and who, before death entered a wigwam, was always to be seen sitting at the door- way just at twilight. Beyond the village, facing the county highway, Johnson Hall, built of gray stone, loomed up in solitary grandeur. The entrance doors were flung wide, and 32 A Georgian Actress a strong yellow light, dimmed by smoke, streamed forth from the interior. Peggy quickened her steps eagerly. Within, her father, Sir William John- son, the superintendent of Indian affairs in the Mohawk Valley, was entertaining the warriors of the Five Nations of the Iroquois. Over five hundred were now assembled in the hall, each warrior with his pelts beside him awaiting his turn to trade them. These assemblies generally lasted several days, and during this time much pleasure as well as business was in order. Preparations for the entertainment had been going on for weeks. The negro servants, although knowing that the In- dians despised them as slaves, were more joyous than any over the festivities, and had the larder well stocked with their choicest delicacies. Sir William Johnson, in honour to his guests, wore the dress of a Mohawk chief, even to the detail of exchanging his pow- dered wig for one made of straggling black hair. Long association with these People of the Long House, as the tribes living in A Georgian Actress 33 the valley were called, had developed in him certain like characteristics. He was dignified and inclined to be taciturn, sober to an extent bordering on melancholy. These peculiarities he showed chiefly in dealing with the Indians. There were other occasions when his love of humour and good living broke through his reserve and he seemed what he had been born, a hearty, handsome Irishman of the mer- chant class, who had by his own efforts raised himself to a position of undisputed honour and responsibility. George III. had granted him the largest tracts of land ever accorded to a private person. There in the forest wilds, he, at once pros- perous trader and undisputed sovereign, entertained with splendid hospitality the strangers and officers whose duties led them to that part of the country. His honourable dealings with the In- dians, and his protection of their interests against the white traders who were ever quick to take advantage of the savages; his wisdom in never grasping at a petty advantage, although never failing to pro- 34 A Georgian Actress mote his own advancement ; his reserve on ordinary occasions and his fiery elo- quence when the time was ripe for speech ; his great bravery and self-control match- ing their own, combined to give him undisputed sway over them. To-night he sat in a chair on a platform that ran across the back of the long hall. He smoked a long Indian pipe as he bargained with the warriors. To his right were flung the purchased skins, and on his left were piles of gay calicoes, beads, bright-hued blankets, buttons, and various attractive trinkets. On this same platform three British officers and a Dutch hunter, from the little town of Albany, with their pipes and wine, sat around a small table playing cards. The white wigs of the officers, their scarlet uniforms trimmed with gold lace, added a brilliant touch of colour to the hall. The hunter's dress, with its leathern breeches, its worn velvet coat of brown, seemed sober enough by contrast. His chestnut hair, waving back in careless ringlets from his forehead, was tied at the A Georgian Actress 35 nape of the neck by a simple black rib- bon. His bronzed, youthful countenance, animated by laughter, afforded a pleasing comparison with the rubicund faces of his companions. Heated by wine, they were begining to show some ill-nature at his continued good fortune in the game. Seated aloof from these, Sir John Johnson, his chair tilted back against the wall, amused himself by carving a peach-stone. Over five hundred Indians sat on the floor. As they smoked, they talked to- gether or gambled with cherry-stones. Here and there among them were small piles of pelts. Iron lanterns cast their light over the scene. The walls of the lofty hall were panelled with wood, and the high rafters, blackened by smoke, showed but dimly. An oath rang out, followed by the tip- ping over of the table and a scattering of the cards. Two of the players had sprung to their feet. They were the hunter and the eldest officer. The latter, a short, cor- pulent man, his full face purple with 36 A Georgian Actress wrath, let forth a volley of oaths which the Dutchman, fiery-eyed, and pale with anger, answered by a contemptuous shrug. The officer, brandishing a card, was about to speak again, when the covert laughter of his two comrades at his drunken folly made him start to turn in wrath on them. His glance fell on a sight so surprising that, half-turned around, he stood still, staring open-mouthed. The others fol- lowed the direction of his glance. At the far end of the hall, on the threshold of the entrance, stood a little maid. Her yellow hair fell in a long and shining braid ; her flowered chintz gown parted in front over a bright green silk petticoat. Her smiling, rosy face hovered like a flower above the dusky faces of the lounging Indians. She threaded her way through them, her tender and satisfied gaze fixed on Sir John. " Kaweewee (little girl papoose)," grunt- ed the Indians. Her brother started on seeing her, but quickly regained his nonchalant attitude, A Georgian Actress 37 his surprise revealed only in the brighten- ing of his listless eyes. Sir William did not see his daughter until she reached the platform. He stared at her, while through his mind rushed various conjectures as to the cause that brought her. His unreasoning alarm failed to argue that such a serene counte- nance boded little need for anxiety. Was his daughters' preceptress ill, dying? Had anything happened to Ann, his favourite ? But then why had not one of the slaves been sent? " How did you come here ? " he asked, sternly. " Who brought you ? Where is Ann?" " I came alone," answered she. " I came away while old Naukoska slept, and nei- ther Madame nor Ann knows that I am here." She stepped upon the platform. He seized her arm roughly. His well- trained features betrayed none of the angry amazement that filled his breast. This fair little girl, the image of her low-born, unhappy young mother, had never won his love. Even as a very 38 A Georgian Actress young child her gaze had disconcerted and repelled him. He, who ruled the untamable Indians, here felt himself de- feated and set at naught. Peggy neither feared her father nor evinced the slight- est concern in his presence. Now silently obstinate, she struggled to free herself from his grasp. With a sudden revulsion of feeling, a disheartening conviction of the lack of affection between him and his youngest daughter, he let her go. She passed the card-players whose quarrel had been forgotten in interest at her appearance, and went over to Sir John. " I waited for you and you did not come," she said, and so stood smiling at him in great content. A perverse and teasing strain, that often betrayed him into a cruelty he did not originally intend, now showed itself in Sir John. He affected not to know her. " What sent you here ? " repeated Sir William, with freshly rising anger. She ignored his question, still smiling A Georgian Actress 39 at her brother, whose treatment she did not yet comprehend. " I grew fearful for your safety," spoke she, sweetly, " and so I came." Every line of her square little figure expressed an invincible obstinacy to her father. He could not disassociate her from her mother. For the moment he felt as if his young Dutch wife, whose life had flickered out at the birth of this last child, had returned to defy him and reassert herself threefold for the suppres- sion of the past. He put his hand to his eyes. He felt unsteady. His self-control was deserting him. He became conscious of the laughter of the officers, and doubted not that grim amusement lurked behind the masks of dusky gravity the warriors wore. He rose, and, stepping forward, seized his daughter by the shoulder and turned her squarely around. " Mary," he said, never softening her name by the fond diminutive Madame had accorded it, " if you can give me no good reason for your presence here, go at 40 A Georgian Actress once and return the way you came. Do not mistake me," he added, menacingly, " I shall see that you are properly pun- ished for this folly." She struggled to get back to her brother. "John," asked his father, now thor- oughly baffled, " what does this mean ? " The other shrugged his shoulders. "I," he answered, still perversely bent on tormenting the little maid, " how can I tell ? Doubtless she heard of my return from abroad and ran to see if 'twere true that I was so marvellous fascinating. Well, well, so this is one of my sisters. She does not favour you." He laughed up into his father's face. Sir William softened. This son was as the apple of his eye. He laid his hand on his shoulder. " Well, John, you have yet to see Ann, but for that matter it will not be when you please or when I please." " I am sorry I did not know all about you," spoke Peggy, in a high, clear tone, " you are not like Ann." A Georgian Actress 41 Sir John laughed again, flushing slightly. He was beginning to be ashamed of him- self. Still he would be perverse to the end. His amused glance seemed to ask his father : " What little firebrand have we here ? " Peggy turned away, and her gaze swept the dusky faces before her. She was not frightened, but she had a strange flutter- ing in her breast, and was too simple a child to know that the emotion she felt was a realisation of her utter friendlessness in that great hall. She heard the laughter of the officers and she stared at them in innocent wonder. " Here, my little girl," said the young Dutchman, kindly, holding out to her a handful of cracked butternuts that he hap- pened to have in his coat pocket. She took them and slipped them into the silken reticule of her petticoat. She would store them away for her squirrels to eat in the winter. Then her composure gave way. Her small mouth quivered. The tears rolled down her face. " Take me back to Ann," she said. 42 A Georgian Actress " I think I think I think she misses me, and I have been so long away." " There, there," he said, hastily, " there, don't cry. You'll soon be home." He picked his hat and gun up from the floor. He was sufficiently acquainted with the domestic affairs of his host to know where she lived. " I will take her back," he said. Sir William gave a grim nod of assent. He liked the hunter cordially, and of late had taken him into his confidence in regard to his policy with the Indians. As he was about to cross back to his seat a merry thought struck him and he paused and clapped the young man heartily on the shoulder. " Ha, ha, my dear Claus," he shouted, " I wonder what she'll say to your inva- sion ? I've a mind to send John, only " He stopped, scowling. "Come," said the young Dutchman, taking Peggy's hand. Thus defeated and hurt, she left the hall. The officers collected the scattered A Georgian Actress 43 cards, and between wine and deals gos- siped of Sir William. "And 'pon my word," said he who professed most knowledge, " they have it about the town that he has kept his two daughters shut up all their lives like prin- cesses in a tower. Some have it that they are blind ; others, that the oldest is de- formed. But there is something wrong somewhere. As for Madame Van Vran- kin, we know " He tapped his forehead significantly. " Poor Van Vrankin, he was a good fellow. Here's a toast to his memory ! " All the remainder of the evening Sir William felt a sting of annoyance that one of his daughters should have beheld him in his Mohawk costume. Although he dressed thus commonly among the Indians, yet he never called at the castle save when attired as an English gentleman of rank. He had exhibited a curious vanity in this respect. Some time later Sir John rose and silently left the hall. Once without, he stood several moments looking in the 44 A Georgian Actress direction his sister and her escort had probably taken. He drew out his watch. It was still early. So he went around to the stable, and, having ordered his horse saddled, he mounted and set out for the little town of Albany, there to spend an evening in good company at the tavern. Chapter III THE wind had died down; the still air was brilliant with the light of the young moon and stars. The trunks of the trees and the ground were white with frost. As Mr. Claus suited his swinging stride to his companion's little steps, he sought to engage her in conversation. But silent, almost taciturn in her unhappiness, she would not reply. They met no one as they passed through the Indian village. The women and children had retired into the wigwams for the night. Now and then some portion of the scene was vividly lighted by a leaping tongue of flame from a dying fire. Several dogs followed the two some distance, barking at their heels. After crossing the stream, over two miles of forest road still intervened between them and the castle. Suddenly, with a 45 46 A Georgian Actress whispered hush, he dropped to the ground and drew her down beside him. The hazelnut-bushes just ahead rustled with the presence of some creature. The quivering leaves had not yet lost all colour and showed silver-green beneath a mystic veil of frost and moonlight. In the moment's intensity the sharp noise of snapping twigs sounded loud. From out the thicket a deer stepped slowly and ma- jestically forth. It stood still in the centre of the forest road, its beautiful antlered head raised, snuffing the air. Peggy heard a sigh of joy so deep as to be almost a groan at her side, and then the report of a musket. The shock dazed her. When the smoke cleared away she saw Mr. Claus bending over the fallen deer. " See, Mistress Johnson," he cried, exulting, " how is this for luck ? I will carry it with us to the castle that they may not say you came home empty- handed." But she had no word of congratulation for him, so deeply pity for the deer filled A Georgian Actress 47 her breast. She stroked the graceful head, and bent and laid her own cheek against it, then stood up sobbing. Her companion was touched with sym- pathy. He knelt on the road in front of her, and wiped away her fast rolling tears with the hem of her petticoat, not having his own kerchief convenient. " Poor little one," he said, " poor little one," for he judged her tears flowed be- cause of a wounded affection as well as on account of the deer. He felt revive the anger he had experienced earlier in the evening toward her brother. " For I doubt not," he said to himself, " that some prank of his is at the root of this matter." Peggy had been too absorbed in her un- happiness to take much note of her escort until now. But as he knelt in front of her, and she met his pleasant smile, his bright, kind eyes, and remembered the handful of nuts he had given her, a deep gratitude took possession of her. " I wept for the poor deer," she said, gently, " but I am not angry with you. 48 A Georgian Actress Was not Naukoska a great hunter, too ? Has he not told me that a man who could not kill had a woman's heart ? But I desire not again to see anything killed." He slung the deer across his shoulders and they went on. She sobbed a little at intervals, as she trudged along at his side. Soon he noticed that she was stumbling from weariness. They were nearly home now and he was ashamed at not having perceived her exhaustion before. He laid down his burden and, picking her up lightly in his strong arms, carried her the rest of the way. Then he went back for the deer. " Naukoska, open the gate," she cried, pounding on it with both hands, " Nau- koska, it is I, thy little daughter of the Singing Trees, come back to thee from out the world." It was some time before he heard, and then he opened the gate with guttural exclamations of astonishment. But when he beheld the stalwart figure of the young man returning with the deer, the joy of A Georgian Actress 49 the hunter took possession of the old man and fired his thin blood with memories of his own youth. " Come," cried Peggy, dragging at Mr. Claus's arm, " give the deer to Naukoska. Come, I will take you to Ann. She is in the room above, where the light burns." The stories he had heard of the place had stirred his imagination and he tread expectantly, as in an enchanted castle. Was it curiosity in regard to Sir Wil- liam's domestic affairs that had set his blood tingling ? He knew well, however, that up to this moment he had been actuated only by sympathy for his little companion. The massive front door was unlocked and yielded to Peggy's touch. He stepped into a hall that appeared to run through the centre of the house from front to back. Wax tapers held by figures on the newel-posts of the wide stairway, lighted the place dimly. His guide moved up the stairs at his side. When they reached the landing she turned 50 A Georgian Actress and went some distance down the corridor toward the front of the house, and opened a door. " Ann," she called. His astonished gaze observed first an open book lying beside a candle on the polished top of a harpsichord. His eyes followed the light of the candle, which seemed to concentrate upon and pursue a solitary girlish figure with flying braids of hair, that appeared to be following the motions of a dance. Now gravely step- ping forward, then back, anon courtesying to the floor, she moved with a grace which breathed the absent melody. " Ann," repeated Peggy, " I have brought you one from the world." The dancer paused. " One from the world," she repeated, wonderingly. Then she saw the stalwart stranger on the thresh- old and stared at him in amazement. " Sir William sent me home with your sister," he said, embarrassed and hastening to explain his presence there. " Alas!" cried Peggy, " I have had most sorrowful experience of the world." A Georgian Actress " Oh, where have you been ? " cried Ann. " Oh, why did you not ask me to go with you ? " She appealed to the stranger. " Where has she been ? " " She came to the Hall," he answered, " and I am sorry to say that your father was so angered he would not let her stay." " I know," sighed Ann, " Madame grieves that he loves Peggy so little. But why did she not ask me to go ? " His hands, clasping his soft hat, rested on the top of his gun, which he had planted on the floor. From his splendid height he looked down upon her, listen- ing to her words. She glanced helplessly around for her sister. But Peggy had disappeared. With an effort she raised her shy eyes to his, feeling that, in the absence of Madame, the hospitality of the castle devolved on her. " I dance," said she, " that 1 may not be lacking in genteel accomplishments when I go forth into the world." He smiled, shy as herself. But she, 52 A Georgian Actress encouraged by that smile, ventured to continue. " At this hour, Madame, my preceptress, retires to her room until it is time for prayers. Thus I find an oppor- tunity to teach myself the art of dancing." She indicated by a gesture the open book. " I do not think the instruction I have is very good. Perchance," the eagerness of her desire shining in her eyes, " you will tell me if I step correctly." " I do not dance," he replied. " I thought all in the world danced," she cried. "We all dance to different tunes," he laughed, recovering from his embarrass- ment, " and fate is the piper." Ann smiled vaguely, not quite under- standing him. " Have you been lately to London ? " she asked. " I have never been there," he said, and saw that she was much disappointed by his answer. He heard a step behind him and turned. Madame Van Vrankin was coming slowly toward them down the hall. " Here is some one to see us at last, dear A Georgian Actress 53 Madame," cried Ann, happily, forgetting her momentary disappointment in their guest's accomplishments. Madame returned the young man's bow in silent, cold surprise. He hastened to explain his presence. She listened attentively. Nothing of what she might have felt on hearing of Peggy's unprecedented proceeding, neither curiosity nor astonishment, showed in her expression. But when he mentioned Sir William's keen annoyance, a shadowy smile quivered on her lips. Encouraged by the fact that one so pale and cold could smile even thus faintly, he spoke with youthful ardour of her husband. " Madame Van Vrankin," he said, " I am honoured to meet you, for I have always heard much of the brave man whose name you bear. They say in Albany to this day that there never was a soldier at once more modest and brave. He was ever the last to admit his own valour. Why, when we young men in Albany were little fellows, the very name of Peter Stuyvesant Van Vrankin was enough to 54 A Georgian Actress set us all on fire with enthusiasm. Chil- dren have great ambitions, Madame." "Yes, that is what you ever say, Ma- dame," put in Ann, " and you call me foolish whene'er I tell you my plans." " I thank you, sir," said Madame, ignoring Ann's remark, " it is long since I have even heard my husband's name spoken. Are you then from Albany ? I wonder if I knew your family." " My name is Claus," he answered. She nodded. " You must have been a very young child when I knew your mother. She had quite a family." " She and my father are both dead these many years," he answered, " and we children are scattered. I am the only one left in Albany." " I have never been in Albany," said Ann, wistfully. " It is not far," he said. He felt that he should be going, and bent a look on her that startled her. For at the thought of leaving, a new-born grief woke in his breast. He felt that he was living a dream, and that he should never see her again. A Georgian Actress 55 "The lights have been extinguished in the hall below," spoke Madame Van Vrankin, and even in this moment of abstraction he was conscious of the pe- culiar charm of her voice. It was not cold and monotonous, as might have been expected from her personality, but musi- cal, and possessing a plaintively sweet intonation. " Ann, give me a candle, that I may show Mr. Claus down." " Do not let me trouble you," he said, more wounded than offended at his dismis- sal. " I can let myself out, and if there is some one at the door to lock it after me, it may not be necessary for you to go down." "This way, if you please," she said, taking the candle from Ann, and preced- ing him. At the head of the stairway, Mr. Claus paused to look once more at Ann. Her face was partly in shadow, but the light from the room back of her fell on her beautiful dark head, the white hand hang- ing at her side, the rich gleam of her green silk petticoat, and for the first time he noted that the two girls were dressed 56 A Georgian Actress exactly alike. He could not see her ex- pression, but the wistful droop of her head as she leant against the casement of the door made him realise how lonely her life must be, that she should regret the going of an entire stranger. Madame Van Vrankin did not lead the way to the front door. Instead, she ushered him into a large room on the left. Placing the candle on a table of such sub- stantial size that he judged the apartment must be a dining-room, she motioned him to a chair. " I brought you here, sir," she ex- plained, " that I might offer you that hospitality which, I trust, none will ever enter a roof under which I abide without receiving." Outside the circle of light, flung by the candle, he could see nothing. Madame's black-robed figure was not distinguishable in the darkness as she moved about at the farther end of the room. He heard the clink of glass. " You will have some fruit-cake, sir ? " she asked. A Georgian Actress 57 Now that he could not see her face, the charming voice, so fresh and melodious, seemed naturally to belong to a young woman. Strangely affected, he answered, simply, " You are very kind, Madame." She set a decanter of wine and glasses on the table, a napkin, a plate containing cake, and a silver dish of red apples, highly pol- ished. She sat down at the side of the table opposite him and took the glass of wine he poured out and passed to her. "It has been my experience, sir," she said, " that in matters where the future holds a probability that you may put yourself in opposition to any one, it is best to have the relations and stand you will maintain perfectly frank with that person from the beginning. May I ask if you are unmarried ? " An hour ago he would have replied without embarrassment. Now his cheek reddened. He nodded. " I scarcely know how to frame my words most fitly," she continued, slowly, " and not to offend you. Yet I trust you will meet me generously and believe that 58 A Georgian Actress my interest is solely for another person and not myself. It is difficult to speak at all upon a subject as delicate as the one I have in mind, and I am perplexed as to the wisdom of saying anything. Still, I will proceed. Peggy, whom you brought home to-night, is still a child in thought. Not so her sister, or you would be wel- come here at the castle. It is owing to this that I take upon myself the painful and inhospitable duty of requesting you that, as this is your first visit here, it may also be your last." The blood rushed to his face. He felt outraged, humiliated, and, for the moment, could only believe that his host- ess did not consider his escort of her youngest ward other than a pretext, on his part, that he might force his presence on them. He would have risen and left at once, had not the action seemed childish. The bit of cake he had eaten choked him. And then he looked up and saw that a delicate pink flush had risen to Madame's pale face, and that her eyes were very gentle and sympathetic. A Georgian Actress 59 " I beg that you will hear me to the end," she said. " I have striven since their mother's death to raise Sir William's daughters in solitude, and, until to-night, I have been successful. It had been my hope, in thus shutting out all worldly things, to turn their thoughts, their every desire, to God; and when the time grew ripe for them to go forth into the world, I had prayed it might be as servants of the Lord, doing the work of the Church among the Indians. In so rearing them I desired to offer a pure and living sacri- fice to a world my life had done nothing toward making better. And I have failed. I have failed absolutely. Ann, for whom I have most prayed, whom, if possible, I have most carefully guarded, lives in a world of her own, to the entrance of which I hold not the key. The loneli- ness, the well-nigh impenetrable forest with which I have surrounded her, fails to confine her. Her imagination, unfortu- nate as it is beautiful, knows no solitude, and, as a ray of sunlight slips through the forest, so does she evade all the barriers 60 A Georgian Actress I have builded. As for Peggy, the child you brought home to-night " She paused, her expression grew austere. " Sir," she continued, " she has made a mockery of my teachings, and is a pagan, pure and simple, without hope of change. In the murmuring of the pines she hears not the word of God, as I have taught her, but an Indian legend she has learned. As fluently as her own, she speaks the tongue of this heathen people. To live close to the earth, to have her freedom and her curious pets, is all she desires. She is like any other simple forest crea- ture, with more intelligence, that is all. Now that God's will in them has shown otherwise than I, in my pitiful attempt, would have moulded them, I have prayed that happiness may come to Ann. Her nature is tender and generous, ever alive to the suffering of others, quick to repent and acknowledge her fault if she does wrong. But as for Peggy, I trust that her soul will be awakened, even though it must be through the bitter medium of pain and anguish." A Georgian Actress 61 Respecting her emotion no less than he rebelled against her precepts, her listener made no comment when she paused. "And now to come to the matter in hand," she continued, with a faint smile, " one which I have not reached save by going around Robin Hood's barn, as they say. You, sir, are a bachelor, and Ann is beautiful. Ah, sir, I know this world well. It may be that you will leave here to-night and the thought of her never enter your mind any more seriously than it has now. And, such is the irony of fate, this warning of mine may be first to rouse in you the desire I dread. Against the possibility of any relation whatsoever, I must protest. My authority here is lessening. It would be a simple matter, as things are now, for you to obtain Sir William's consent to visit his daughter. He has already expressed his disapproval of their continued confine- ment. Therefore, I appeal to your gen- erosity, sir." He rose. " Madame," he replied, not without a certain youthful dignity, " I 62 A Georgian Actress am not offended by what you have said, and I will not come again, yet I cannot help but agree with Sir William, that such con- tinued solitude does his daughters more harm than good." " What would you suggest ? " she asked, smiling and amused. " They should meet other young people, and they should marry," he said, stoutly. "Yes," she rejoined, with a touch of malice, " but marry whom ? They have not been brought up to make good Dutch wives for Albany settlers." She shrugged her shoulders slightly. " Ah, sir, to what ridiculous lengths is our conversation leading us ! I am a foolish old woman, and will have it that none can set eyes on Ann without loving her." Her eyes sparkled, the austerity and gravity of her former manner seemed to have dropped like a mask from her. The abundant hair, beneath the widow's cap she wore, took on a lustrous gleam to his astonished gaze. He felt that once in a gay world she had been a beauty and a power. She A Georgian Actress 63 extended her hand and he bowed low over it. " I hope I may have the honour of meeting you again," he said, gravely. His high spirits of a moment since had died, and he was filled with sadness. This woman, at once so admirable and brilliant, barred his way to seeing again her to whose loveliness his soul had gone forth. She went to the door with him and opened it, holding the candle high that its light might fall as far as possible. The clouds had met again and a light snow was falling. The ground was white. He found that old Naukoska had gone in for the night. " We need not rouse him," said Ma- dame Van Vrankin, " I have another key here. He is very old, nearly a century, he says." She set the candle down in the shelter of the hall, and, unmindful of the weather, followed her guest to the gate. Once on the road without, he waited until he heard the key turned again in the lock. " Good night," he called, cheerily, " I 64 A Georgian Actress shall not come again save to leave a string of game at your gate." " Good night," came Madame's voice from the other side of the wall, "and may the blessing of God go with you." Outside, in the falling snow, the young Dutchman remained standing some mo- ments looking up at the patch of orange light in the right wing of the building. And gradually in the silence he became conscious of the faint, sweet tinkle of Ann's spinet. Chapter IV MADAME went back into the house and locked the door. Half-way up the stairs a draught sweeping through the hall blew out the candle. She con- tinued, however, to hold the taper rigidly and at a distance, as if it were indeed still lighted and there were danger of the wax dripping on her. As she reentered the parlour, Ann, who was playing her spinet, rose and turned on her stormily. " Why did you never tell me of my brother?" Madame sat down wearily. Her far- off gaze seemed to pass beyond the girl. " I am tired of always living here," cried Ann. "Who was that man ? And Peggy ! Oh, you should know how sullen she acts ! I went to our room and made her come back here where it is warm to tell me where she had been. But all the time you 65 66 A Georgian Actress were gone she would not say one word to me save that she had gone to see her brother. Is our brother like that hunter ? " Peggy sat in a chair, her hands folded in her lap. Where Ann would have scolded and wept passionately, she was immovable. But there was unhappiness as well as obstinacy in the little maid's face which Madame did not fail to notice. " Until now, Ann," she said, " you were content without knowledge of a brother." She pointed to Peggy. "You see the fruits of disobedience. Has it brought her happiness ? " " Then I have a brother," cried Ann, all gladness. " That hunter was not our brother," put in Peggy, crossly, catching at the word. " My little Ann," said Madame, " you have been a good child to me. Be still obedient, and rest satisfied for to-night. I will tell you more to-morrow. It is long past the hour for prayer, but neverthe- less the servants will be waiting. Come, Peggy. " A Georgian Actress 67 The chapel had been added to the castle by Madame Van Vrankin herself. A cor- ridor, that always seemed cold and full of draughts even in summer, led to it from the main hall. Muffled sounds of laugh- ter and conversation came to their hearing. "They are still in the kitchen," said Madame, and. smiled, for the sounds of good cheer pleased her, she who was always so friendly to the humble. She went on down and opened the door leading into the kitchen. The negroes and several Christian Indians sat around the open hearth on which blazed a pile of large logs. On the table the deer lay in state. Old Naukoska sat in the chimney-corner. " Come, my children," she said, mildly, " it is time for prayers." The little chapel had several oak benches and a stone floor. The simple altar was always covered by linen, exquis- itely embroidered, and held a communion service of silver that had never been used, for no clergyman had ever been invited to visit the castle. Madame made the service short this 68 A Georgian Actress night. The chill air blew around them as they knelt on the stone. The negroes chattered with the cold. Madame shiv- ered so that her trembling hands refused to hold the book, and she was obliged to lay it on the bench in front of which she knelt. All night the snow fell. Ann and Peggy slept wrapped close in each other's arms for warmth. Terunda fluttered in under the silk coverlid. When they woke in the morning, it was to behold a white world. The crimson and gold hosts of the woods had been vanquished. " The little people of the leaves are gone," said old Naukoska. Flocks of birds which had lingered during the warm spell flew southward. They heard the calling of the belated wild geese. The snow continued to fall for a week. Then the sun shone out in a clear blue sky. The valley stretched away in great drifts of snow, the dazzling whiteness broken by the sharp black lacework of the leafless trees and the dark green of the unchang- ing pines. From the day the snow ceased A Georgian Actress 69 to fall, the cold, which had been moderate up to that time, increased steadily. The waters of the Mohawk were frozen to a greater depth than had been known for many years. So hard a crust formed over the snow that snow-shoes were not used. And always was heard the snapping and crackling sound made by the intense cold. It was three weeks before Sir William visited his daughters. He came in a sledge drawn by four horses over the frozen river. Ann, who watched for him every afternoon, saw him coming when still far off, and ran to tell her companions. There had been no need for any of the household to go outside this weather, and so the snow lay heaped in undisturbed drifts about the castle. Madame Van Vrankin sent the servants to clear a path and to shovel the snow aside that the gate might be opened. The negroes, though the greatest suf- ferers in the cold weather, were yet glad of a frolic, and, bundling themselves to the ears, set to work with a will. The Chris- tian Indians, who in their transitory visits 70 A Georgian Actress were always treated as guests, watched the slaves haughtily, and did not attempt to assist them. Only around the kitchen fire, when tales were told, did they un- bend to talk. The two young girls watched the sport from the drawing-room windows. The slaves were picturesque figures, the women attired in bright cali- coes and cast-off garments of their mis- tresses, and the men in old uniforms and gay coats they had begged from visitors to Johnson Hall. Their ebony faces, lighted by splendid white teeth, shone with joy. All cast devoted glances to- ward the upper window, and tripped one another head over heels in the snow for the benefit of the two wistful spectators who wished they might join in the fun without loss of dignity. Ann ran down-stairs to meet her father at the door when he arrived. " Well, Nancy, are you glad to see me ? " he asked, pinching her cheek. He shook the snow from him. His fresh and hearty presence brought a whiff of winter into the hall. A Georgian Actress 71 " How cold you are!" she cried, helping him off with his coat. " Splendid weather. See here, Nancy," lowering his voice mysteriously, " who sent your sister to the hall the other night ? " He gave a significant upward jerk of his thumb. " Did she have any- thing to do with it ? " He had forgotten his anger toward Peggy, his threat to punish her, but he was still curious. " Neither of us knew she had gone until she came home with the hunter," answered Ann. " Well, I didn't know, I didn't know," he said, " I thought she sent the child to torment me. I tell you, Nancy, your sis- ter is going to grow up into an uncanny woman." " Father," said she, not heeding his remark, and putting both hands on his shoulders to gaze up into his face, her expression roguish and full of delight, " you never told us that we had a brother who is most comely and a great wit." He laughed jovially. "Ay, Nance, he's a shapely fellow and has a pretty 72 A Georgian Actress wit, a little too much given to flirting and drinking as yet, but he'll sober down into a brave soldier in time." She was slightly abashed by his exceed- ing mirth. He chuckled all the way up-stairs. " Ha, ha, my dear Madame," he cried, bursting into the room, Ann clinging lovingly to his arm, " so the cat is out of the bag. A very good jest at your expense, hey ? " Madame Van Vrankin rose and curt- sied. " You do not mind the cold, then ? And that, in spite of your advancing years," she added, with a touch of malice. " I scarce looked for you in this weather." He glowered at her. A hale and hearty, if no longer a young man, he considered himself still in the prime of life, yet he never came into her presence without feeling as if the very breath of death and old age blew cold upon him. Once in his presence she had engaged in a conversation on the immortality of the soul with Ann. He had interrupted them, his full face turning purple with vexation. " Never A Georgian Actress 73 speak of religion in my presence," he had shouted, thumping on the table with his fist, " it makes me melancholy." " I am not surprised at that," she had retorted, dryly. Now, in his annoyance at her allusion to his age, he forgot his jest and settled himself sullenly in a chair before the fire. " Mix me a glass of grog, Nancy," he said, stretching out his legs to its generous warmth. She hung the little kettle on the crane, and then took down from the chimney shelf a pipe and a box that contained to- bacco. She filled the pipe and handed it to him with a lighted taper, then seated herself on a stool at his knee. The first few puffs soothed his ruffled temper. The genial warmth after his long, cold ride made him pleasantly drowsy. He looked at Madame Van Vrankin sitting opposite him, the firelight flashing on her knitting- needles. Her expression was one of abstraction, as if she had already forgotten his presence. He could discern in her now no trace of the dashing English beauty 74 A Georgian Actress that had set the hearts of the Albany beaux on fire one long-ago winter. He had been among the jilted. He never re- called this episode without a sense of humour and a delicious consciousness of escape. She had married one of the fa- mous Van Vrankins. Later the border war broke out, and her husband was called to the front. She seized the opportunity his absence thus afforded to revisit London, leaving her little son with his father's parents. Hearing that Sir William John- son desired a housekeeper, she sold him a High Dutch girl who had been bound to her service for a number of years by the captain in whose ship she sailed to America, and who thus collected her passage-money. Her visit abroad passed into the second year. Neither her husband's entreaties nor longing to see her child could make her turn from the gaiety and adulation that society lavished upon her money and beauty. She wrote, urging her husband to come to London. To this letter she never received a reply. Before it crossed the seas she had word of his death while A Georgian Actress 75 fighting. And the same week came the equally terrible news that the old couple, with their little grandson, had gone to visit friends in the country but had never reached their destination, and were be- lieved to have been massacred by the Indians. Eight years later her restless travels brought her to America. There a fresh shock awaited her. The country- side whispered of a scandal at Johnson Hall. Madame Van Vrankin, going to visit her old servant, found the High Dutch girl dying, a baby a week old be- side her, and two other tiny children play- ing in the room. What argument she brought to bear upon Sir William none ever knew, but he married the mother of his children on her death bed, and in the ring that was used in the ceremony Madame had inscribed the date of the day she died. From that time on Madame Van Vrankin lived at Johnson Castle, which Sir William built for his daughters eight miles back in the forest. There she devoted herself to the two girls, whose 7 6 A Georgian Actress mother had confided them to her care. The oldest child, a boy, the father kept with him, and sent him later to school in England. It fell in with Madame's strange theory of bringing up the children in solitude that the girls should not know of their brother. He, however, learned through the current gossip of their exist- ence, and, although he often wandered near the castle, he did not dare disobey his father's order that Madame Van Vrankin's wishes should be respected. The secret of the hold she held over Sir William did not lie in her knowledge of his treatment of his wife, whom, indeed, he remembered as a podr and rather spiritless creature, but in her promise to leave his daughters her large property. He had been at first more anxious to be rid of the responsibility of bringing up his girls than concerned for their heritage. But greed came with his vast possessions, and he was desirous to leave all to his son whom he idolised. This he could do by counting on her fortune for his two younger children. A Georgian Actress 77 Sometimes, however, as he noted Ann blossoming into womanhood, he was tempted to exert his parental authority, and take her to live with him. But his desire that John should inherit all his money and land, undivided, restrained him from defying Madame, who was capable of keeping her word, no matter how deep her affection for her charges. These thoughts, passing through his' mind now as he sat before the fire, sad- dened him. He took his pipe from his mouth and sighed, and stroked Ann's head as she sat on a stool at his feet wait- ing for the little kettle to boil. Was she not flesh, of his flesh and yet he had re- signed all claim to her? " It's beginning to boil now," she said, " can't you hear it singing ? " holding up her finger to compel attention to the sound. It was only four o'clock, but outside the circle of firelight the long room was gloomy. The steam spurted in a sudden cloud from the kettle. " Shall I make tea for us ? " asked Ann of Madame. 78 A Georgian Actress " I'll have tea myself," said Sir Will- iam. " Make it a trifle strong, Nancy, and stir in considerable sugar and a drop of brandy instead of cream for me." "Where's Peggy ? " he continued, watching her as she drew out the low tea- table. " You've got my mother's figure, Nancy. Lord, what a beauty she was ! There weren't many who could hold a candle to your grandmother, let me tell you." " Could she dance ? " she asked. " Dance ! " he echoed. "She tripped light as a summer breeze over " " Ann," interrupted Madame, " you are putting in far too much tea. Peggy," raising her voice, " are you there ? Your father has asked for you." The little maid came out reluctantly from behind the heavy maroon-coloured curtains at the front window. She had been watching some robins eat the crumbs she had sprinkled on the outside ledge. Sir William turned and looked at her with a curiosity not unmingled with in- A Georgian Actress 79 stinctive fatherly affection. Now that his anger had passed, he was inclined to dis- miss her escapade of the other evening indulgently. He put out his hand. " Come, Peggy," he said, kindly, and drew her to him and kissed her. The touch of her soft little face melted any lingering harshness of feeling on his part. After all, what a mere baby she was, with her yellow hair, her pink cheeks, and blue eyes. As he would have taken her on his knee her figure stiffened rebelliously. The old antagonism flamed up. He pushed her from him. " There, child," he cried, harshly, " go play with your dolls." " Please run and tell Pompey to bring up the cream and cake, Peggy dear," asked Ann ; " tea is made." The short afternoon waned. Over the pleasant teacups Sir William's ever fluctu- ating good-humour revived. He gos- siped with Madame on public affairs. The two met on a common ground of intellectual interests. Ann was always a puzzled listener to these conversations. 8o A Georgian Actress Her monitress appeared in a new light. Depriving herself voluntarily of even such news as the current post might have sup- plied, she was unconscious of the eager interest she evinced in Sir William's con- versation. The two girls sat in straight-backed chairs side by side, their hands clasped under the table. Both hoped to hear their brother's name mentioned. The two older people had one great mutual interest. This was the Indian question. Sir William's position, his title and property, proceeded from his sovereignty over The People of the Long House. He did not underestimate the influence Madame Van Vrankin had gained for him by her efforts to educate and Christianise those Indians that came within her reach. Her power was silent and far-reaching, and she was regarded with peculiar reverence by the tribe. She had built a small stone church in their set- tlement, and once a month, at her direc- tion, an Albany clergyman preached to the Christian Indians. A Georgian Actress 81 " Father," ventured Ann, during a pause in the conversation, " how very tall that hunter was who brought Peggy home." "Who? Claus?" he asked. "Yes, he's a big fellow. I had hoped John would have been a larger man than he is." Peggy and Ann both thrilled, and their clasped hands tightened. " That is his name," whispered the little sister. " I knew the Claus family once," re- marked Madame, taking another cup of tea, " this son reminds me of some one I once knew, but I cannot place the re- semblance." Sir William rose to go. Ann ran down-stairs and brought up his outside garments to warm them at the fire. Fear of Madame, dislike of her father, restrained Peggy no longer. " When is our brother coming to see us?" " Please let him come soon," begged Ann. " Madame says now that we know of him, she no longer cares if he comes." " He's in New York now on business 82 A Georgian Actress for me, but I'll send him over when he comes back." He was plainly delighted. "Why did you not wear your Indian chief dress ? " asked Peggy. He caught the glimmer of a smile on Madame's face, and burst into one of his sudden furies with her. " Ay, laugh," he cried, "and teach my daughters to ridi- cule me. But, I think, the jest is on you. You who were so determined to keep the natural relations of flesh and blood apart ! I'll wager it was not you who told my girls of John." He seized Peggy roughly. " Come, who was it told you of him ? " She struck at him with her free hand. He flung her from him. " There, you see your work, Madame," he cried. " She shall be punished," she answered, coldly. He sniffed, and hurried from the room, slamming the door after him. Ann opened it again, and ran down-stairs after him to say good-bye. At the Hall all cheer and warmth A Georgian Actress 83 awaited his return. He was still enter- taining the officers, and also an old friend and his wife from abroad. There would be a bountiful dinner, good wine, cards, and gossip. The stars were shining as he started for home, and he became once more serene, as he got into the sledge and sped along the frozen river, the keen air whistling by, and a wonderful white reflection of snow and starlight in the air. He did not visit them again until toward Christmas. He came alone. Sir John had been home on a flying visit and gone back to New York, where he pro- fessed himself enamoured of a Dutch beauty. "Oh, Peggy," wept Ann that night, after the two were in bed, " my heart is bitter-sore with disappointment. If he were our brother really, he would come to see us." " Hush," answered Peggy, solemnly. " Three times has Naukoska set a charm. Three times has it been successful. He will come back. Hush, dear Ann." She put her arms around her sister's neck and 84 A Georgian Actress kissed her. " He will come back in the spring, and take us far, far away. Thus Naukoska read in the charm." But despite her faith in Naukoska, the little maid went to the garden every after- noon, and waited the reappearance of Sir John in vain, lingering until she ached with the bitter cold. The small animals and birds starved or were frozen to death in large numbers that terrible winter. Every time Peggy went out into the garden she found some helpless creature, which she brought back in her loving little arms, and carried to the kitchen. In her own and Ann's bed- room, she kept her especial pets. There they lived in good-fellowship. She had several crows, a Robin Redbreast, two sil- ver squirrels, and a white rabbit with ruby eyes. But Terunda, who was ill-natured, she was obliged to keep out of the room, unless she were there. Hour after hour she amused herself with them, playing in the lofty chamber, which was chill de- spite the hangings on the wall and the fire on the hearth. A Georgian Actress 85 The wild and timid deer driven by hunger came to the gate, and Madame Van Vrankin ordered food given to them. Ann adopted a fawn that was left behind, and she fed it with warm milk, and had a corner in the stable swept and filled with clean straw for it. Often she walked in the garden with it, muffled to her eyes in her cardinal, a long crimson-hooded garment of fine wool. So with these diversions afforded by their pets, and a game of shuttlecock in the hall, or chess of an evening, the time passed. Madame had them do much studying, and practice their music, as well as their fine sewing and embroidery. Chapter V THERE came a day at last when the spring returned. The ice in the river broke with ominous booming sounds and the swollen water overflowed the banks. The swelling buds of the trees waited the warm rains. In the bare forest, so bright with sunshine and melting snows, the Indian women and children wandered and selected the maple-trees to be tapped. Here and there a temporary wigwam was erected, and near by, swung from three cross poles, bubbled the big iron pot in which the sap was being boiled down to a sweet syrup. The thin blue smoke from these fires rose like incense on the cool, soft air. March and April passed with ever un- folding beauty. At the Hall Sir William maintained in marked degree the splendour of his living. 86 A Georgian Actress 87 He discarded for the season his Indian costume, and wore the curled peruke and velvet small-clothes of a man of fashion. He rode in a coach and six. His doors were thrown wide to the men and women who visited him and who brought all the manner and dress of the gay world to these wilds. The Hall lost its graver aspect as the abode of the Superintendent of Indian Affairs, and seemed transformed to an English country place. The rooms rang with merry voices and laughter; through the woods flashed the bright coats of the men, the soberer dresses of the women, as they followed the hunt. Sir William's daughters had no share in all this gaiety. Once from an upper window Ann saw her father's coach and horses pass along a road that skirted the forest. She caught a fleeting glimpse of brilliant gowns, and fancied, despite the distance, that she heard a faint echo of laughter. Her heart throbbed painfully with excitement. A storm of indignation that she was not one of the party swept 88 A Georgian Actress over her. She hurried to find Madame Van Vrankin. " Madame," she cried, bursting into the room where her preceptress stood before the embroidery-frame, " I wish the key to the great gate. Peggy has been without, and now I am going." The other turned and the mere healthy aggressiveness of youth was forced upon her. So she looked at Ann and felt her own life feeble and colourless. "It is my wish you should not go out- side," she said. " I will have the key," cried Ann, " I will not be treated like a child any longer." Madame removed the key from the bunch at her side, and extended it silently. There was a strange patience in her face. Since Peggy's venture in the fall she had taken his key away from old Naukoska, that none might enter or leave the castle without her knowledge. " It is my wish you should not go," she repeated ; " you are disobedient." But Ann, all in the spirit of a naughty A Georgian Actress 89 child, half-repentant at the outset of her intended naughtiness, hurried out. At first she thought of getting Peggy to go with her, but shame at such open defiance deterred her. Naukoska nodded in his accustomed seat in the sunshine. De- prived of his power, still like a toothless old watch-dog, he was faithful to his post. It required all her strength to push open the gate. She stepped out upon the road for the first time unaccompanied, and stood smiling, looking around her, flinging back her head to gaze into the clear sky, then turning to glance back down the valley. As she did so she noticed that the gate had swung to. She pushed it open again and put a heavy stone in place to keep it so. "It shall never be closed again," she said, nodding her wilful head at the drows- ing Naukoska, " it shall remain open thus for people to pass in and out, to and from the world." He heeded her not. Not even Peggy's voice could compel his attention nowadays. She took a bridle-path leading where the wooded depths seemed greenest. The go A Georgian Actress spring woods were still scant in foliage, and thus held a passing and delicate loveliness, a lofty airiness, and far-reaching forest vistas. To her delight, she found grazing the young fawn that had been her pet in the winter, and which Madame had ordered turned out when the warm days came, that it might have its freedom and rejoin its kind. Regretful that she had no sugar lumps to give it she plucked the young grass and let it feed from her hand. Tir- ing at last of playing with it, she wandered on, seeking fresh diversion. Thus it was that all unexpectedly at a turn of the path she and Mr. Claus met each other. The little fawn was not quicker to retreat than Ann. Only she, after the first start, stood still with beating heart. Her gentle companion bounded away into the forest. For a brief moment the young people were silent, she all timid and fluttering, he, reining in his horse, gazed down on her with a look wistful and dazed, as though she appeared to him in a dream. " Have you," asked Ann, first to re- A Georgian Actress 91 cover her composure, " seen my father's coach, filled with gay gentlefolk, go pass- ing by this afternoon ? " He dismounted. " No, I haven't seen him. I am only just in from a long hunt- ing trip, and have sent my negro boy on ahead with the muskets and luggage." He did not add that his first thought on nearing home was to ride toward the castle in the hope of catching a glimpse of her at some window. " I must go on, for I am most anxious to meet my father," said she. Remem- bering the instructions contained in The Gentlewoman's Companion, she dropped him a curtsey. " Won't you let me go with you ? " he asked, eagerly. " Well, please let us walk very fast," she answered. " Are Madame Van Vrankin and your sister well ? " he inquired, curious to know how she came to be wandering unaccom- panied in the forest. " Madame is still pale from the long winter. She does not like the snow. Do 92, A Georgian Actress you think we are surely going the right way to meet my father's coach ? " she added, anxiously. An hour passed. Claus walked in a dream of happiness. Long before he met Ann, the fact of her own and her sister's confinement in the lonely forest had appealed to his imagination. Two years ago he had mingled freely in Albany society and been foremost in the hearty sports of the young Dutchmen, and ac- companied their stout and comely sisters to husking-bees and country frolics. But his long trips into the interior, with his body-servant for his one companion, had wrought a change in him. From these forest excursions, lasting several months, he emerged each time with added dignity and shrouded in a more impenetrable reserve. In the solitude of the mighty woods, aloof from his old companions, serious and lofty thoughts came to him, and he developed latent ambition. Con- versation at the tavern of an evening with his former companions now annoyed him, and so he drifted away from them and A Georgian Actress 93 spent his evening instead at Johnson Hall. Here he not only fell much under the influence of its master, but also met many delightful and worldly people. Sir Will- iam looked upon him almost as an estab- lished member of his household and grew to consult the young hunter's judgment in any affair of policy with the Indians. His face as he walked beside Ann was touching in its look of almost boyish hap- piness. His chestnut hair, that lay care- lessly about his forehead, an observer must have felt to be a maternal inheritance. His hazel eyes, veiled by lashes so long that in sunny moods they held the attrac- tive sweetness of certain pretty women, added a contradictory charm to his bronzed well-shaped features. She wore no head-covering, and he saw that the light on her long braid had a purple lustre like the bloom of grapes. And whenever she raised her eyes to his, he realised their beauty afresh, and told himself that they were not like most blue eyes, but had the same violet tone that made her hair so wonderful. How often 94 A Georgian Actress on this last trip as he kept the watch by the fire while his negro boy slept, had he lived over again his one meeting with her ! It seemed so natural now to be walking at her side, listening to her sweet tones, for Ann did most of the talking, that he was filled with wonder at his own serenity. She, soon become weary, sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree. " I fear we made a mistake coming this way," she sighed. Her lips trembled with disappointment. " I wish I had asked Madame to come with me. Perhaps she would have come." Her elation had given way to homesickness, and she felt conscience-stricken at the memory of her disobedience. " Have you been far away ? " she asked him, seeking to forget her depression in conversation. "A good distance to the north," he answered. He, too, experienced a pang of conscience at a sudden thought of Madame, and felt that, in all honour, he ought to conduct his companion home at once. Ann, having forgotten her question A Georgian Actress 95 almost as soon as she had asked it, scarce heard his reply, and gazed dreamily beyond him. " When I go to London," said she, softly, " I shall do exactly as I please." " What will you do ? " he asked, his eyes bright with laughter. " I shall become a play-actress," she answered, serenely, " and then when I am wearied of that, I shall marry." The blood rushed to Claus's head. His love and hope, the long winter's denial of any glimpse of her, suddenly stung by wild jealousy, surged over him. " I beg that you will marry me," he cried. " Marry you ! " she echoed. She sprang to her feet. This this rude hunter to wish to marry her ! And what a way to woo a maid ! A sob of fear and dislike burst from her. Cut to the heart that she wept, ashamed of his own lack of self-control, he hastened to reassure her. " No, no, I did not indeed mean it. I would not marry any woman unless she loved me." She smiled tremulously ; the tears still 96 A Georgian Actress hung on her lashes. " Then you but jested with me ? Do you expect to marry soon, that you are so much given to jesting on the subject ? " " I shall never marry," he answered, sadly. " It must be strange to be a hunter's wife," mused Ann. " What would she do when you were far away ? " " I cannot say," he answered ; " but if you would like to know what the good Dutch wives in Albany do, I will tell you. In the summer-time they attend to the gardens and dry or preserve fruits, and lay up goodly stores for winter. Yet, 'tis the long, cold evenings that are best, when the supper-table is cleared and a dish of apples and doughnuts put on, and the men smoke and drink their cider, while the women sit around the fire knitting stockings " " Knitting stockings," echoed Ann ; " when do they find time to read, or play chess or shuttlecock ? I should not think they would like knitted stockings." She thrust forth her foot. " My stockings A Georgian Actress 97 are of silk, and it is the negro women who preserve and cook at the castle. I feel sorry for the Dutch wives. They must be most unhappy. Why do they marry if they must work so ? " " Have you never thought of love ? " asked poor Claus. She sighed and sighed again. A wave of rosy colour swept over her face. " I have often thought of it, sir, and contemplate how fine a thing it must be to have a man of much elegance languishing for love of one. A man who should dance with sur- passing grace, and be for ever picking up one's handkerchief, or dropping to his knees to beseech but a glance. And at the same time I would have him a man severe toward others, a wit, and also a scholar very much honoured in the world. But I must go now, for I fear Madame will be watching for me and wondering why I am so long." When they reached the tree to which Claus had tied his horse, he proposed that she should ride the rest of the way. " I think that would be nice," she an- 98 A Georgian Actress swered, brightening, for her steps had lagged in spite of herself. He took off the saddle and strapped his coat over the back of the horse, and then lifted her up, remembering at the same time how tired little Peggy had also gotten the time he brought her home. There was a touching pathos, he thought, in the fact that they had both returned so wearied by their first experience away from the castle. He led the horse, carrying the discarded saddle over his shoulder. The sun was near setting and cast level rays through the woods. When they were near the castle, Ann insisted upon going ahead alone. She felt vaguely that it would displease Madame to see her returning with the hunter. So Claus lifted her down and stood and watched her until she entered the gate. She turned and smiled and waved her hand. He stood still some moments, then, heavy-hearted, mounted and rode away. Ann, as she passed in, noted with tri- A Georgian Actress 99 umph that the gate still remained open. She sauntered with an affectation of care- lessness, in case Madame's eyes should be upon her, to the garden. In her custom- ary corner Peggy sat sewing, surrounded by her dolls and pets. " Why have you that key ? " she asked, as Ann sat down on the grass beside her. " Because I am no longer to be treated as a child. But I have much to tell you. I saw our father's coach this afternoon, and " she checked herself at the expres- sion on Peggy's face. " Why, what is it, sweetheart ? What has grieved you ? I see ! You are offended that I did not take you with me ? " The yellow head, drooping piteously, shook a denial. " I care not for the world. Why was it my brother was glad to see me here, but when I went to find him he had forgotten me ? " " I don't know," answered Ann, troubled. " He looked like you, yet was not like you, but I loved him as I do you. Oh, Ann, I have thought how much I could ioo A Georgian Actress do for him. I observed he knew not how to mend his clothes, and the lace on his shirt was torn and needed much fine darning." In the face of such sorrow as this, Ann had not the heart to relate the pleasant adventure that had befallen her. Peggy went on sewing, and did not speak again. After awhile, Ann, discour- aged by the silence, rose. " I think I will take the key back to Madame." She went first to the chapel. Not find- ing her there, she went on up to the drawing-room. " Here is the key," she said, closing the door behind her, for Madame was sensitive to draughts. Madame, her hands gripping the arms of her chair, felt that the terrible struggle of the afternoon to live until Ann should return had been in vain. All those tender words surging through her mind, were they to remain unuttered ? Death rising higher seemed to reach her throat and choke her. She was conscious that the sun was setting, that at this hour the A Georgian Actress 101 Christian Indians she had taught sat circle- wise upon the ground, bowing their heads to the earth in prayer and devotion. How many duties awaited her ! Ann was listen- ing for her words. And yet the threads of life were slipping from her fingers ! Love, stronger for the time than death, swept over her. She held out her hand. At that divinely tender gesture, the tone of that voice, Ann realised to its fullest extent the love that had been hers, realised it in the brief instant it took her to cross the room, to fling herself at Madame's knees, to bury her head in her lap. " I will never disobey you again," she sobbed. " I do not want to go to England. I will not go. No, no ! " She felt trembling hands laid on her head. " Ann," said Madame, " look at me." She raised her face and saw the worn and glorified countenance bending over her, caught the divine brightness of the patient eyes. A hush fell on her; her tears ceased to flow, her sobs were checked. "Ann," continued the tender voice, IO2 A Georgian Actress " weigh not your childish naughtiness against the joy and comfort you have given me. When I am gone, remember that I said to you you never caused me pain. Do not grieve, my child. You have been my comfort, my joy." Ann put her hands over her face with a bitter cry. " You will break my heart if you leave me. Oh, take me with you ! Oh, do not leave me ! " " Child, child," said poor Madame, " 'tis but the lying down to sleep." She strove to recall all she had meant to say. " Live righteously from your youth upwards. Do no evil, for although you repent, yet shall that sin rise in you and accuse you when most you would speak nobly to others. A sin is never done. It walks ever beside one, whispering, f Who are you ? ' " Ann saw the dying eyes fill with terror. " But not you," she cried, " you who are so good ! " That strange and subtle smile she had seen so often flitted over the pale face. Then the old love and gentleness came A Georgian Actress 103 back into her expression. Her feeble hand strove to put the kneeling girl aside, as though she would rise and go to some one. " My child, my little one," she mur- mured. Ann put her strong young arms around the fragile figure. Madame's face fell against the girl's shoulder. Now did Ann see how wa.n that cheek, how sunken the patient mouth and eyes. " Open the window that I may have air," murmured Madame, " and send Peggy. I have something to say to her." " The window is open," whispered Ann ; " see, the breeze blows my hair across your cheek." Later, as she thus knelt in the fading daylight, supporting Madame, she heard laughter in the hall, and then Peggy calling her. " Ann, where are you ? My brother has come back to me from out the world. He found the gate open and came in." She heard steps pass the door and then return. " Madame," said Peggy's blithe voice, IO4 A Georgian Actress " here is my brother." She pushed the door open, and put her smiling little face inside the room. Back of her, Ann saw standing a young man. " Madame is dead," she said. When they sought old Naukoska, to tell him the news, they found but the ancient worn-out body in its accustomed place. The faithful spirit had fled. Nau- koska, the old watch-dog, would sit in the sun at the gate no more. And it seemed to Ann that Death, like a terrible figure, had strode in the gate her own wilful hands had opened and summoned her beloved guardian, and, passing out again, had touched old Nau- koska, too. With the going out of Madame, the world came in. Chapter VI IN the fall of that year Sir John and his two sisters went abroad. They took with them three Mohawk chiefs who were to be presented to George III. The summer following Madame Van Vrankin's death had passed like a dream to Ann, and in after years she could not recall the events of that time with any clearness of vision. The guests Sir William then entertained had shown the two girls much attention, particularly the women, whose gaiety was fully equalled by their kindness. To Ann they were the bright fancies of an unreal world. Wrapped deep in her grief and remorse, she shrank from them, and was thankful when within a few weeks the party was broken up and she was left to a soli- tude broken only by her own family or by an occasional call from Mr. Claus. 105 io6 A Georgian Actress He generally spent an hour or two chat- ting of public affairs, of town-gossip in Albany, of his own adventures in the for- est, hoping thus to divert her thoughts from too great dwelling on her sorrow. He was the only person to whom she spoke of Madame, finding always entire sympathy. While they talked she would work at what was indeed a veritable labour of love, the altar-cloth that the patient hands had left unfinished. Often, as he watched that lightly stepping, girlish fig- ure before the embroidery-frame, as she drew the length of silk in and out, he let the conversation lag, content merely to watch her. A sense of his own unworthi- ness did not weaken his determination to win her for his wife, but this he told him- self should be only when he could bring her an honoured name and independent fortune. The change occasioned by the long sea voyage brought back Ann's old brightness and colour. Before they reached London she found herself talking to Peggy of Ma- dame, tenderly, but without tears. A Georgian Actress 107 Sir John found pleasant accommoda- tions at the White Swan in a fashionable part of town. He procured a large par- lour on the second floor, with a bed- chamber adjoining, and took rooms for himself and the Indians on the other side of the hall. While Peggy dressed for supper the day they arrived, Ann, who had been first to get ready, sat at the window that was open, for the day was mild. She looked out upon London roofs and chimneys enveloped in smoke, illumined by the yellow rays of the setting sun. " Ann," said her sister, sitting on the floor to draw on her shoes, " how queerly the ladies dress in London town. I was watching them go by while you were un- packing. It struck me their dress was most queer." "Why, I thought their attire quite ravishing," replied Ann, who had picked up this latter word from one of her fa- ther's guests. " I wish now I had taken more note as to how the gentlewomen at the Hall looked, but I was too sad to io8 A Georgian Actress think on dress. But now I am most uncomfortable regarding our own appear- ance. Shall I braid your hair ? " "Why, I didn't think of our looks," answered the little maid, handing Ann the brush and seating herself before the mirror ; " for truth to tell, Ann, I could scarce restrain myself from laughing at their little waists and mincing walk when John took me for a stroll this afternoon. I was forced to stuff my kerchief politely in my mouth. Oh, dear me, how you pull ! Madame was so gentle when she brushed my hair. { So,' she would say, 4 so, my little Peggy, we will brush it until it is fine and golden as the silk tassel of corn in the ear. 'Tis well to keep the body beautiful that it may be the fitting temple of the Holy Ghost.' But I didn't love Madame as I do you or John. I wept much more because Naukoska went away. Alas ! he had tales yet which he had not told me, and now I shall never hear them." " It is all like a dream to me, our life at the castle," answered Ann, solemnly ; " let us never talk of it more." A Georgian Actress 109 They had been in London some ten days when Lady Betty Fitzhugh called upon them. She was an old friend of their father. The two girls, much excited, ran out into the hall to greet their visitor, who came puffing up the stairs by the aid of a gold-headed walking-stick : her volu- minous figure in ashes-of-roses silk quite filled the narrow way. Ann, glancing over the banister as she went around to the head of the stairs, noted a young man following. He looked up as she looked down, and she met a pair of blue eyes frankly interested. She hurried blushing by to greet Lady Betty. " How de. do, my dears," said that person, in a mellow, vigorous voice ; " my Lud, how quaint ye be with your braids ! Eh, Tony ? " "If you will explain how I am to see through you, my dear aunt, I " com- menced the young man. " Tut, tut, you're always finding fault, Tony. When I catch my breath, I'll get out of the way. Perdition take the rascal no A Georgian Actress that built these stairs ! " While she spoke she was smiling at Ann. " My, my, what a pretty face. There, don't let that spoil you. Handsome is as handsome does. Is your father as good-looking as ever? Come and kiss me, my love." She planted a sounding kiss on the young girl's cheek. " Come here, little one," to Peggy- Peggy drew back against the wall. " I desire not that you should kiss me." " Hoity-toity, miss," retorted the other, "you'll yet go begging for a kiss. 'Tis the wind-up of coy maids, and a deserving fate." She stepped aside, and made room for her companion. " My dears, let me make you acquaint with my nephew, Mr. Anthony Dashwood ; a great flirt, I warn you, but he has pretty manners, and is a man of parts. Come, speak up, Tony." " My dear aunt," protested he, laugh- ing, " speak up, indeed ! You have quite driven from my mind the pretty speech I had ready to say. Speak up, indeed ! " He bowed over Ann's hand, kissing her A Georgian Actress 1 1 1 finger tips. " I am most honoured to make your acquaintance." Peggy, whom Ann had carefully in- structed, bobbed a curtsey, and hastily retreated, her hands behind her. "Will you please come this way?" spoke Ann, shyly directing her callers to the parlour. Lady Betty seated herself in the most substantial chair in the room, and untied the strings of her bonnet, which was very elegant. A wreath of pink roses inside the scuttle brim encircled her face, purple as a full-blown peony. Three nodding ostrich tips fell over from the back. She began to fan herself. Her black lace mitts most revealed by half-concealing her sole beauty, well-turned wrists and plump white hands. " You have a charming view," remarked Mr. Dashwood, strolling over to the win- dow ; " but what is this I see ? As I live, the flies have found the honey a' ready ! " " Honey ? " repeated Ann, following him to the window. She perceived only a group of servants gossiping below with U2 A Georgian Actress Lady Betty's coachman. On the opposite side of the street, which bordered a park, sauntered two young gentlemen arm in arm, as it was the fashion then for the beaux to walk ; each swung his cane in his free hand, and cast languishing glances up at the window. " The Honey and the Flies," repeated Mr. Dashwood, " I must write a rhyme on that, what d'ye say, Aunt Betty ? " He seated himself, and glanced pleasantly around the room. His blond hair, too bushy to permit the wearing of a wig, added an effect of picturesque disorder to his appearance. His dress had no sugges- tion of foppishness and was of plain bottle- green cloth. " Where is that handsome brother of yours ? " he inquired. " I had the honour of meeting him a year or so ago, or was it three ? I forget ; I never trouble myself trying to remember dates. It disturbs the poetic faculty." " John has gone for his morning walk," answered Ann, " but he will be home soon." A Georgian Actress 113 " And how is your good father, my love ? " put in Lady Betty. " I haven't seen him in years. My, my, how I'd love to talk over old times with him ! I wonder if he would remember Dicky Denniston. Did he ever speak of him ? Do tell me, is your father at all gray yet ? When you write, ask him if he knew that Nancy Walton ran off with another woman's husband ? He used to think Nancy a beauty. What a witch she was ! And you must tell him that old Caswell left his money to that worthless nephew of his, after all. And he's made ducks and drakes of it. But come, my dear, tell me how he is." "He is well," said Peggy. "He is married to an Indian squaw. I hope they will both die soon, for John says it is a disgrace, but he says they are good for many years yet. John is going to manage the Indians in a different way from my father when it comes his turn." Lady Betty jumped at the commence- ment of Peggy's speech, and gasped at its conclusion. " What a remarkable child ! " 114 A Georgian Actress she exclaimed. " How extraordinary ! Did you hear her, Tony ? " She turned se- verely on Peggy. " Don't you know any better than to mention such subjects in company ? Did you ever see this savage woman ? Oh, poor William ! I tell you, Tony, I blame Nancy Walton for this, the jilt ! Do you suppose he's really married to her ? " " How should I know ? " he laughed. " But what a delightful child ! I suppose she's what we worldlings would call a child of nature." His bright, pale eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked at Peggy. " I have no doubt she is some low, savage creature who wears nose-rings," continued his aunt. " Peggy is mistaken," said Ann, with trembling dignity, "my father is very good and kind." Mr. Dashwood straightened himself up suddenly, and his expression became grave. " Forgive us for distressing you, Lady Johnson. We Londoners know so little of the Americans that we get wrong ideas of them, perhaps. But I now recol- A Georgian Actress 115 lect that travellers have reported the Indians to be a fine-looking people, and that some of the young girls squaws, I believe you call them are quite attrac- tive, though swarthy. But we are forget- ting our errand. We want to take you to the theatre to see Garrick in Lear, that is, if you haven't already seen him. You'll have to take your kerchiefs, for " He was interrupted by the entrance of Sir John, who came in with a fresh colour in his dark face. He carried a little hand- muff then in fashion, and had a posy fastened in the buttonhole of his blue coat, the tails of which were stiffly wadded and lined with canary satin. " My dear boy," cried Lady Betty, " I but just received your note or I should have been here before. I've been abroad with some friends, and " " I know," he interrupted, kissing her cheek, " I'm content to have you here at last. But come, what d'ye think of my two pretty sisters ? Ann has her tan- trums, but I can manage her, I find. Now I want you to take them in charge. n6 A Georgian Actress They're going to court and must have the right sort of fol-de-rols. Mr. Dash- wood, how is the gentle muse ? " turning to shake hands with the other visitor. " Like a woman, truly," answered Mr. Dashwood, " one day she flouts me, and the next she smiles." " The jade ! " cried Sir John. " Let her go, turn your back, and she'll come tripping after." " We called to see what you thought of going to the theatre to-night," continued Mr. Dashwood. "He has nothing to say about it," put in Lady Betty. " These children are going with me to-night to see something of the town. There, I've put my foot down and I sha'n't budge. Go they shall ! " "I protest I'm most willing," said Sir John. "Well, help me up," she rejoined. " Tony, my stick. John, bend down ; I want to whisper to you. I hope 'tis n't true your father is married to a savage. Oh, but I see by your face that it is. Don't laugh ! I consider it was very im- A Georgian Actress 117 proper on his part. And he that was so set on Nancy Walton. Poor Nancy ! But help me up, you scalawag. Now, my love," turning to Ann, " let your hair be as it is for to-night. I protest 'tis most girlish and sweet. 'Twill attract attention to you, and being lately come from Bos- ton " " Not from Boston, madame," inter- rupted Peggy, " but from near Albany." " Oh, well," rejoined Lady Betty, tying her bonnet-strings, " 'tis all one and the same in America, and being lately come from Boston, as I was saying, 'twill be expected that you be surprising queer in some ways." On the threshold as she went out she paused. " John, never be or do anything you would be ashamed to have your pretty sisters know. And as for you, my dears, never be anything less pretty than your looks,'and I trow this world will be a better place for your living in it. Lack-a-mercy me ! When I think that here I am with- out a chick or a child to keep me from growing old and selfish ! And your mother, n8 A Georgian Actress who had three, to be in her grave these many years ! " " John," cried Ann, when the door had closed on their visitors, " is it true our father has married a squaw ? " Her brother was lounging in a chair, watching Peggy fill his pipe for him as he had taught her. Ann felt a pang of home- sickness. How often and how lovingly she had performed the same little office for her father ! "There, that will do," said Sir John, taking the pipe from his sister. It had a quaintly carved bowl of soapstone and a stem three feet long, curiously wound with braids of bright porcupine quills. " If he has," continued Ann, " I never could love him again." " I never did," put in Peggy, " because he never loved me." " I never want to go home again, never, never," said Ann. " Come, come, my sweet high and mighty sister," said Sir John. " 'Tis not so bad. Molly is a handsome woman with the mind of a man. Not a common A Georgian Actress 119 squaw, by any manner of means. She's educated, and can read and write." " Molly," echoed Ann, in terror and disgust, " is that her name ? Do these Indians who are here with us know it? Oh, I am so ashamed ! " He laughed, puffing at his pipe. "Cluck, cluck, cluck, little-hen-with-her-feathers- wet," he mocked. Ann wept awhile, her kerchief to her eyes. A thought of the evening passed through her mind. After all, Sir William, his Indian wife, Castle Johnson, even the memory of Madame, seemed very far away shadowy and unreal. " Peggy," said she, taking her kerchief from her eyes, " you must wear your new blue hair ribbons to-night. And we'll put on the pearls that were our mother's around our necks. To think Madame had our mother's jewels hidden away all those years among her own things, and never showed them to us." A little later, Sir John put down his pipe and accompanied the Indians on a visit to the House of Lords. I2O A Georgian Actress From their windows the two girls watched them until they passed from sight. The three chiefs strode along majestically in single file, imperturbable to the stares and comments showered upon them by the passers-by. They occasioned no anxiety to their young guardian, who discovered that they were content to be without his society, and so supplied them with money as his father had directed, and left them, on the whole, very much to their own devices. They spent much time in the tavern drinking and gambling among themselves. Some- times the three went for a stroll through the town, to be followed home by an ad- miring and curious, but respectful crowd. Knowing well their haughty natures, Sir John saw that every honour was accorded their rank, and when they were inclined to become angry at not being granted an immediate audience by George III., he invented excuses, and beseeched them to be patient. Fortunately, Sir Joshua Reynolds expressed his desire to make portraits of them, and they, to the delight A Georgian Actress 121 of the great painter, sat to him for hours at a time, with majestic, solemn vanity. They never went anywhere in the even- ing, and retired early, first repairing to the parlour of the girls for a visit with them and their brother. These were occasions of real joy to Peggy, who chatted freely to them in their own language. The youngest chief, Owhera, the Wind, had become a convert to Christianity through the efforts of Madame Van Vrankin, and had been educated at the expense of Sir William, ever generous in advancing civili- sation among his children, as he termed the People of the Long House. This young fellow took much simple pride in talking to Ann and John in stilted Eng- lish. Ann was always particularly gracious to him. But when the three Indians filed in this night after supper, she unconsciously let coldness and hauteur creep into her manner, so ashamed was she of her father's marriage. She feared that they might also know it, and respecting Sir William less, because of his familiarity, 122 A Georgian Actress visit a certain disrespect upon his chil- dren. On their way to the theatre in the seclusion of the coach, Sir John scolded her roundly for her attitude. His father had instructed him too well in diplomatic dealing with the Indians for him to per- mit Ann to offend them. He himself never failed in tact, although this uniform courtesy was purely a virtue of circum- stance and policy. Chapter VII IT was a crisp fall night, with stars twinkling overhead. The Drury Lane Theatre was a long way from the White Swan. The girls, Ann in spite of her brother's sharp scolding, were in a state of delightful excitement, and pressed their faces against the glass doors at every cross- ing where the yellow street lamps shone down on the hurrying crowds. There was a confused blocking of coaches and chairs in front of the play- house, and so they had to get out some distance from the entrance and pick their way through the mud amidst a mob of rough fellows gathered to see the fine ladies and gentlemen. Sir John walked between his sisters, who clung timidly to him. The theatre was already well filled. Lady Betty, elegantly attired in peach- bloom silk, wearing an enormous white "3 124 A Georgian Actress wig, and with wide green ribbons tied on her walking-stick, waited them in her box. " Tony was to dine somewhere or other," she explained, " but he will be in later. John, I protest you're as good- looking as your sisters. Sit down in front of me, there, my dears, and you, John, next to me. My love," leaning forward and patting Ann's knee, " your cheeks are as pretty as any posies I ever saw, but a trifle delicate. I must show you how to put on a dash o' red." " I thank you, madame," replied Ann, embarrassed, " I should not like to put paint on my face. 'Tis only the Indian women at home who do that. I am dis- tressed at the thought." " Oh, la - de - da, child, don't be so highfalutin," retorted her hostess ; " be- fore many years she'll be glad enough of a dash o' red, eh, John ? Peaches-and- cream doesn't last for ever. Lord, could you have seen my complexion ! Real Irish, red and white and fine as silk." The interior of the theatre was almost square. There was a gallery in the back, A Georgian Actress 125 supported by pillars. The two girls noted that a number of footmen sat in the pit, and John explained to them that these servants were sent early to hold down good seats until their masters or mis- tresses should arrive. " Every one is looking at you, my chickadedees," whispered Lady Betty. " Ha, ha, John, look at Sir Curiosity Walpole. There, over there in that box. It takes him to find a new beauty. Ah, my dears, I never was enjoying myself more." " I do not wish to stay longer," cried Ann, frightened. She had suddenly be- come conscious of many faces turned her way. Mr. Dashwood entered at that moment. His frank, warm greeting restored her composure. He was much touched by her startled and appealing glance. In that painted and powdered assembly, she, with her smooth young face so innocent of patches and powder, her deep blue eyes, and her black hair braided in such maidenly fashion, seemed a crea- 126 A Georgian Actress ture from a far-away and more beautiful world, and he, with his love of poetry, felt she might indeed personify the Muse. He placed a bag of oranges in her lap. " I thought you might en- joy them," he remarked, and, drawing up a chair, seated himself slightly be- hind her. That was a night of nights for Ann. As the tragedy of Lear unfolded itself on the stage she lost consciousness of her surroundings. She knew nothing of the many glances turned on her and her sister, of the fact that Lady Betty and Sir John, sitting in the background, spent the time giggling and gossiping and tak- ing snuff, nor that Peggy, worn-out by the glitter and excitement, sat bolt upright in her chair in the front of the box, sound asleep. When at last the curtains were drawn on the final scene, the repressed tears streamed from Ann's eyes, and she sobbed aloud. Mr. Dashwood only observed her. He wrapped her cloak around her, took A Georgian Actress 127 the bag of oranges, and drew her hand through his arm. Sir John and Lady Betty roused Peggy and followed the other two out. Outside the confusion was so great that, after vainly trying to find a coach or chair, they decided to walk to the coffee-house several squares away. The cool breeze dried Ann's tears, but she continued to tremble with nervousness. She was in an exalted mood. Wonder- ful plans flitted through her mind. " I, too," she breathed, raising her face to the starry sky, " I, too, some day. Oh, Ma- dame, do you look down and see me here where I so longed to be ! " "It is not much farther now," said Mr. Dashwood, whose arm she still held. Back of them came the rest of their party. " Did you ever meet Garrick, Mr. Dashwood ? " she asked. " Many times," he answered ; " one can- not say which is the more charming of the two, he himself, or his wife. She was wondrous beautiful when young. Zoffany 128 A Georgian Actress painted her picture. They said that to see her dance played upon the emotions like sweetest music. In her way she was said to be as great as her husband, and then she is so charming and gentle." " I do not believe any one could be as great as Mr. Garrick," cried Ann, with such pretty enthusiasm that her companion was wholly captivated, " and if you will pardon me for contradicting you, sir, no one could be as charming. I could scarce keep from weeping to-night; indeed, I will admit it to you, for I fear you saw me, I did shed a tear or two." " Or three," put in Mr. Dashwood, " or four. Nay, I swear I counted four pearly drops." She blushed. " Oh, sir, I fear you will think me lacking in worldly experience that I should weep with such ease ! " " Nay," he answered, " I do but admire your possession of so tender a heart. Why, so exquisite are the sensibilities of Garrick, that often he works himself up into such a frenzy that the tears stream from his eyes. I have never yet wept at the A Georgian Actress 129 play, for I cannot delude myself into the belief that 'tis real, but sometimes, when watching the sunset or gazing at the stars, I have felt the tears rise, and I think on the poems I mean to write some day. They say that Shakespeare is not more admired nowadays for writing his plays than little Garrick is for acting them. And 'tis true. But envy speaks, too, and though the speech sounds fair enough on the surface, jealousy turns it sour. How- ever, I never had the stomach some have against play-actor people. Why not that as well as a painter, why not ? " " Why not ? " echoed Ann, loyally. "And did you notice," asked Mr. Dashwood, " with what expressiveness he raised his eyebrows or darted a fiery glance, or tore at his hair, or, anon, nodded in pensive mood ? " " I did not observe," she said, regret- fully, " for Garrick seemed not Garrick to me, only Lear, and I wept for the poor old man. Hereafter I shall take more notice of his gestures, for I am going to be an " 130 A Georgian Actress " Hush," said he, with a droll glance, putting his finger to his lips, " don't let my Aunt Betty hear." And then he laughed with such heartiness that she was puzzled. " Here we are at last," he added, turning to look for the rest of their party. They took seats in one of the wooden stalls that lined the room, and which, giv- ing some small degree of privacy, at the same time enabled them to see the other people sitting at the general tables. At these public tables were to be seen chiefly young barristers, and merchants, and country gentlemen, who gathered at the coffee-house to discuss the play. These conversations were always given in a loud voice for the benefit of the listeners in the stalls. Mr. Dashwood pointed out a strange, rough-looking old man with a red face. He was the centre of a group of young men, who now and then burst into loud laughter at his sallies, which, in contrast to their own utterances, were given in a tone inaudible to the occupants of the stall. A Georgian Actress 131 This man, Mr. Dashwood explained, was a physician of remarkable talent, which had been dissipated by too great indul- gence of the theatre and a love of con- viviality, so that now he had descended to being merely a physician for play-actors, and spent his whole time tippling and gossiping at the taverns, where his wit drew around him many young profes- sional men. While he thus pointed out different people of note to Ann and Peggy as they waited for their supper, Lady Betty showed Sir John a new trick at cards. Later, as they were eating and drinking with much merriment, the two girls were startled to hear Lady Betty swear roundly at the waiter for spilling a dish of gravy on her gown. Neither of the young men appeared surprised, and Sir John tittered. " A pox on you for laughing ! " cried she, angrily. "I'd like to cuff your im- pudent ears, John ! " Though she ate more heartily than any of them, her good- nature did not return, so it was a relief 132 A Georgian Actress when she rose abruptly and announced that she was tired and was going home to bed. They called a coach and piled in. Mr. Dashwood sat on the box with the driver, owing to the lack of room inside. They stopped first at the White Swan, and there Sir John and his sisters got out. Mr. Dashwood leaned down from the box to hand Ann the bag of oranges. She saw the outline of his head with its cocked hat and his fluttering cape dark against the starlit sky, and though she could not distinguish his features, she knew his expression corresponded to the pleasant tones of his voice as he bade her good night. The two girls, after they undressed, divided and ate one of the oranges, and then turned the remainder of the fruit out on a plate. They found a note addressed to Ann in the bottom of the bag. Wonderingly she opened it, and the two read it, sitting in their long white nightgowns on the edge of the bed. It contained a poem entitled The Honey A Georgian Actress 133 and the Flies and held many allusions to gallant lovers hovering about a myste- rious fair lady, as flies about a honey-jar. The poem was signed : " Madame, Yr. Admir'g & Obedt. Servant, " ANTHONY DASHWOOD." " It's most queer," said Peggy, puz- zled. " What does he mean ? I never liked poetry. Oh, don't you wish it were honey ? Do you remember how good it used to taste when the Indian women brought it to the castle ? Let us snuff the candle now and climb into bed. Then, dear Ann, will you not tell me the story old Naukoska used to tell us about the red squirrel ? 'Tis late, yet I am not sleepy, are you ? " " No," answered Ann, " that is because it is past our usual bedtime. Madame would say so, were she here. That is wondrous beautiful poetry, though you don't understand it." Peggy climbed up into the high-cano- pied bed, and sank down into the puffy 134 A Georgian Actress feather mattress with a shiver of delight at the chilly softness. " The maid did not come with the warming-pan to-night, and the sheets are nice and cold," she an- nounced. Ann crept into the bed and put her arms around her. " I'm going to tell you a secret, Peggy," she said, " but you must never tell John, lest he tease me. Mr. Dashwood meant that I was the honey in his poem." "Oh, dear Ann," cried little Peggy, laughing, " you are so sleepy that you do not know what you are saying. How could you be the honey ? But it was a queer jingle. It surprises me not that it did confuse you. And now that I'm in bed, I've changed my mind about hearing the story of the red squirrel, and think it would be nicer to turn over and go to sleep." That night she dreamed old Naukoska came to her bedside and took her by the hand, and she went with him, all in her white nightgown and barefooted, to a forest where they followed a winding path A Georgian Actress 135 shadowed by trees, until they came to a small, clear space of velvet greenness. In the middle was a wonderful golden dome. This, Naukoska told her, was where all the honey in the world came from. She picked a twig, and was about to thrust it into the honey to get a taste of it when she awoke. The next day she told this dream to the Indians, and they assured her that it was an omen of plenty. From that time homesickness waxed strong in the little maid's heart, and in secret she pined much, unknown to Ann and John. Chapter VIII SOON the arrival of young Sir John Johnson's two pretty sisters was a popular subject of conversation at the coffee-houses, which took the place of clubs for the man about town. Some officers who had visited their father in his American wilds, and heard of the two girls reared in such mysterious seclusion, added piquant details to the current gos- sip. The three, in company with the Indians, were often to be seen taking an airing on the green of a pleasant morning. George III. signified his desire to meet them and the chiefs at the next drawing- room. They were to attend court half an hour before the formal opening of the evening entertainment. Lady Betty herself selected the girls' dresses, and sent her own maid and a pro- fessional hair-dresser to help them. She 136 A Georgian Actress 137 called before they started to see that the finishing touches were correct. They were ready and waiting when she arrived, Ann in a glow of excitement, and Peggy inclined to be cross because her sister would not permit her to sit down for fear she would disturb the folds of her skirt. " Tut, child," reproved Lady Betty, " if you mind your good looks so little you'll not bag the game you might. Men may sigh and ogle a country wench with a big waist and a milk-white skin, and write verses to the Queen of Curds and Cream, but when it comes to marrying, then good-by, my pretty maid ! 'Tis a woman of fashion, they cry. I know 'em, a worth- less lot. Eh, John ? Stand in the centre of the room. Now, my dears, turn around slowly." The hair-dresser, Lady Betty's woman and Sir John, each held a candle high that the light might fall on the two girls and enable her to discover any needed touches in their toilet. They were in truth a lovely pair. Their hair, arranged in the new fashion set by 138 A Georgian Actress the young queen, fell in ringlets around their faces. Ann's slender figure carried well the hoops then in vogue. But the fashion which so became her made of Peggy as quaint a little Dutch figure as if she had but just stepped from the frame of an old master. Both wore white brocade, with the sole difference that Ann's quilted under-petticoat was embroidered in silver thread, and Peggy's was in gold. They had put on the pearls and jewelled orna- ments they had found among Madame Van Vrankin's things after her death, and which they believed to have been their mother's. There was a pearl stomacher which Peggy wore. They started for the royal palace just at twilight, when the flickering street-lamps seemed to struggle palely with the linger- ing day, and the streets were filled with people returning home from work. The girls were startled by the rough fellows and market-women, who followed the sedan-chair in which they were, and peered in at them through the glass door, and jostled the bearers, who swore roundly. A Georgian Actress 139 After a little, however, they perceived that the glances and remarks were good- natured and admiring, and so they were no longer alarmed. Sir John, attired in saffron satin and velvet coat, was borne in the chair behind. But the comments the three evoked were slight to those occasioned by the Indians, who scornfully refused to be carried, and strode in single file after the chairs. They were dressed in all the insignia of their rank, and were carrying their gifts to the king. On arriving at the palace, they pro- ceeded to the drawing-room, where they were at once announced. At the farther end of the long room was a group of people. As they advanced, a stout young man stepped forward to meet them. Not until her brother knelt and kissed the stranger's hand, did Ann real- ise that this pudgy-faced young gentle- man was George III. She curtsied. As she looked around for Peggy, she was mortified to perceive that the little maid, forgetting to curtsey, had dropped be- 140 A Georgian Actress hind with the Indians, and, following their example, was staring solemnly about her. His Majesty then spoke to the chiefs, and Owhera replied for his fellows and himself in stilted but dignified English. The king then requested him to speak in his own language, and listened with much amusement to the guttural sounds, which were afterward translated for him. The eldest warrior then took off the beautiful wampum collar he wore, and put it around his Majesty's neck. The second chief stepped forward, and laid lightly around the shoulders of his royal host a magnificent Buffalo robe. The inner skin of this robe was embroidered with bril- liant porcupine quills, and further orna- mented by painted scenes, recording the warrior's important adventures while hunt- ing and fishing. Owhera then presented his gift of a polished bow and quiver of arrows. They were then taken to the queen, who was the centre of the group at the farther end of the room. Ann was much disappointed in her appearance. She had A Georgian Actress 141 a rosy face, with a nose that turned up. Her auburn ringlets were confined by a circlet of diamonds, and she wore also a diamond stomacher. A fair little page supported her train. Their Majesties were as delighted with the Indians as with new toys. The young ladies-in-waiting clustered around, giving little gasps and small shrieks, when the dusky visitors chanced to glance at them. Before it was time for the public drawing- room to begin, tea on a silver waiter was brought in, and all partook of this light refreshment, a dish of tea being given first to the queen by one of the young ladies, who presented it kneeling. Chairs were then arranged, as there was to be music. Soon the room was filled, and the enter- tainment began. Their Majesties and the other members of the royal household sat in the front row of chairs. The ladies who came occupied the remaining chairs, while the gentlemen stood back of them, or leaned against the side walls. Just before the music commenced, Sir John sent the 142 A Georgian Actress Indians home, and George III. took off, with a sigh of relief, the buffalo robe and wampum collar in which he had been sweltering for the sake of policy, rather than courtesy, for he knew well the impor- tance of the Indians' favour should the trouble now brewing in the Colonies terminate in war. While the music was going on, Ann, who had an end seat, noticed near her a little gentleman in an exaggerated white wig, a scarlet coat, and a waistcoat with gold peaks. He leaned against the wall with folded arms. Now, he dropped his head upon his breast like one deep in seri- ous thought, or smiled as at some secret jest, again glanced upward as if enraptured by the music. Suddenly, attracted by her intense look, he turned, and she met the direct gaze of his wonderful eyes, large, black, and more brilliant than any she had ever seen. When the performance ceased and chairs were pushed aside, she, forgetful of all else, stepped forward to greet Mr. Garrick. A Georgian Actress 143 " Oh, sir," cried she, " I have seen you play," and then, forgetful of all else, so content was she merely to look at him, she stood smiling, her sweet face illumined by the admiration that rilled her. George III, had been an ordinary and far from attractive person to her, but now at last she stood before him who was a king in very truth in her sight, although his kingdom lay behind the foot lights and his crown was paste, and he had " played with a straw for a sceptre." Mr. Garrick, his hand to his heart, bowed low. So delicate were his suscep- tibilities, so deeply he felt this tribute to his genius, that his eyes grew moist. " Madame, you do me great honour. 1 thank you upon my knees, so to speak." As she was ^about to reply, Sir John approached. " I see you have met Mr. Garrick," he remarked. " Sir," turning to the actor, " since first she did set eyes on you it has been Garrick this and Garrick that, Garrick here and Garrick there, in short, Garrick everywhere ! I have heard your virtues, 144 A Georgian Actress your charms, dinged in my ears till, had it not been for my real admiration for you, I should have fled your praises. Yes, sir, I should have fled 'em ! I'll leave you in your present good company, Ann, for I want to talk to an old flame of mine who turned green with envy when she saw me with Peggy." Mr. Garrick had looked uncomfortable during the first part of Sir John's speech, for fear he was ridiculing him, but smiled less doubtfully when he finished. " Will you not do me the honour of taking my arm, Lady Johnson," he asked, " and we will promenade the length of the room. It is a real grief to me," he con- tinued, as they fell into step, " that there are so few who appreciate the worthy lesson the stage teaches ; still, the gentry is setting an example to the lower classes by preferring a well-acted drama to a vulgar spectacular exhibition. Now, in America, I understand the theatre is quite good." " I do not know," she replied, " for I never was in a play house until the other night." A Georgian Actress 145 " Well, to confess the truth," admitted her companion, " I never heard anything about the American stage, but I always sincerely endeavour to evince an interest in a foreign country when I meet a native of the place. Unlike most Englishmen, when I go to France I don't hold myself aloof, but try to learn the manners and customs of that nation. Ah, they, the French people, could not shower enough praise on me, so courteous, so cordial ! Yet do not mistake me. 'Twas my art alone won this flattering attention. But Mrs. Garrick, that best of wives, will have it that 'twas I personally they sought to honour." He laughed quite heartily at this little jest. " Though I admit," he added, " there was some ridiculous non- sense written home to the papers about the Marquis So-and-So and other persons of quality giving dinners for me." Thus they strolled up and down the room, he chatting of light matters until she timidly returned to the subject of the stage. Then she struck fire, and he spoke with a brilliancy and enthusiasm that 146 A Georgian Actress enchanted her. Seldom again did their conversation descend to the personal or commonplace. " But I see you are becoming fagged," he said, at last, conducting her to a quiet corner. " I'll go and get you a dish of tea." She watched his graceful little scarlet figure threading its way among the guests, then, losing sight of him, turned to find Peggy at her side with a slender, erect gentleman of middle age, who looked like an invalid. His ghastly pale complexion was intensified by his bright dark eyes. His expression seemed a mixture of malice and sweetness. In his fingers knotted by gout he held a snuff-box. He was dressed throughout in lavender. " This is Mr. Walpole," said Peggy. " How did you enjoy the music ? " he asked Ann, smiling with much sweetness. " Since the new queen came 'tis nothing but twing, twing, twang." " I liked it," she answered, shyly, a little intimidated by him. " The queen has quite set the fashion in music," he went on, " indeed she strums A Georgian Actress 147 herself. I hope you do not. I never could understand why it was that to be able to strum a few tunes should be con- sidered such an accomplishment. What did you think of her Majesty ? Very genteel, eh, but not at all pretty ? I distinctly saw a shade of disappointment pass over the face of the king when he first saw her." Ann smiled vaguely, at a loss for a reply. " I had the pleasure of meeting your father some years ago," continued Mr. Walpole. " Do tell me is't true he has an Indian wife ? " She nodded, but could not speak. A burning flush spread over her face. "There was a woman asked me that, too, to-night," put in Peggy. " She wanted to know if my father's wife dressed in skins. She whispered it to me during the music behind her fan. She sat on the other side of me, Ann." " How impudent," cried Mr. Walpole. " And pray what did you tell Madame Pry ? " 148 A Georgian Actress " I told her they wore blankets, and then I looked away," answered Peggy. " Speaking of Indians," went on Mr. Walpole, " reminds me. Is it true that the Bostonians have actually written and not only invited but begged the Pretender to come over and put himself at their head if the Colonies should rebel ? " " I never heard so," answered Ann. " I've no doubt they did," he rejoined, " they're so sly." He opened and passed her his snuff-box. " Do have a pinch. It's cafe-au-lait and all the rage in Paris." She refused, for the fashion was an offensive one to her. Peggy took some, however. "You must pardon my tardiness," spoke Mr. Garrick, appearing suddenly at Ann's elbow with the tea, and look- ing slightly dishevelled, " but Lady Betty Fitzhugh must go and plant herself right in the doorway and refuse to budge until she got a dish of syllabub. There I was with the people behind pushing, and she never moving. So un- genteel ! Ah, good-evening, Mr. Wai- A Georgian Actress 149 pole," arching his brows, " I see you have met this charming young lady. And pray, who is " he paused and glanced at Peggy. "It is my sister Peggy," answered Ann. " Peggy - ? " repeated Mr. Walpole, " Peggy ? Ah, ha, my dear Garrick, now why are you blushing? That fiery hue would shame a schoolboy." He hummed, laughing : ' The sun first rising in the morn That paints the dew-bespangled lawn Does not so much the day adorn, As does my lovely Peggy.' " He coughed delicately and touched his lips with his lace kerchief. " Let me see. The next verse runs something like this: " * While bees from flower to flower shall rove, And linnets warble through the grove, As stately swans the river love, So long shall I love Peggy.' " "Sir," said the actor, "your wit is no less sharp than your sentiment is vulgar. 150 A Georgian Actress Those verses were falsely accredited to me. I never wrote them." His sensi- tive face was all in a quiver. " I beg you will excuse me, Lady Johnson. Mrs. Garrick is waiting for me." And he bowed himself away. " Why did you sing that, Mr. Wai- pole?" asked Ann, distressed. He laughed. " 'Tis said he wrote those verses to Peg Woffington when he was enamoured of her. Every one knows she jilted him. < What,' said she, 'am I to wed a Hop o' my Thumb ? ' He wears false heels to make him taller, you know." " How could she be so unkind ? " cried Ann. " I do not see how any one could refuse to marry such a great man." " For my part," retorted Mr. Walpole, " I never could understand why people thought it took such marvellous talent to repeat the works of others in one's own language. And there are those who say Garrick is too affected for anything, with his French airs. You can't tell me he hasn't French blood in him. His wife is much more elegant. By the way, she is A Georgian Actress 151 Lord Somebody's daughter, as I always supposed. She never looked like an ordinary dancing girl." "How d'ye do, Mr. Walpole," said Lady Betty, joining them. " My love," beaming on Ann, " they say you and Peggy are going to be all the rage." "Tis true," said Mr. Walpole, "they say you have so turned the heads of our beaux that they do naught but ogle and sigh beneath your windows. Our beauties are apt to scratch out your eyes." Ann, remembering the poem of 'The Honey and the Flies, could not help blushing. They all laughed at her colour, and then Mr. Walpole bade them good evening.