Part 6

"_P. S. Did you ever Chance to Meet a Sir Edward Parkington, or do you Know of Him? He is arrived, lately, at Annapolis, bringing Letters of Introduction to Governor Sharpe and Mr. Dulany. He tells a wondrous story of Shipwreck, and being cast up by the waves, some miles below here, and All on board being lost, Save only him. He is exceedingly Affable, and pleasant, and has made a Good Impression on Every one. I wish you would Ascertain--if you do not already know--whether he is Married--his actions are those of a Bachelor, but no one has Inquired, and I care not to ask him. He has the loveliest Manners, he dances the Minuet with Marvelous Grace, and he can make love better than any Man I ever Met. He says he is going to stay the Summer. He is Tall and slender, with black hair, blue eyes and fair complexion. Be sure to tell me, when you Answer--and anything else you know concerning him._

"_M. S._"

"I wish I had written three weeks ago," she reflected. "It will require nine or ten weeks for this letter to reach England, and as many coming back, and, allowing for the necessary delay at both ends and the time she takes to reply, it will be all of five months and, maybe, six, before I can hope for an answer. That will be the first of November, at least--and, like enough, you will be gone before, then, Sir Edward," she said, looking out at the man standing in the group on the lawn below her.

She folded the letter carefully, and affixed the seals, then laid it aside, to be sent to Annapolis and included in his Excellency's mail for forwarding. In that way, she would save postage, and as the missive was several ounces in weight, at five shillings the ounce, it made purely friendly communications rather expensive.

It was nearly supper-time when she appeared on the lawn, looking exceedingly sweet in a flowered pink silk, to find a new arrival--Mr. Richard Maynadier. He had ridden across from his place, Rose Hill, which adjoined Hedgely Hall on the North.

"Ah, Miss Stirling!" he said, with a low bow. "The evening star shines pale beside you."

"And the morning star not at all!" she laughed. "Thanks, monsieur, my warmest thanks.--But I wonder that you are not afraid to pay me compliments."

"No," he said. "Compliments are safe--they lead to nothing."

"Because they are mainly false?" she asked.

"Not exactly--because they do not commit one, I should say--and every one takes them at their value; there is no danger of being misunderstood."

"You are dreadfully afraid of being misunderstood!" she mocked.

"Perhaps!" he smiled. "What these young macaronies" (with a motion, indicating those around him) "could venture with impunity, we older heads dare not. It is not dignified for us."

"Then do not ever fall in love, Mr. Maynadier; love is the most undignified of all our frailties."

"In what way is it undignified?" he asked.

"In every way--particularly, in the exhibition of one's feelings. Every one makes sport of the lover--every one laughs at him."

"Then the world is overrun with fools--for they are but laughing at themselves. No, no, my lady! I find no fault with love, ever--only with him who simulates it, and is old enough to know better. _Comprenez vous?_"

"Oh, yes, I understand," she said, with a frank smile; "but I do not agree with you."

"A woman's privilege! she never agrees, and is fascinating always."

"Perversity, you think?"

"Diversity!" he laughed, and bowed himself away.

At supper, a little later, he occupied a place beside Miss Marbury. Parkington was at the opposite end of the table, one removed from the silent host, whom he was trying, as best he could, to bring into the conversation, but with indifferent success. A word, a nod, a short sentence, rarely, was all that he could elicit. But even Maynadier could not have got as much out of him--and he watched them, contemplatively, through the meal....

What was the man's idea--what was his purpose? What was there about him to make old Marbury talk--why was he taking the trouble to make him talk? In short, had he an object in it? But, then, why was he in Maryland at all? What was he doing here? Was he a spy--a secret agent, sent hither for a purpose; and what was that purpose? He came duly accredited, and his letters were in form and regular--the signature, indeed, the entire writing, was Lord Baltimore's own.... It was very peculiar, surely. Of course, the Governor knew--he would have been informed--but the Governor had seen fit to be silent, and even they, of the Council, did not pry in matters which did not concern them--his Excellency had a way about him that forbade it.

He had met Sir Edward Parkington in London, two years before, and this was not he. But he had seen Colonel Sharpe, at the Races, introduced him as Sir Edward, and so, a little later, when he himself was presented by Miss Stirling, he had accepted it. The man knew how to act the part--indeed, he appeared to be far above the calibre of Parkington. Parkington, as he remembered, was pretty much of a rake--one of Baltimore's own. But this man had been very circumspect, and his deportment most proper.... He might be a great noble--his manner suggested it--come over incog. to view the country, and to get information at first hand on the temper of the people. Indeed, he might be anything and any one--but, assuredly, he was _not_ Sir Edward Parkington. However, it was not his business to unmask him, after Colonel Sharpe had accepted him and vouched for him.

"Why did you shrug your shoulders?" Miss Marbury asked, suddenly.

"Did I shrug my shoulders?" he said. "I did not know it."

"Yes, you did; now why did you do it?"

"I do not know."

"Which is another way of saying, I should not have asked."

"You may ask me anything," he said.

"And not give offense, you mean," she supplemented. "But you reserve the right to answer only what you choose."

"Do you think so?" smiling.

"Yes, I do.--Please tell me, Dick?" she plead.

"Please tell you what?" he said, indulgently.

"Why you shrugged your shoulders--you were looking toward father--has he done anything--I mean, was he the cause?"

"No, child, he had nothing to do with it."

"You are not deceiving me?"

"Have I ever deceived you?" he asked.

"No! no!" she said. "I did not mean it--but I thought that, maybe, he had--you understand."

"I understand that you are unnecessarily sensitive," he answered. "Your father is a bit eccentric, but he is neither churlish nor ill-mannered--and he is rich enough to be both, if he so wished."

"You believe in wealth, then?" she asked. "You believe that wealth is equal to birth?"

"In a social sense, yes," said he. "Both are the keys to good society.--By birth one belongs, by wealth one buys a right to belong. It is all the same. For my part, I would rather be the wealthy buyer than the poor belonger--it is so much more satisfactory."

"But when one has both wealth and birth--like you," she persisted, "how do the buyers appear--what do you think of them?"

He leaned close over. "Just what they are worth," he answered--"just what they are worth."

"And what are we worth, Dick?" she said impulsively; "we are buyers--what are we worth?"

"As a general proposition," laying his hand on her arm, and speaking very earnestly, "the Marburys are worth exactly what they measure. You, my dear, have measured up, far up."

She looked at him with searching eyes. "You mean it--you are sure you mean it?"

"Sure--absolutely sure!"

She gave a little sigh of relief. "You are very good--I am satisfied now--if you approve, there will be none who dare disapprove."

"There will be none who care to disapprove," he said. "Yours was a more difficult case than George's--he had only the men to satisfy, and that is easy, where one is a good fellow and a manly. You had the women--and women are jealous, vindictive and irresponsible. But you won. They all are for you--there is not one that is even undecided."

"I am glad, very glad," she said. "I want to please them--I was afraid I had failed. You are a dear to tell me this--a perfect dear, Dick."

The sweet unaffectedness was refreshing. It is not possible, he thought, that the girl does not know she is beautiful. One look in her mirror would tell her, one glance at her figure--her complexion, her eyes, her hair--oh! assuredly, she must know it.

He had seen it coming, had seen it grow. Six years ago, when they first came to Annapolis, he had marked her--the young girl just budding into womanhood. He had been of those who early accepted the Marburys, and four years later, when Hedgely Hall was offered for sale, the fact that his place adjoined it, was, he knew, a consideration for its purchase. Since then, he had watched the woman beside him perfect into the beauty of to-day--with all the winsomeness, all the freshness, of the unspoiled and unaffected. He had seen it as none other, for he had a place in the household which was for him alone--he was guide and mentor and elder brother to her, all in one. The parents were not capable, at times, of advising, so he took the duty on himself--not that she needed much counsel, but, when she did, she knew where to find it. It was at his own request that she had come to call him "Dick," dropping the Mr. Maynadier, as quite too formal, and evading Richard "because that was what all his other friends called him." He was so much older,--later, he had liked the intimacy of it, the spirit of comradeship--to-night, he had suddenly realized that, even to him, she was no longer the sweet-faced girl, whom he had petted, and chided, and advised, by turns. She was able to stand alone, to be made love to--and had been these many months!... Yet none had sought her, as a lover seeks! And, why? Was it because of her birth? Was it because of him--the friend? Was it because of herself--would she have none of them?----

"What is the matter, Dick?" she said, "why do you not answer? Your eyes are on me, but your mind is far away."

"I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed, "it was rude, I know--what did you say?"

"I asked why it was you shrugged your shoulders--why was it?"

"I was cold--it is drafty here."

"Nonsense!--be serious----"

"I cannot. I am----"

"Dick, you are possessed!" she laughed. "You are----"

"I am," he cut in--"I am possessed of shrugs--they come and go as they will--I am not responsible--I am----"

"You are trying to avoid telling me--confess it."

"Now, Judith----"

"Do you not see, Dick, that you have aroused my curiosity to an ungovernable pitch. You must tell me--and now--now--now!"

He threw up his hands in mock despair.

"But suppose I cannot," he said.

"Cannot?" she echoed--"You do not appear to have lost the power of speech."

"_Touche!_" he laughed. "_May_, would be the better word--I may not tell."

"Why?" she said--"why may you not tell?"

"Because it is inexpedient," he answered.

"A matter of State?" she demanded.

"No."

"Violating a confidence?"

"No."

"Inexpedient!" she reflected--"Inexpedient!--there can be but one more reason:--it might provoke scandal, if known. Is that it?"

"You are the very devil, Judith!" he exclaimed;--"yes, that is it."

"Oh, delightful! delightful! Come, sir, what is it? Now, I will not be put off."

He looked at her doubtfully, undecided what to do. He thought he could trust her--he felt sure that he could. But, what if she babbled?

"You do not trust me," she said. "You fear that I shall tell."

"No, not exactly," he said, "I trust _you_, but I fear that, _inadvertently_, you might tell.--However, you shall know it."

She turned toward him, impulsively----

"But, not now--some one might overhear. Take me for a walk down the avenue, after supper."

"Would you rather not tell?" she asked. "Because, if you would----"

"How like a woman!" he laughed. "Work one up to the pitch, and then grow faint-hearted. No, you will have to hear it, now--and be bored."

"There is no danger," she replied.--"I'll take you the walk, after supper--and I'll take you whether you tell me, or whether you do not." And she gave him a deliberate and dazzling smile which set Mr. Richard Maynadier to thinking more than ever.

A little later, when, the supper ended and her duties as hostess were done for the time, she came out on the lawn, it was to find Richard Maynadier seated alone and waiting. He arose at once and bowed, and, without further ado she slipped her hand through his arm, and they strolled down the avenue toward the water. The full moon had just pushed its way through the fringe of trees beyond the Patuxent, the breath of the evening came to them, the fragrance of the roses and the lilacs, a gentle breeze sang softly through the leaves, and whispered among the branches.

A faint laugh floated to them, and then another--and, presently, up the avenue, strolled Miss Stirling and Sir Edward Parkington.

"Ah! what have we here?" exclaimed Miss Stirling. "Another couple!"

"Going out into the moonlight," said Maynadier, quickly, "_not into the dark_."

"Ho, ho!" Sir Edward laughed, "what have you to say now, my lady?"

"That he is most impertinent."

"Granted," returned Maynadier. "What else?"

"Nothing, now," came over her shoulder; "I shall consider the penalty."

"What did she mean by 'the penalty'?" Judith asked, when they were out of hearing.

"I have not the slightest notion," said he.

"Has she caught you, too,--I mean, have you joined the others in dancing attendance on her?"

"Not to my knowledge," he smiled--"and, I am sure, not to hers."

"Well, you are about the only one who has escaped--you and George. And George is too busy with every one to specialize--just yet."

"Give him his head," said Maynadier; "he will settle into his stride, some day."

"If he does not settle pretty soon, father will have the fainting sickness. He bought Hedgely Hall for George's wedding gift--and he still has it on his hands, with no prospects. However, no match is much better than a bad one."

"George will never make a bad marriage, trust him for that--and trust your father, too."

"Trust father!" she exclaimed. "I reckon I do--he is the dearest parent any girl ever had. I was only trying to be funny, and without success--even with you. It is not in me."

"The trouble is with _me_--I took you seriously----"

"They all do--every body takes me seriously. They will not let me be absurd, even when I try."

He looked at her with a puzzled frown--was she in jest or earnest? At all events, she was showing a new side to him, to-night--or he was seeing it, for the first time----

Her light laugh broke in on him. "Confess that you do not understand me, to-night!--Well, I do not understand myself, so, let us drop me, and take up the secret--the great secret you were afraid some one would overhear, at table:--why did you shrug your shoulders, sir?"

"The specific reason is of no value," he answered, "it simply fitted in with my thoughts, at the time. But the secret itself is very different. It may result in nothing, that is, nothing may come of it (which I doubt), but assuredly it is a fact."

"Bravo!" she cried. "You do it well, Dick, splendidly, indeed. You almost convince me you have discovered something."

"Discovered conveys the idea of going in search of," he said, thoughtfully.--"No, I did not discover this--it was thrust upon me. I just noticed it, casually. I----"

"Dick, do get on!" she exclaimed. "You've got me all on edge. Out with it!"

He chuckled softly to himself. "You know Sir Edward Parkington?"

"Casually--he is a guest, at present, at Hedgely Hall," as though she were imparting information of the most confidential sort.

"Oh, no, he is not!"

"Do be serious, Dick--what about him?"

"You thought you passed him, a moment ago, with Miss Stirling, did you not?"

"Of course!"

"Well, that shows how easy it is to be deceived. You did not."

"Are you crazy, Dick? Certainly it was Sir Edward."

He shook his head.

"Who was it, then?" she demanded.

"I do not know--I only know it was _not_ Sir Edward. He is not he!"

She stared at him.

"He is not he!" she repeated. "What _do_ you mean?"

"I mean," he said, the smile broadening into a gentle laugh, "that the man you know as Sir Edward Parkington is _not_ Sir Edward Parkington. He is an impostor."

"Dick!" she cried. "Do you mean it--are you sure?"

"Perfectly sure," he answered, "perfectly sure."

"But I do not understand--he brought letters to Governor Sharpe and Mr. Dulany. Were they forged?"

"No, they were genuine enough."

"Then what----"

"That is just the difficulty. I do not know anything more than this: the man who presented them is _not_ Parkington."

"And how do you know it?"

"I met Parkington, in London, two years ago----"

"And this man is not he?"

"Exactly. I saw him several times; he seemed to be interested in the Colonies. He was a small man--very much inclined to stoutness. Oh, I cannot possibly be mistaken. I detected the imposture the moment I met him."

"And that was when?" she asked.

"At the Annapolis races, the day subsequent to his arrival."

"And you have permitted him to masquerade--to be received by your friends--to enter their houses?--Oh, Dick!"

"Your criticism may be just," he said. "And I be wrong in my surmise. The fellow may be a rogue--but, somehow, I doubt it. In manners, and bearing, and address he is far superior to the real Sir Edward--and, also, in breeding, if I am any judge. If this be true, then he is of superior birth. Now, why should such a man be here, in disguise, and with his letters apparently regular. I do not know--but they do queer things in London. Besides, the Governor has accepted him. He must have been informed--and, if so, it is not for me to tear off the mask."

"But if he be an impostor--if he has stolen the letters, and the name?"

"That is scarcely probable; at any rate, I have given him the benefit of the doubt, and, thus far, he has deported himself perfectly--much better than Parkington could have done. For my part, I believe he is sent here for a purpose and is, in rank, very much above the one he personates."

She nodded her head, gravely.

"You know best," she said; "but, now, if ever you want to unmask him, you must lie. It would sound very well, indeed, for Richard Maynadier to say: 'I knew him, at once, for an impostor, but I let him fool you for a month (or two months, or three months, as the case may be), before I told.'"

"And for that very reason, I shall not tell," said he. "I am not my brother's keeper. I will look out for myself, and my friends, if need be, the rest may protect themselves, as best they can."

"Are the Marburys your friends?" she asked.

"Have the Marburys needed my protection, yet?"

"There is an impostor a guest in their house."

"My dear girl, you assume he is an impostor for personal gain--I, that he is an impostor for purposes of State. I would receive him as a guest at Rose Hill."

"You are warned--we were _not_."

"Whom his Excellency sponsors, a citizen may entertain without discredit."

"I reckon you are right," she agreed, after a moment's thought. "The Governor vouches for him, and that is sufficient. But, all the same, it gives me a queer sort of feeling to be in the same house with--Sir Edward."

"You see, it would have been much better not to tell you--but you are so persistent!" and he laughed.

They had come out into the open moonlight, on the river bank. She looked at him with an odd smile.

"Yes, I am," she replied. "But it has not had much success, thus far."

And though Maynadier besought her earnestly, she would not explain.

IX

THE SURPRISE

The next few days were uneventful. Richard Maynadier, after staying until midnight, rode home, sober and sedate, with his body-servant, a fruitless effort of the men to keep him, by other means than simple persuasion, having failed. Equally futile had been Miss Stirling's politic allurements, and George Marbury's importunities.

Sir Edward Parkington had spent a number of hours with Judith Marbury, and was rather well pleased with them. Not that he had ventured on anything personal,--he was far too old a bird--but inferences from actions may be drawn, and he thought that she was not altogether dense. Enough, for the present, if she gathered that he had shown a slight partiality for her society. Let her get persuaded of that fact, before he proceeded further. He had all the summer before him, and the matter could be worked out, in that time--if it was to be worked out at all.

He had, also, paid due attention to the father. He had inspected his tobacco fields--had watched the slaves and servants at work--had listened to a minute description of the manner of curing and hogs-heading--in fine, had the whole industry expounded to him. And, with it all, he had been careful to show a quiet enthusiasm that did much to set right the indiscretion of the other morning. He wanted to relieve Marbury's mind of all distrust, and he took the very best means to accomplish it:--he evinced an interest in the other's work, and he grew confidential himself.

"I have not told any one, not even Colonel Sharpe," he said, as they were riding in from the fields, "the real object in my coming to America. I am thinking of settling here. Do not repeat it, please.--Yes, I know I can trust you, else I should not have spoken. I shall look around, and pick out a likely place, and if the price is not excessive, and if some other like matters can be arranged, I am about ready to become one of you."

"Maryland should be proud to welcome you!" Marbury exclaimed.

"Well, there are other ways of looking at it," said Parkington laughing. "Some people may say that I should be glad to come to Maryland. But that is neither here nor there; if the old residents will receive me, and let me be one of them, it is quite enough."

"There will be no trouble on that score--they will be glad enough to take you in!"

"That is very good of you," (including, by the "you," Marbury among the old residents), "I shall try to make a companionable neighbor. I wonder if there are any estates, in this part of the country, for sale--or which could be purchased for a reasonable amount. I like this section--it is a little farther South than Annapolis, and, besides, seems more fertile--better adapted for tobacco."

"It is, sir!--it is quite equal to Virginia.--And, speaking of places, you might get Rousby Hall, one of the finest we have. You have not seen it?"

"No, I have seen no place but this one--and it, I suppose, is not in the market."

Old Marbury shook his head, decisively.

"Not at any price!" he said. "But Rousby Hall has a woman for the heiress--she is here, now, young Mrs. Plater. Colonel Rousby, her father, might be willing to sell it, for a good price, and pass his winters in Annapolis, and his summers with his daughter, at Sotterly.... I do not know any other that could be had--Maynadier's is out of the question--and Plater's, and Fitzhugh's, and Snowden's, and Bladen's, and Ridgeley's--no, Rousby Hall is the only one.--Do you wish to see it?"

"Yes--sometime before we leave here--just a glance. I would not wish to appear, yet, you understand--not until my affairs are more definitely arranged."

"Very well," said Marbury. "Any help I can give is yours for the asking. Meanwhile, I can ascertain whether Colonel Rousby would consider selling."

"Yes--it would be very kind," said Parkington, as he dismounted. "Meanwhile, not a word."

"Hum-m!" thought Marbury. "I shall not be the one to tell it.... Going to settle here--maybe! He is not married--I wonder if Judith might take a fancy to him.... Hum-m!... She will have a very good sized dowery, and an Englishman does not despise such things.... Well, we shall see.... Hum-m!" And he went on to the wharf.

And Parkington, watching him ride down the avenue, was thinking.