We had halted behind some willows that overhung the brook beneath the Kissing Bridge. Over this bridge ran the road, which led north from the city through the length of the island to Harlem, passing on the way the manor-house and park of Patroon Van Volkenberg. We had scarcely concealed ourselves behind the bushes when the forward members of the cavalcade came in sight. Two horsemen led the way, wearing the red band upon their arms and carrying blue pennants upon staves that were thrust into their stirrups. Next came the patroon. At his side rode a slight, almost dwarflike man with pale features and snow white hair.

“That is Louis Van Ramm,” whispered Pierre as the dwarf drew near the bridge. “It was he let loose the dogs on me.”

The patroon himself, who sat his horse firm and erect, looked forty-five or fifty years of age. From time to time he would turn in the saddle and glance back with satisfaction upon his score of followers, who rode two and two behind him. He was their feudal chief. The clanking of their harness, the irregular clatter of the horses’ feet upon the hard road, the look of respect with which every eye met 94his—all this inspired the patroon with the feeling of satisfaction that showed so plainly in his finely modeled face. They rode by, over the hollow sounding bridge and up the long hill, till the last sharp sounds fainted in the distance. Only the rustling tree tops and the rippling brook remained to disturb the soft stillness of the autumn afternoon.

Pierre rose and I followed him; first up a steep footpath and then along the highroad till we came within sight of the town. When we arrived at Lady Marmaduke’s, Pierre led the way to the back entrance, telling me to wait in the servant’s hall while he sought admittance to my lady’s presence. He soon returned to me with the command to follow him.

“She will talk to you,” he said, as we threaded a long, dimly lighted corridor. “Do not fear. She is a good friend though a hard woman. I have let her know what I have already told you. She will tell you what else there is to be known.”

In answer to Pierre’s knock a soft voice bade me enter. It was not such a voice as would suggest the “hard woman” of Pierre’s description. It was the tender, feeling voice I had heard when Lady Marmaduke spoke to the people about her husband—when she spoke to them tremblingly, straight from the bottom of her heart. Pierre thrust aside the drapery of the door and I stepped into the room alone.

95Lady Marmaduke was in the farther end of it, half leaning, half sitting upon the arm of a chair. One hand rested against her hip, the other shaded her eyes while she watched my entrance. I had not taken three steps before she rose and came forward to greet me with kindness. Even in the half light of the room I could catch the sweet expression of her face. Despite the sorrow in my heart, I noticed how tall and straight she was, and how well formed. Though her face looked sweet and soft, when she took my hand she gripped it with the strength of a man, looking me withal squarely in the face as if she would read me through and through.

“Sit down,” she said with a firm air of command. The very tone of her voice was soothing and made me want to do her will. When I had obeyed her, she seated herself by my side and took my hand again. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-five,” I answered mechanically, for I was still half dazed.

“Then I shall call you Michael, for we are to be good friends and I am old enough to be your mother. Pierre has told me about you and what it is you want. It is sad news I have to tell you, sadder news than his; yes, much sadder. But I should not hold back. You are a brave man, are you not?”

She paused and cast her eyes upon the floor. In spite of her assertion that she should not hold back, 96she found her task a hard one, and she was loth to begin it. “I think I have seen you before. Were you not with the dominie when I found Pierre?”

I nodded and for a while we were both silent.

“Madam,” I said at length. “Anything is better than suspense.”

“Poor child,” she murmured tenderly.

Even yet she must cross the room to adjust the curtains before she found voice to continue. She resumed her seat by my side and cleared her throat two or three times.

“It is seven or eight months since your sister entered service at the manor-house. For a while all went well enough. I heard often about her through Annetje Dorn. But things never go well there for long at a time. I saw Ruth now and then and her cheeks grew pale and her eyes hollow. I think she must have done much weeping. She found her lot a hard one, much harder perhaps because the patroon cast longing glances at her pretty, winsome face. Yet he held her only as his chattel. One morning she was found in her bed—dead, Michael Le Bourse—dead on the twelfth day of last July—I say the twelfth of July.”

Short as her narrative had been, Lady Marmaduke had worked herself into a state of excitement that I could not comprehend. It was certainly not due to me nor to her interest in my affairs, for she rose and strode up and down the room as if talking to herself and utterly oblivious of my presence, all 97the time snapping her long fingers in anger. A hound asleep in one corner of the room awoke and came leaping towards her. She exclaimed a sharp word of rebuke and the dog slunk back with his tail between his legs. After five minutes more of this behavior she stopped in front of me, her tall, spare figure swaying slowly like a tree trunk. I rose instinctively.