Sir Edward Parkington and Sir Charles Brandon arrived at Whitehall just before supper, and were greeted by the Governor and his guests on the esplanade.  
Brandon was dignified yet affable, he was properly appreciative of his Excellency's courtesy, a bit diffident about imposing upon his hospitality, and thoroughly considerate in everything; in short, the well-bred gentleman—natural, free from affectations, and, apparently, sincere.
 
So he impressed Colonel Sharpe; so he impressed every one. He would be an addition to the company, they all agreed, when he and Parkington had gone to their room to dress.
 
The Nelson was arrived that morning from England, and the Governor's mail had been sent down by the pinnace. In the bag, were several communications for Miss Stirling, which he passed over with a jocular remark. Excusing herself, she retired to a quiet corner of the library to read them. While thus engaged, Captain Herford entered, and tried to engage her in talk; but she sent him away, rather petulantly, and then, hiding herself in a window embrasure, went on with her reading.
 
Two of the letters were of casual interest—the[Pg 272] doings of the writers on their country estates—and were not remarkable either for correct spelling or polished diction. The third and last, however, was of better stuff.
 
It was from Lady Catherwood, written from London,—before she had received Miss Stirling's letter to her, of course—and had in it much gossip, a little scandal, and, then, just before the close, was this:—
 
"There is an interesting Piece of Gossip, which I all but forgot to tell you. It seems, Lord Baltimore has tired of certain Gentlemen, who are his particular Toad-eaters, and has taken Means to get rid of them.
 
"One has gone to Maryland, with letters of Introduction to the Governor, your Uncle, trusting to make his way with the Gentlemen of the Colony, and, incidentally, to make as much Money off them as they will permit—which, I Dare say, will not be Excessive, for a more Unattractive little Rogue it would be hard to find outside a jail. He is small, and fat, and bald, and is scarcely ever Sober, when he has some one to pay for the Liquor; and, naturally, he is a Vile little Beast in other ways—Comprenez vous? A thoroughly disreputable fellow, Catherwood says, and one whom Baltimore ought to be Ashamed to send his Colony; but Baltimore is not Ashamed of anything, save leading a decent life.
 
[Pg 273]
 
"I give you this, for your own Information—not because I think there is any likelihood of your falling a Victim to Sir Edward's wiles—but to warn you, and also Colonel Sharpe, if you think well to meddle in his business. The name of this wretch is Sir Edward Parkington——"
 
Martha Stirling read the last line thrice, to make sure she saw aright.
 
"Sir Edward Parkington!" she reflected—"is small, and fat, and bald, and scarcely ever sober! and a vile little beast in other ways—Comprenez vous? Yes, my dear, I comprehend. And what is more, I comprehend that he is not our Sir Edward. Between the leaving London and the arrival at Annapolis, there was a change of men.—But the letters of introduction are the same—how did they happen to change hands?"
 
She sat a while, thinking deeply. Should she tell the Governor? Should she preserve the secret, tell no one? Should she demand the truth of Parkington himself, and let his story determine her future action? She heard him and Brandon descend the stairs, and go out on the esplanade. Brandon! he knew the secret—he knew that Parkington was an impostor—he knew all. She had heard Constable's story of the meeting at the Coffee-house—the surprise shown. Bah! it was prearranged, determined upon beforehand; a play, acted for the express benefit of the onlookers.—Should she block[Pg 274] it, now, walk out and, before the whole company, read Lady Catherwood's letter? It would be effective—far more so than his play at the Coffee-house. In fact, it would be conclusive.—Yet, he had always been very gallant to her, very devoted, very sympathetic. (She looked out through the window.) Yes, and he was a gentleman, too. No man had such manners, such grace, such ease of bearing, otherwise.
 
The longer she looked, the more her heart misgave her. She could not do it. She would wait until after supper, take him for a walk, down to the water, and get him to confess the masquerade and the reason for it. She refused to think that there was any wrong intended. He was better than the real Sir Edward, a thousand times better. And she liked him—liked him more than any man she had ever met, save only Richard Maynadier; and Richard Maynadier (she had known it since the night he kissed her, at Hedgely Hall) was not for her. There was no love in his lips, though there had been plenty of ardor.
 
A little twinge of bitterness took possession of her. Why was she born poor?—why could she not have had rank and riches instead of beauty?
 
Presently, she saw the butler go out and announce supper; she arose and joined the party as they came trooping in.
 
She had Parkington and Brandon on either hand, and she watched them, covertly, all through the[Pg 275] meal, trying to pick some flaw in their bearing, something that would not be quite right in their behaviour. But she failed—as she had felt sure she would. They had only to be natural, to be themselves, to ring true. Parkington he was not, and Brandon might be false, also, but, assuredly, they came of the stock they professed—and, may be, of better.
 
"I have got something to say to you, when you join us," she whispered to Sir Edward, as the ladies arose to retire. "Don't be overlong."
 
"I will come at once," he said, as he drew back her chair.
 
"No—in a half hour. I will be down in the rose-walk, you may join me there."
 
"On the instant!" he exclaimed—and watched her as she went slowly down the table, flinging a bantering word, here and there, the men bowing, and smiling, and flinging it back again.
 
"Yes, you may well look at her," said Brandon. "She has the beauty and grace of the best of them at Court. She is the Governor's niece, I take it?"
 
Parkington nodded. "But she is poor—and, I think, has a little too much morals to get on at Court."
 
"She will not let her face and figure purchase her place, you mean? I see.—You have decided to go home?" he asked suddenly.
 
"I am strongly tempted, Brandon, strongly tempted."
 
[Pg 276]
 
"And do you want to be sure of the old Earl's forgiveness?"
 
"I should not refuse it," said Parkington, smiling.
 
"Then, marry Miss Stirling—she can wheedle him, I warrant; and, besides, he will be forced to admit that you have given some evidence of reform by doing it."
 
"And Miss Stirling, shall I carry her off by force and marry her, or simply drug her!" laughed Parkington.
 
"Neither—tell her the truth. I will be much surprised, if she does not jump at the chance to get the son of the Earl of Doncaster, even though he is not the heir. Moreover, man, she is fond of you; one did not need to do more than see her at table, this evening, to appreciate it."
 
"You are fertile of schemes," was the answer.
 
"I am—and they are usually good schemes; it is an indispensable requisite of the pirate business."
 
Parkington drew over the port, and replenished his glass.
 
"But it risks everything on the Earl," he objected. "If he refuse to be lenient—if he prosecutes?"
 
"He will not."
 
"I must think over it—and, then, marriage is a serious question, my friend, a serious question!"
 
"Is it any more serious to marry Miss Stirling, than it is to marry Miss Marbury?" asked Brandon.
 
[Pg 277]
 
"Well, in the one case, my mind was made up."
 
"How about the lady's mind?"
 
"I admit I do not know."
 
"Was it she in blue and pink, at the other end of the table?"
 
"The same—she sat next to Constable."
 
Brandon laughed lightly, "I am a stranger, here," he said, "but there is only one, in this company, who has any attraction for her:—the tall, grave, exceedingly good-looking man of middle age across the table. Maynadier, I think the Governor called him."
 
"He is only a friend of the family—the best friend, likely—nothing more."
 
"I am not answering as to him," said Brandon. "You are not thinking of marrying Mr. Maynadier, I take it." He pushed back his chair with the others, and arose. "Consider it—sound Miss Stirling—see if she be likely to accept. At any rate, I tell you, again, Miss Marbury is not for you—and neither is residence in Maryland."
 
"Very good—I shall sound her, and tell you how it appears. I have an appointment with her, now," said Parkington.
 
On the way out, Miss Marbury hailed him.
 
"Come here!" she said, with pretty peremptoriness. "Come here, and tell me how you are—I have not seen you for a long, long time."
 
"And my days have been dreary as winter in[Pg 278] consequence, full of rain and melancholy," replied Parkington.
 
"Then, cheer up, Sir Mournful—the sun is shining; you may bask in its rays a while."
 
He offered her his arm.
 
"To the Bay and back again?" he asked.
 
"Why, back again?" she laughed.
 
"Because I thought it the only way to get you. But, if you will," (bending down) "it shall be to Annapolis and St. Anne's Rector, ere we come back again."
 
She looked up at him with merry eyes—a charming picture in the moonlight.
 
"Let us first go to the Bay," she said; "perhaps, we shall not care to go farther."
 
And Martha Stirling, from the rose-walk, saw them go. And surprise grew slowly to amazement, and then—as the minutes fled, and they returned not—the surprise changed into anger, sharp and sudden. And she left the rose-walk, and hastened to the Governor.
 
She found him in his apartment, in converse with Richard Maynadier. Both men arose, when she entered, and the latter made a move to retire. She stopped him.
 
"Just a moment, Mr. Maynadier," she said—"I want only to give this letter to Colonel Sharpe. It contains some information which it seems well he should have at once.—It is from Lady Catherwood, sir," she added; "it came this evening, and, though[Pg 279] only a woman's letter, this part," (indicating) "will prove very interesting reading."
 
She handed the letter to him, shot Maynadier a bewitching smile, dropped them both a curtsy, and was gone.
 
"Your pardon, a moment!" said the Governor.... At the end, he passed the letter across to Maynadier, and his face was troubled.
 
"Miss Stirling was right," he said. "But it is more than interesting—unfortunate, I should term it."
 
Maynadier read it carefully before answering—then, he put it slowly down.
 
"What course will you pursue?" he asked. "The evidence is all but conclusive, now."
 
The Governor sent cloud after cloud of smoke ceiling-ward.
 
"I shall demand an explanation," he replied; "lay down the proofs, and give him a chance to disprove; and do it quietly—there is no need to proclaim my error."
 
"You are not at fault—the letters were authentic," said Maynadier.
 
"Possibly not—but I shall bear the blame, nevertheless, of having made the imposition possible. I do not like it! Maynadier, I do not like it! If I thought he would depart with Brandon, I would——" he broke off and shook his head in indecision. "He has done no one, so far as we know, an injury—other than to enter their houses[Pg 280] under a false name. He has, even then, compensated for his entertainment by his genialness and his courtesy. It will raise a nasty scandal, and accomplish no real good. If there were any crime, for which he was responsible, it would be quite different. I grant you, he played cards for a high stake, and usually with success, but no one accuses him of cheating—and there were those who were ............