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"Oh!" she broke out finally, in her delight, "won't Tibbie
be sorry when she knows what she's missed? And, forsooth, a
proper pay out for her wrong-doing it is!"

"What mean ye by that?" questioned Evatt.

"She deserves to have it known, but though she called me
tattle-tale, I'm no such thing," replied Janice, who in truth
was still hot with indignation at Miss Drinker, and wellnigh
bursting to confide her grievance against her whilom friend
to this most delightful of men. "Doubtless, you observed
that we are not on terms. That was why I came off without
her."

Evatt, though not till this moment aware of the fact, nodded
his head gravely.

"'T is all her doings, though she'd be glad enough to make
it up if I would let her. A fine frenzy her ladyship would be
in, too, if she dreamt he'd given me the miniature."

"A miniature!" marvelled the visitor, encouragingly. "Of
whom?"

"'T is just what--Oh, I think I'll tell thee the whole tale
and get thy advice. I dare not go to mommy, for I know
she'd make me give it up, and dadda being away, and Tibbie
in a snip-snap, I have no one to--and perhaps--I'd never
tell thee to shame Tibbie, but because I need advice and--"

"A man with half an eye would know you were no tale-bearer,
Miss Janice," her companion assured her.

Thus prompted and enticed, the girl poured out the whole
story. "I wish I could show you the picture," she ended.
"She is the most beautiful creature I ever saw."

"Hast never looked in a mirror, Miss Janice?"

"Now thou 't just teasing."

"I' faith, 't is the last thought in my mind," said Evatt, heartily.

"You really think me pretty?" questioned the girl, with
evident delight if uncertainty.

Evatt studied the eager, guileless face questioningly turned to
him, and had much ado to keep from smiling.

"'T is impossible not to think it," he replied.

"Even after seeing the court beauties?" demanded Janice,
half doubtful and half joyous.

"Not one but would have to give the pas to ye, Miss Janice,"
protested Evatt, "could ye but be presented at St. James's."

"How lovely!" cried Janice, ecstatically, and then in sudden
abasement asserted, "Oh, I know you are--you are
only making fun of me!"

"Now, burn me, if I am!" insisted the man, with such
undoubted admiration in his manner as to confirm his words to
the girl. "By Heaven!" he marvelled to himself. "Who 'd
have believed such innocence possible? 'T is Mother Eve
before the fall! She knows nothing." A view of woman
likely to get Mr. Evatt into trouble. There is very little
information concerning the ante-prandial Eve, but from later
examples of her sex, it is safe to affirm that the mother of the
race knew several things before partaking of the tree of knowledge.
Man only is born so stupid as to need education.

"Why canst thou not let me have sight of this wondrous
female?" he went on aloud. "Surely thou art not really
fearsome to brave comparison."

"'T is not that, indeed," denied Janice, colouring, "but--
well--in a moment." The girl turned her back to Mr. Evatt,
and in a moment faced him once more, the miniature in her
hand. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Evatt looked at the miniature. "That she is," he assented.
"And strike me dumb, but she reminds me of some woman
I've once seen in London."

"Oh, how interesting!" exclaimed the girl. "What was
her name?"

"'T is exactly that I am asking myself."

"He must be well-born," argued Janice, "to have her
miniature; look at the jewels in her hair."

"Ah, my child, there 's more than the well-born wear--"
the man stopped short. "How know ye," he went on, "that
the bondsman comes by it rightly? The frame is one of price."

"I don't," the girl replied, "and the initials on the back
are n't his."

"'W. H. J. B.,'" read Evatt.

"He may have changed his name," suggested Janice.

"True," assented the man, with a slight laugh; "that 's a
mighty clever thought and gives us a clue to his real one."

"Perhaps you've heard of a man in London with a name to
fit W. H. J. B.?" said the maid, inquiringly.

Evatt turned away to conceal an unsuppressable smile,
while thinking, "The innocent imagines London but another
Brunswick!"

"Dost think I should make him take it back?" asked Janice.

"Certainly not," replied her advise; responding to the only
too manifest wish of the girl.

"Then dost think I should speak to mommy or dadda?"

"'T is surely needless! The fellow refuses it, and so 't is
yours till he demands it."

"How lovely! Oh, I'd like to be home this instant, to see
how 't would appear about my neck. Last night I crept out of
bed to have a look, but Tibbie turned over, and I thought me
she was waking. I think I'll go at once and--"

"And end our walk?" broke in Evatt, reproachfully.

"'T is nearly tea-time," replied Janice, pointing to the sun.
"How the afternoon has flown!"

"Thanks to my charming companion," responded the man,
bowing low.

"Now you are teasing again," cried Janice. "I don't like to
be made fun--"

"'T is my last thought," cried Evatt, with unquestionable
earnestness, and possessing himself of Janice's hand, he stooped
and kissed it impetuously and hotly.

The colour flooded up into the maiden's face and neck at the
action, but still more embarrassing to her was the awkward
pause which ensued, as they set out on their return. She could
think of nothing to say, and the stranger would not help her.
"Let her blush and falter and stammer," was his thought. "Every
minute of embarrassment is putting me deeper in her thoughts."

VII
SPIDER AND FLY

Fortunately for the girl, the distance to the house
was not great, and the rapid pace she set in her stress
quickly brought them to the doorway, which she
entered with a sigh of relief. The guest was at once
absorbed by her father, and Janice sought her room.

As she primped, the miniature lay before her, and occasionally
she paused for a moment to look at it. Finally, when properly
robed, she picked it up and held it for a moment. "I wonder
if she broke his heart?" she soliloquised. "I don't see how he
could help loving her; I know I should." Janice hesitated for
a moment, and then tucked the miniature into her bosom. "If
only Tibbie wasn't--if--we could talk about it," she sighed,
as she pinned on her little cap of lace above the hair dressed
high a la Pompadour. "Why did she have to be--just as so
many important things were to happen!" Miss Meredith
looked at her double in the mirror, and sighed again. "Mr.
Evatt must have been laughing at me," she said, "for she is so
much prettier. But I should like to know why Charles always
stares so at me."

In the meantime, Evatt, without so much as an allusion to the
bond-servant, had presented a letter from a New Yorker, introducing
him to the squire, and by the confidence thus established
he proceeded to question Mr. Meredith long and carefully, not
about farming lands and profits, but concerning the feeling of
the country toward the questions then at issue between Great
Britain and America. He made as they talked an occasional
note, and the interview ended only with Peg's announcement of
supper. Nor was this allowed to terminate the inquiry, for the
squire, as Mrs. Meredith had foreseen, insisted on Evatt's
spending the night, and Charles was accordingly ordered to ride
over to the inn for the traveller's saddlebags. After the ladies
had left the two men at the table, the questioning was resumed
over the spirits and pipes, and not till ten o'clock was passed
did Evatt finally rise. Clearly he must have pleased the squire
as well as he had the dames, for Mr. Meredith, with the
hospitality of the time, pressed him heartily to stay for more
than the morrow, assuring him of a welcome at Greenwood for
as long as he would make it his abiding spot.

"Nothing, sir, would give me greater pleasure," responded
Evatt, warmly, "but in confidence to ye, as a friend of government,
I dare to say that my search for a farm is only the ostensible
reason for my travels. I am executing an important and
delicate mission for our government, and having already journeyed
through the colonies to the northward, I must still travel
through those of the south. 'T is therefore quite impossible for
me to tarry more than the night. I should, in fact, not have
dared to linger thus long were it not that your name was on the
list given me by Lord Dartmouth of those to be trusted and
consulted. And the information ye have furnished me concerning
this region has proved that his Lordship did not err in his
opinion as to your knowledge, disposition, and ability."

This sent the squire to his pillow with a delightful sense of
his own importance, and led him to confide to the nightcap on
the pillow beside him that "Mr. Evatt is a man of vast insight
and discrimination." Regrettable as it is to record, the visitor,
before seeking his own pillow, mixed some ink powder in a mug
with a little water and proceeded to add to a letter already
begun the following paragraph:--

[Illustration: "The British ran!"]

"From thence I rode to Brunswick, a small Town on the
Raritan. Here I find the same division of Sentiment I have
already dwelt upon to your Lordship. The Gentry, consisting
hereabouts of but two, are sharply opposed to the small Farmers
and Labourers, and cannot even rely upon their own Tenantry
for more than a nominal support. Neither of the great Proprietors
seem to be Men of sound Judgment or natural Popularity,
and Mr. Lambert Meredith--a name quite unknown
to your Lordship, but of some consequence in this Colony
through a fortunate Marriage with a descendant of one of the
original Patentees--at the last Election barely succeeded in
carrying the Poll, and is represented to be a Man of much
impracticality, hot-tempered, a stickler over trivial points, at
odds with his Neighbours, and not even Master of his own
Household. To such Men, my Lord, has fallen the Contest, on
behalf of Government, while opposed to them are self-made
Leaders, of Eloquence, of Force, and; most of all, of Dishonesty.
Issues of Paper Money, escape from all Taxation, free Lands,
suspensions of Debts--such and an hundred other tempting
Promises they ply the People with, while the Gentry sit helpless,
save those who, seeing how the Tide sets, throw Principles to
the Wind, and plunge in with the popular Leaders. Believe
me, my Lord, as I have urged already, a radical change of
Government, and a plentiful sprinkling of Regiments, will
alone prevent the Disorders from rising to a height that
threatens Anarchy."

Though the visitor was the last of the household abed, he was
early astir the next morning, and while Charles was beginning
his labours of the day, by leading each horse to the trough in
the barnyard, Evatt joined him.

"We made a bad start at our first meeting, my man," he
said in a friendly manner, "and I have only myself to blame
for 't. One should keep his own secrets."

"'T is a sorry calling yours would be if many kept to that,"
replied Fownes, with a suggestion of contempt.

Evatt bit his lip, and then forced a smile. "The old saying
runs that three could keep a secret if two were but dead."

Charles smiled. "My two will never trouble me," he said
meaningly, "so save your time and breath."

"Hadst best not be so sure," retorted Evatt, in evident irritation.
"'Twixt thine army service, the ship that fetched thee
on, and that miniature, I have more clues than have served to
ferret many a secret."

"And entirely lack the important one. Till you have that, I
don't fear you. What is more, I'll tell you what 't is."

"What?" asked the man.

"A reward," sneered Fownes.

"I see I've a sly tyke to deal with," said the man. "But
if ye choose not--" The speaker checked himself as Janice
came through the opening in the hedge, and the two stood
silently watching her as she approached.

"Charles," she said, when within speaking distance, while
holding out the miniature, "I've decided you must take this."

Charles smiled pleasantly. "Then 't is your duty to make
me, Miss Meredith," he replied, folding his arms.

"Won't you please take it?" begged Janice, not a little non-plussed
by her position, and that Evatt should be a witness of
it. "We know it belongs to you, and 't is too valuable for
me to--"

"How know you that?" questioned the man, still smiling
pleasantly.

"Because 't was with your clothes when you went in swimming,"
said Janice, frankly.

"Miss Meredith," replied Charles, "the word of a poor devil
of a bond-servant can have little value, but I swear to you that
that never belonged to me, and that I therefore have no right
to it. If it gives you any pleasure, keep it."

"That is as good as saying ye stole it," asserted Evatt.

Charles smiled contemptuously. "'All are not thieves
whom dogs bark at,'" he retorted. "Nor are all of us sneaks
and spies," he added, as, turning, he led away the horse toward
the stable.

"Yon fellow does n't stickle at calling ye names, Miss Meredith,"
said Evatt.

"He has no right to call me a spy," cried the girl, indignantly.

"His words deserve no more heed than what he said t'other
night at the tavern of ye."

"What said he at the tavern?" demanded Janice.

"'T is best left unspoken."

"I want to know what he said of me," insisted Miss Meredith.

"'T would only shame ye."

"He--he told of--he did n't tell them I took the miniature?"
faltered Janice.

Again Evatt bit his lip, but this time to keep from smiling.
"Worse than that, my child," he replied.

"Why should he insult me?" protested Janice, proudly,
but still colouring at the possibility.

"Ye do right to suppose it unlikely. Yet 't is so, and while
I can hardly hope that my word will be taken for it, his lies to
us a moment since prove that he is capable of any untruth."

Evatt spoke with such honesty of manner, and with such an
apparent lack of motive for inventing a tale, that Janice became
doubtful. "He could n't insult me," she said, "for I--I
have n't done anything."

"'T is certain that he did. Had I but known ye at the time,
Miss Janice, he should have been made to swallow his coarse
insult. 'T was for that I sought him this morning. Had ye
not interrupted us, 't would have fared badly for him."

"You were very kind," said Janice, dolefully, beginning, more
from his manner than his words, to believe Evatt. "I did n't
know there were such bad men in the world. And for him to
say it at the tavern, where 't will be all over the county in no
time! Was it very bad?"

"No one would believe a redemptioner," replied Evatt.
"Yet had I the right--"

"Marse Meredith send me to tell youse come to breakfast,"
interrupted Peg from the gateway in the box.

"Why!" exclaimed the girl. "It can't be seven."

"The squire ordered it early, that I might be in the saddle
betimes," explained Evatt, and then as the girl started toward
the house, he checked the movement by taking her hand.
"Miss Janice," he said, "in a half-hour I shall ride away--not
because 't is my wish, but because I'm engaged in an important
and perilous mission--a mission--can ye keep a secret--even
from--from your father and mother?"

Janice was too young and inexperienced to know that a
secret is of all things the most to be avoided, and though her
little hand, in her woman's intuition that all was not right, tried
feebly to free itself, she none the less answered eagerly if half-doubtfully,
"Yes."

"I am sent here under an assumed name--by His Majesty.
Ye--I was indiscreet enough with ye, to tell--to show that I
was other than what I pretend to be, but I felt then and now
that I could trust ye. Ye will keep secret all I say?"

Again Janice, with her eyes on the ground, said, "Yes."

"I must do the king's work, and when 't is done I return to
England and resume my true position, and ye will never again
hear of me--unless--" The man paused, with his eyes fixed
on the downcast face of the girl.

"Unless?" asked Janice, when the silence became more
embarrassing than to speak.

"Unless ye--unless ye give me the hope that by first returning
here--as your father has asked me to do--that I
may--may perhaps carry ye away with me. Ah, Miss Janice,
't is an outrage to keep such beauty hidden in the wilds of
America, when it might be the glory of the court and the toast
of the town."

Again a silence ensued, fairly agonising to the bewildered
and embarrassed girl, which lengthened, it seemed to her, into
hours, as she vainly sought for some words that she might
speak.

"Please let go my hand," she begged finally.

"Not till you give me a yea or nay.

"But I can't--I don't--" began Janice, and then as footsteps
were heard, she cried, "Oh, let me go! Here comes
Charles."

"May I come back?" demanded Evatt.

"Yes," assented the girl, desperately.

"And ye promise to be secret?"

"I promise," cried Janice, and to her relief recovered her
hand, just as Charles entered the garden.

Like many another of her sex, however, she found that to
gain physical and temporary freedom she had only enslaved
herself the more, for after breakfast Evatt availed himself of a
moment's interest of Mrs. Meredith's in the ordering down of
his saddle-bags, and of the squire's in the horse, to say to Janice,
aside:--

"I gave ye back your hand, Janice, but remember 't is mine,"
and before the girl could frame a denial, he was beside Mr.
Meredith at the stirrup, and, ere many minutes, had ridden
away, leaving behind him a very much flattered, puzzled, and
miserable demoiselle.

VIII
SEVERAL BURNING QUESTIONS

The twenty-four hours of Evatt's visit troubled Janice
in recollection for many a day, and marked the beginning
of the most distinct change that had come to
her. The experience was in fact that which befalls
every one somewhere between the ages of twelve and thirty,
by which youth first learns to recognise that life is not mere
living, but is rather the working out of a strange problem compounded
of volition and necessity, accident and fatality. The
pledge of secrecy preyed upon her, the stranger's assumption
that she had bound herself distressed her, and the thought
that she had been the subject of tavern talk made her furious.
Yet she had promised concealment, she was powerless to write
to Evatt denying his pretension, and she could not counteract
a slander the purport of which was unknown to her. Had she
and Tibbie but been on terms, she might have gained some
relief by confiding her woes to her, but that young lady's visit
came to an end so promptly after the departure of Evatt that
restoration of good feeling was only obtained in the parting
kiss. For the first time in her life, Janice's head would keep
on thinking after it was resting on its pillow, and many a time
that enviable repository was called upon to dry her tears and
cool her burning cheeks. Never, it seemed to her, had man
or woman borne so great a burden of trouble.

The change in the girl was too great not to be noticed by
the household of Greenwood. Mrs. Meredith joyfully confided
to the Rev. Mr. McClave that she thought an "effectual
calling" had come to her daughter, and that Janice was in a
most promising condition of unhappiness. Thus encouraged,
the divine, who was a widower of forty-two, with five children
sadly needing a woman's care, only too gladly made morning
calls on the daughter of his wealthiest parishioner, and in place
of the discussions with Tibbie over romance in general, and
the bond-servant in particular, as they sewed or knitted, Janice
was forced to attend to long monologues specially prepared
for her benefit, on what to the presbyter were the truly burning
questions of justification, adoption, and sanctification. What
is more, she not only listened dutifully, but once or twice was
even moved to tears, to the enormous encouragement of Mr.
McClave. The squire, who highly resented the lost vivacity
and the new seriousness, insisted that the "girl sha'n't be made
into a long-faced, psalm-singing hypocrite;" but not daring to
oppose what his wife approved, he merely expressed his irritation
to Janice herself, teasing and fretting her scarcely less
than did Mr. McClave.

Not the least of her difficulties was her bearing toward the
bondsman. Conditions were still so primitive that the relations
between master and servant were yet on a basis that
made the distinctions between them ones of convenience rather
than convention, and thus Janice was forced to mark out a
new line of conduct. At first she adopted that of avoidance
and proud disregard of him, but his manner toward her continued
to convey such deference that the girl found her attitude
hard to maintain, and presently began to doubt if he
could be guilty of the imputation. Nor could she be wholly
blind to the fact that the groom had come to take a marked
interest in her. She noted that he made occasion for frequent
interviews, and that he dropped all pretence of speaking to
her in his affected Somerset dialect. When now she ventured
out of doors, she was almost certain to encounter him, and
rarely escaped without his speaking to her; while he often
came into the kitchen on frivolous pretexts when she was
working there, and seemed in no particular haste to depart.

Several times he was detected by Mrs. Meredith thus idling
within doors, and was sharply reproved for it. Neither to this,
nor to the squire's orders that he should put an end to his
"night-walking" and to his trips to the village, did he pay
the slightest heed.

Fownes entered the kitchen one morning in November
while Janice and Sukey were deep in the making of some
grape jelly, carrying an armful of wood; for the bond-servant
for once had willingly assumed a task that had hitherto been
Tom's. Putting the logs down in the wood-box, he stood
with back to the fire, studying Miss Meredith, as, well covered
with a big apron, with rolled up sleeves, flyaway locks, and
flushed cheeks, she pounded away in a mortar, reducing loaf
sugar to usable shape.

"Now youse clar right out of yar," said Sukey, who, though
the one servant who was fond of Charles, like all good cooks,
was subject to much ferment of mind when preserving was to
the fore. "We uns doan want no men folks clutterin' de fire."

"Ah, Sukey," besought Charles, appealingly, "there 's a
white frost this morning, and 't is bitter outside. Let me
just warm my fingers?"

Sukey promptly relented, but the chill in Fownes' fingers was
clearly not unendurable, for in a moment he came to the
table, and putting his hand over that of Janice, which held
the pestle, he said:--

"Let me do the crushing. 'T is too hard work for you."

"I wish you would," Miss Meredith somewhat breathlessly
replied. "My arms are almost ready to drop off."

"'T would set the quidnuncs discussing to which of the
Greek goddesses they belonged," remarked Fownes. Then
he was sorry he had said it, for Miss Meredith promptly
unrolled her sleeves; not because in her secret heart she did
not like the speech, but because of a consciousness that
Charles was noticing what the Greek goddesses generally
lack. A low-cut frock was almost the unvarying dress of the
ladies, there was nothing wrong in the display of an ankle,
and elbow sleeves were very much the vogue, but to bare the
arms any higher was an immodesty not permitted to those
who were then commonly termed the "bon ton."

This addition to the working staff promptly produced an
order from Sukey for Janice to assume the duty of stirring a
pot just placed over the fire, "while I 'se goes down cellar an'
cars a shelf for them jellies to set on. Keep a stirrin',
honey, so 's it won't burn," was her parting injunction.

No sooner was the cook out of hearing than Charles spoke:
"For two days," he said in a low voice, "I have tried to get
word with you. Won't you come to the stable when I am
there?"

"Are you going to crush that sugar?" asked Miss Meredith.

"Art going to come to the stable?" calmly questioned
Charles.

"Give me the pestle!" said Janice, severely.

"Because if you won't," continued the groom, "I shall
have to say what I want now."

"I prefer not to hear it," Janice announced, moving from
the fire.

"You must keep on stirring, or 't will burn, Miss Janice,"
the man reminded her, taking a mean advantage of the
situation.

Janice came back and resumed her task, but she said, "I
don't choose to listen."

'T is for thy father's sake I ask it."

"How?" demanded the girl, looking up with sudden
interest.

"I went to the village t' other night," replied the man, "to
drill--" Then he checked himself in evident disconcertion.

"Drill?" asked Janice. "What drill?"

"Let us call it quadrille, since that is not the material part,"
said Charles. "What is to the point is that after--after
doing what took me, I stayed to help in Guy Fawkes' fun on
the green."

"Well?" questioned the girl, encouragingly.

"The frolickers had some empty tar barrels and an effigy
of the Pope, and they gave him and a copy of the Boston
Port Bill each a coat of tar and leaves, and then burned
them."

"What fun!" cried Janice, ceasing to stir in her interest.
"I wish mommy would let me go. She says 't is unbecoming
in the gentility, but I don't see why being well born should
be a reason for not having as good a time as--"