Madam,' says I, 'it is commonly reported that I offended the entire
aristocracy of Albany when I had Sir John Johnson's sweetheart to dine
with them. And for that I have been ostracized. For which ostracism,
madam, I care not a brass farthing. And, madam, were I to dine all
Albany to-night, I should not ignore my old neighbors and friends, the
Putnams of Tribes Hill, to suit the hypocrisy of a few strangers from
Albany. Right is right, madam, and decency is decency! And I say now
that to honest men Claire Putnam is Sir John's wife by every law of
honor, decency, and chivalry; and I shall so treat her in the face of a
rotten world and to the undying shame of that beast, Sir John!'

"Whereupon--would you believe it, George?--Schuyler took both my hands
in his and said my conduct honored me, and more of the same sort o'
thing, and Lady Schuyler gave me her hand in that sweet, stately
fashion; and, dammy! I saluted her finger-tips. Heaven knows how I found
it possible to bend my waist, but I did, George. And there's an end to
the whole matter!"

He took snuff, blew his nose violently, snapped his gold snuff-box, and
waddled to the window, where, below, in the early dusk, torches and
rush-lights burned, illuminating the cavalry horses tethered along their
picket-rope, and the trooper on guard, pacing his beat, musket shining
in the wavering light.

"That escort will be my undoing," he muttered. "Folk will dub me a
partisan now. Dammy! a man under my roof is a guest, be he Tory or
rebel. I do but desire to cultivate my land and pay my debts of honor;
and I'll stick to it till they leave me in peace or hang me to my
barn door!"

And he toddled out, muttering and fumbling with his snuff-box, bidding
me hasten and not keep them waiting dinner.

I stood before the mirror with its lighted sconces, gazing grimly at my
sober face while Cato tied my queue-ribbon and dusted my silken
coat-skirts. Then I fastened the brilliant buckle under my chin, shook
out the deep, soft lace at throat and wristband, and took my small-sword
from Cato.

"Mars' George," murmured the old man, "yo' look lak yo' is gwine wed wif
mah li'l Miss Dorry."

I stared at him angrily. "What put that into your head?" I demanded.

"I dunno, suh; hit dess look dat-a-way to me, suh."

"You're a fool," I said, sharply.

"No, suh, I ain' no fool, Mars' George. I done see de sign! Yaas, suh, I
done see de sign."

"What sign?"

The old man chuckled, looked