day
commanded the coach at eight. We drove over bad roads to the church at
South River. And he afterwards declined the voluntary aid he hitherto
had been used to give to St. Anne's. In the meantime, good Mr. Swain had
called again, bringing some jelly and cake of Patty's own making; and
a letter writ out of the sincerity of her heart, full of tender concern
and of penitence. She would never cease to blame herself for the wrong
she now knew she had done me.

Though still somewhat weak from my wound and confinement, after dinner
that Sunday I repaired to Gloucester Street. From the window she saw
me coming, and, bare-headed, ran out in the cold to meet me. Her eyes
rested first on the linen around my throat, and she seemed all in a fire
of anxiety.

"I had thought you would come to-day, when I heard you had been to South
River," she said.

I was struck all of a sudden with her looks. Her face was pale, and I
saw that she had suffered as much again as I. Troubled, I followed her
into the little library. The day was fading fast, and the leaping flames
behind the andirons threw fantastic shadows across the beams of the
ceiling. We sat together in the deep window.

"And you have forgiven me, Richard?" she asked.

"An hundred times," I replied. "I deserved all I got, and more."

"If I had not wronged and insulted you--"

"You did neither, Patty," I broke in; "I have played a double part for
the first and last time in my life, and I have been justly punished for
it."

"'Twas I sent you to the Coffee House," she cried, "where you might have
been killed. How I despise myself for listening to Mr. Allen's tales!"

"Then it was Mr. Allen!" I exclaimed, fetching a long breath.

"Yes, yes; I will tell you all."

"No," said I, alarmed at her agitation; "another time."

"I must," she answered more calmly; "it has burned me enough. You recall
that we were at supper together, with Betty Tayloe and Lord Comyn,
and how merry we were, altho' 'twas nothing but 'Dorothy' with you
gentlemen. Then you left me. Afterwards, as I was talking with Mr.
Singleton, the rector came up. I never have liked the man, Richard, but
I little knew his character. He began by twitting me for a Whig, and
presently he said: 'But we have gained one convert, Miss Swain, who sees
the error of his ways. Scarce a year since young Richard Carvel promised
to be one of those with whom his Majesty will have to reckon. And he
is now become,'--laughing,--'the K