II
"This looks like the kind of book. Has it the 'Largo'?"
Anderson sat on the music-stool before the clavichord turning over the pages of a volume that rested on the rack.
"Perhaps. I scarce think I know what it is. I have never heard it."
Marjorie was nearby. She had been musing over the keys, letting her fingers wander where they would, when he had called. He would not disturb her for all the world, nevertheless he did yield to her entreaties to take her place on the stool.
"You have never heard Handel? The 'Largo' or the greatest of all oratorios, his 'Messiah'?"
"Never!"
He did not reply to this. Instead he broke into the opening chords, the sweetly solemn, majestic harmony of the 'Largo'. He played it entirely from memory, very slowly, very softly at first, until the measured notes, swelling into volume, filled the room in a loud arpeggio.
"That is beautiful," she exclaimed with enthusiasm, "I should have said 'exquisite'. May I learn it?"
"Surely there must be a copy in the city. I shall consider it a favor to procure one for you."
"I should be delighted, I am sure."
He played it again. She regarded him from above. It was astonishing to note the perfect ease and grace with which he performed. The erect carriage, the fine cut of the head, the delicately carved features became the objects of her attention in their inverse order, and the richly endowed talents, with which he was so signally accomplished, furnished objects of special consideration to her reflective soul. He was exceedingly fascinating and a dangerous object to pit against the heart of any woman. Still Marjorie was shrewd enough to peer beneath his superficial qualities, allowing herself to become absorbed in a penetrating study of the man, his character, his peculiarities;—so absorbed, in fact, that the door behind her opened and closed without attracting her attention.
"I must obtain that copy," she announced as she turned towards her chair.
"Why, Father!" she exclaimed. "When did you come? Mr. Anderson, Father. You already know him."
"Well met, my boy. You are somewhat of a musician. I was listening."
"Just enough for my own amusement," laughed the younger man. "I know a few notes."
"Be not quick to believe him, Father. He plays beautifully."
Mr. Allison sat down.
"Accomplishments are useful ornaments. Nowadays a man succeeds best who can best impress. People want to see one's gifts."
"The greatest of talents often lie buried. Prosperity thrives on pretense."
"True. I'm beginning to think that way myself, the way things 're going."
"With the war?" he asked.
"With everything. I think Congress will fail to realize its boasts, and Arnold is a huge pretender, and——"
"He has lost favor with the people."
"Lost it? He never had it from the day he arrived. People do not like that sort of thing."
Anderson watched him intently and Marjorie watched Anderson.
"He may resign for a command in the army. I have heard it said that he dislikes his office."
"Would to God he did! Or else go over to the other side."
Anderson's head turned—the least little fraction—so that Marjorie could see the flash light up his eyes.
"He could not desert the cause now without becoming a traitor."
A pause followed.
"Men of lofty patriotism often disagree in the manner of political action. We have many Loyalists among us."
"Yet they are not patriots."
"No! They are not, viewed from our standpoint. But every colony has a different motive in the war. Now that some have obtained their rights, they are satisfied with the situation. I don't know but that we would be as well off if the present state of affairs were allowed to stand."
"What do the Catholics of the Colonies think?"
This was a bold question, yet he ventured to ask it.
"We would fare as well with England as with some of our own," answered Marjorie decisively.
Anderson looked at her for a minute.
"Never!" replied Mr. Allison with emphasis.
"See how Canada fared," insisted Marjorie.
"Tush!"
Anderson listened attentively. Here was a division of opinion within the same family; the father intensely loyal, the daughter somewhat inclined to analysis. A new light was thrown upon her from this very instant which afforded him a very evident satisfaction, a very definite and conscious enjoyment as well. To have discovered this mind of apparent candor and unaffected breadth was of supreme import to him at this critical moment. And he felt assured that he had met with a character of more than ordinary self-determination which might, if tuned properly, display a capacity for prodigious possibilities, for in human nature he well knew the chord of self-interest to be ever responsive to adequate and opportune appeal.
Marjorie might unconsciously prove advantageous to him. It was essential for the maturing of his plans to obtain Catholic coöperation. She was a devout adherent and had been, insofar as he had been able to discover, an ardent Whig. True, he had but few occasions to study her, nevertheless today had furnished him with an inkling which gave her greater breadth in his eyes than he was before conscious of. The remark just made might indicate that she favored foreign rule in the interest of religious toleration, yet such a declaration was by no means decisive. Still he would labor to this end in the hope that she might ultimately see her way clear to coöperate with him in his designs.
"We are losing vast numbers through the Alliance," volunteered Anderson.
"I suppose so," admitted Mr. Allison. "Many of the colonists cannot endure the thought of begging assistance from a great Roman Catholic power. They fear, perhaps, that France will use the opportunity to inflict on us the worst form of colonialism and destroy the Protestant religion."
"But it isn't the Protestants who are deserting," persisted Anderson. "The Catholics are not unmindful of the hostile spirit displayed by the colonists in the early days. They, too, are casting different lots."
"Not we. Every one of us is a Whig. Some have faltered, but we do not want them."
"And yet the reports from New York seem to indicate that the recruiting there is meeting with success."
"The Catholic regiment? I'll wager that it never will exist except on paper. There are no Tories, no falterers, no final deserters among the American Catholics."
"What efforts are being made in Philadelphia?" asked Marjorie.
"None—that I know of," was the grave reply. "I did hear, however, that an opportunity would be given those who are desirous of enlisting in New York."
Marjorie sat and watched him.
"I heard Father Farmer was invited to become its chaplain," observed Mr. Allison.
"Did he?"
"He did not. He told me himself that he wrote a kind letter with a stern refusal."
And so they talked; talked into the best part of an hour, now of the city's activities, now of the Governor, now of the success of the campaign, until Anderson felt that he had long overstayed his leave.
"I am sorry to leave your company." Then to Marjorie, "At Shippen's tomorrow?"
"Yes. Will you come for me? If you won't I daresay I shall meet you there."
"Of course I shall come. Please await me."