“But that was last night,” she thought, grimly; “the darkness made me impressionable, the situation made of me a nervous fool, who said the thing she felt and had no right to feel. It is no longer night, and I am no longer a fool! Do not let me forget, little ring, why I allowed you to be placed there. I am going to tell him now, and I shall need you and––Maman.”
So she passed into the library; there could be no further delay, since the guard had arrived; Monroe should not be sacrificed.
She closed the door after her and looked around. A man was in the large arm chair by the table, but it was not Colonel McVeigh. It was Matthew Loring, whose man Ben was closing a refractory banging shutter, and drawing curtains over the windows, while Pluto brought in a lighted lamp for the table, and both of them listened stoically to Loring’s grumbling.
For a wonder he approved of the innovation of lamps and closed shutters. He had, in fact, come from his own room because of the fury of the storm. He growled that the noise of it annoyed him, but would not have acknowledged the truth, that the force of it appalled him, and that he shrank from being alone while the lightning threw threats in every direction, and the crashes of thunder shook the house.
“No, Kenneth isn’t here,” he answered, grumpily. “They told me he was, but the nigger lied.”
“Mahsa Kenneth jest gone up to his own room, Madame Caron,” said Pluto, quietly. “Mist’ess, she went, too, an’ Judge Clarkson.”
“Humph! Clarkson has got him pinned down at last, has he?” and there was a note of satisfaction in his tone. “I was beginning to think that between this fracas with the spy, and his galloping around the country, he would have no time left for business. I should not think you’d consider it worth while to go pleasure-riding such a morning as this.”
“Oh, yes; it was quite worth while,” she answered, serenely; “the storm did not break until our return. You are waiting for Colonel McVeigh? So am I, and in the meantime I am at your service, willing to be entertained.”
“I am too much upset to entertain any one today,” he declared, fretfully; “that trouble last night spoiled my rest. I knew the woman Margeret lied when she came back and said it was only an accident. I’m nervous as a cat today. The doctors forbid me every form of excitement, yet they quarter a Yankee spy in the room over mine, and commence shooting affairs in the middle of the night. It’s––it’s outrageous!”