On the fifth day after Peyton’s arrival, Williams announced that the captain would venture down-stairs on the morrow. The next morning Elizabeth waited in the east parlor to receive him. Whatever inward excitement she underwent, she was on the surface serene. She was dressed in her simplest, having purposely avoided any appearance of desiring to appear at her best. Her aunt, who stood with her, on the other side of the fireplace, was perceptibly flustered, being got up for the occasion, with ribbons in evidence and smiles ready for production on the instant. When the west door opened, and the awaited hero entered, pale but well groomed, using his cane in such fashion that he could carry himself erectly, Elizabeth greeted him with formal courtesy. Though her manner had the repose necessary to conceal her sweet agitation, an observant person might have noticed a deference, a kind of meekness, that was new in her demeanor towards men. Peyton, whose mien (though not his feeling) was a reflex of her own, was relieved at this appearance of indifference, and hoped it would continue. His mind being on this, the stately curtsey and 172 profuse smirks of Miss Sally were quite lost on him.
The three breakfasted together in the dining-room, a large and cheerful apartment whose front windows, looking on the lawn, were the middle features of the eastern facade of the house. The mass of decorative woodwork, and the fireplace in the north side of the room, added to its impression of comfort as well as to its beauty. Conversation at the breakfast was ceremonious and on the most indifferent subjects, despite the attempts of Miss Sally, who would have monopolized Peyton’s attention, to inject a little cordial levity. After breakfast Elizabeth, to avoid the appearance of distinguishing the day, took her aunt off for the usual walk, which she purposely prolonged to unusual length, much to Miss Sally’s annoyance. Peyton passed the morning in reading a new play that had made great talk in London the year before, namely, “The School for Scandal.” It was one of the new books received by Colonel Philipse from London, by a recent English vessel,—plays being, in those days, good enough to be much read in book form,—and brought out from town by Elizabeth. The dinner was, as to the attitude of the participants towards one another, a repetition of the breakfast. In the afternoon, Peyton having expressed an intention of venturing outdoors for a little air, Elizabeth assigned 173 Sam to attend him, and said that, as he had to traverse the south hall and stairs in going to his room, he might thereafter put to his own service the unused south door in leaving and entering the house. Harry strolled for a few minutes on the terrace, but his lameness made walking little pleasure, and he returned to the east parlor, where Elizabeth sat reading while her aunt was looking drowsily at the fire. Peyton took a chair at the right side of the fireplace, and mentally contrasted his present security with his peril in that place on a former occasion.
The trampling of horses at a distance elicited from Elizabeth the words, “The Hessian patrol, on the Albany road, as usual, I suppose.” But, the clatter increasing, she arose and looked through the narrow slit whereby light was admitted between the almost closed shutters. After a moment she said, in unconcealed alarm:
“Oh, heaven! ’Tis a party of Lord Cathcart’s officers! They said at King’s Bridge they’d come one day to pay their respects. How can I keep them out?”
Peyton arose, but remained by the fireplace, and said, “To keep them out, if they think themselves expected, would excite suspicion. I will go to my room.”
Elizabeth, meanwhile, had opened the window to 174 draw the shutter close; but her trembling movement, assisted by a passing breeze, and by the perversity of inanimate things, caused the shutter to fly wide open.
She turned towards Peyton, with signs of fright on her face. “Back!” she whispered. “They’ll see you through the window. Into the closet,—the closet!” She motioned imperatively towards the pair of doors immediately beside him, west of the fireplace. Hearing the horses’ footfalls near at hand, and perceiving, with her, that he would not have time to walk safely across the parlor to the hall, he opened one of the doors indicated by her, and stepped into the closet.
In the instant before he closed the door after him, he noticed the stairs descending backward from the right side of the closet. He foresaw that the British officers would come into the parlor. If they should make a long stay, he might have to change his position during their presence. He might thus cause sufficient sound to attract attention. He would be in better case further away. Therefore, using his stick and feeling the route with his hand, he made his way down the steps to a landing, turned to the right, descended more steps, and found himself in a dark cellar. He had no sooner reached the last step than a burst of hearty greetings from above informed him the officers were in the parlor.
This part of the cellar being damp, he set out in search of a more comfortable spot wherein to bestow himself the necessary while. Groping his way, and travelling with great labor, he at last came into a kind of corridor formed between two rolls of piled-up barrels. He proceeded along this passage until it was blocked by a barrel on the ground. On this he sat down, deciding it as good a staying-place as he might find. Leaning back, he discovered with his head what seemed to be a thick wooden partition close to the barrel. Changing his position, he bumped his head against an iron something that lay horizontally against the partition, and so violent was this collision that the iron something was moved from its place, a fact which he noted on the instant but immediately forgot in the sharpness of his pain.