He looked down at the glasses on the table beside us, stirred the contents of his own, and nodded.
"What do you mean?" I demanded, hotly.
"I mean, Cardigan, that, except the Governor, there is only one person to-night in Boston who can secure you a pass for Lexington. If she chooses to do so, it is not my affair."
"If who chooses to do so?"
"She."
"Who?"
"Wait and—ask her," he said, gravely.
He was gone, wading waist-deep in flowers, ere I could compose my mind to think or protest, leaving me speechless; standing by the table.
A minute passed; through the thickets of sweet-smelling blossoms the candles flamed like those slender witch-lights that dance over nature's gardens, where bergamot and cardinal robe our dim woods in crimson glory under the October stars.
"What does he mean by leaving me here?" I muttered, pacing to and fro through the fragrant, flowering lane. Then, as I stood still, listening, far away I heard a glass door close with a crystalline clash; there came the rustle of brocade sweeping like a breeze along the passage; the door of the golden gallery swung outward; a figure all silk and lace stood poised on the step above me, screened to the knees behind the flowers.