When Sir William and I entered the Hall the officers came to pay their respects to the Baronet, and I, red as a Dutch pippin, crossed the room to where Mistress Molly stood with Silver Heels.
Bending to salute her hand, cocked hat crushed under one arm, I discharged my duties with what composure I could command; but Mistress Molly put both arms around me and kissed me on both cheeks.
"I knew all about it," she whispered. "We are very proud, Sir William and I. Be tender and faithful. It is all we ask."
Dear, dear Aunt Molly! While life lasts can I ever forget those sweet, grave words of love, spoken to a boy who stood alone on the threshold of life?
Slowly I turned to look at Silver Heels, all my vanity, conceit, and condescension vanished.
She had turned quite pale; her eyes seemed set and fascinated, and she wished me happiness in a low voice, as though uncertain of her own words.
Chilled by her lifeless greeting, I returned to Sir William, who presented me to the guests with unconcealed pride:
"My kinsman, Mr. Cardigan, gentlemen; Captain Cardigan's only son!"
The officers, all in full dress, brilliant with the red, green, and gold of the Royal Americans, greeted me most kindly, some claiming acquaintance with my honoured father, and all speaking of his noble death before Quebec.
Before we sat at table, they gave me a standing toast, all touching glasses with me, and Sir William, smiling, with one arm around my shoulder.