"Yes.... They were yours, too, for an instant, Mr. Drogue."
"And they were Spatter-dash's, too," said I, almost stifled by my jealous rage. "Whose else they may have been I know not, and do not ask you. Good night."
She said nothing, and presently picked at her torn apron.
"Good night," I repeated.
"Good night, sir."
And so I left her, choked by I knew not what new and fierce emotions—for I desired to seek out Spatter-dash, Jack-boots, and the whole cursed crew of suitors, and presently break their assorted necks. For now I was aware that I hated these popinjays who came philandering here, as deeply as I hated to hear of the red-coat gallants at Caughnawaga.
Still a-quiver with passion, I managed, nevertheless, to make my compliments and adieux to Lady Johnson and to Claudia—felt their warm and generous clasp, answered gaily I know not what, saluted all, took a lantern that Flora fetched, and went away across the grass.
A shadow detached itself from darkness, and now my Saguenay was padding at my heels once more.
As we two came to the mainland, young Spatter-dash suddenly crossed the road in front of my lantern. Good God! Was I in my right mind! Was it Stephen Watts on whose white, boyish face my lantern glimmered for an instant? How could it be, when it meant death to catch him here?... Besides, he was in Canada with Walter Butler. What possessed me, that in young Spatter-dash I saw resemblance to Stevie Watts, and in another respectable militia officer a countenance resembling Lieutenant Hare's?
Sure my mind was obsessed tonight by faces seen that last unhappy evening at the Hall; and so I seemed to see a likeness to those men in every face I met.... Something had sure upset me.... Something, too, had suddenly awakened in me new and deep emotions, unsuspected, unfamiliar, and unwelcome.