I stammered my vows, and she now opposed me nothing, only clinging to me the closer, confident, submissive, acquiescent in all I wished and asked and said.
There were ink, paper, a quill, and sand in her chamber. We went thither, and I wrote out drafts upon Schenectady, and composed letters of assurance and recognition, which would be useful to her in case of necessity.
I got Jimmy Burke out o' bed and shewed him all I had writ, and made him witness our signatures and engaged him to appear if necessary.
These papers and money drafts, together with Penelope's papers and letters she had of Douw Fonda and of the Patroon, were sufficient to establish her with the new will I made and had witnessed at the fort a week before.
And so, at midnight, in her little chamber at Burke's Inn, I parted from Penelope Grant,—dropped to my knee and kissed her feet, who had been servant to the county gentry and courted by the county quality, but had been mistress of none in all the world excepting only of herself.
When I was ready she handed me my rifle, buckled up my shoulder sack, smoothed my fringed cape with steady hands, walked with me to her chamber door.
Her face rested an instant against mine, but there were no tears, no trembling, only the swift passion of her lips; and then—"God be with you, John Drogue!" And so, with gay courage, closed her chamber door.
I turned and stumbled out along the corridor, carrying my rifle and feeling my way to the hand-rail, down the creaking stairway, and out into the starry night.