"It is safe with me."
"Ah, the dear life I have had here, the freedom of the wilderness, the loves, the simple joys!" As he spoke, he gathered and let fall the autumn leaves strewn thickly on the forest floor. "We shall meet no more on earth, René, and I have loved you as few men love." Again he was long silent.
"I go from these wonder woods to the autumn of a life with duties and, alas! naught else. Sometimes I shall write to you; and, René, you will speak of me to your children."
The younger man said little in reply. He, too, was deeply moved, and sorrowful as never before. As they sat, Schmidt put his hand on René's shoulder. "May the good God bless and keep you and yours through length of honorable days! Let us go. Never before did the autumn woodlands seem to me sad. Let us go." He cast down as he rose the last handful of the red and gold leaves of the maple.
They walked down the creek, still beautiful to-day, and rode home in silence amid the slow down-drift of the early days of the fall.
In the house Margaret met them joyous. "Oh, René, a letter of congratulation to me! Think of it—to me, sir, from General Washington! And one to thee!" These letters were to decide in far-away after days a famous French law-suit.
The sun shone bright on the little party which passed among the graves into the modest Gloria Dei, the church of the Swedes. Here were the many kinsfolk; and Washington's secretary, Colonel Lear, Alexander Hamilton and Gouverneur Morris, with Binghams and Morrises; Whartons and Biddles, the forefathers of many lines of men since famous in our annals, whether of war or peace. Women there were also. Mistress Gainor in the front pew with Mrs. Swanwick and Lady Washington, as many called her, and the gay Federalist dames, who smiled approval of Margaret in her radiant loveliness.
Schmidt, grave and stately in dark velvet, gave away the bride, and the good Swedish rector, the Reverend Nicholas Cullin, read the service of the church.
Then at last they passed into the vestry, and, as Margaret decreed, all must sign the marriage-certificate after the manner of Friends. De Courval wrote his name, and the Pearl, "Margaret Swanwick," whereat arose merriment and an erasure when, blushing, she wrote, "De Courval." Next came Schmidt. He hesitated a moment, and then wrote "Johan Graf von Ehrenstein," to the surprise of the curious many who followed, signing with laughter and chatter of young tongues. Meanwhile the German gentleman, unnoticed, passed out of the vestry, and thus out of my story.