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THE FEOWERS COLW&MUl Atlanta, Ga., Week Ending April 4, 1903 NUMBER FIVE + HI utlti g# I >>-- * * !§&'% sgCm By Hallie Erminie Rives CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. FOR LIFE OR FO*R HONop. ORE than one along the south road, that sultry morning of July Fourth, turned to gaze after a fair haired girl who passed upon a lead-white horse with a negro boy behind her a-stfide a sorrel. Yel low dust splotched Anne's olive cloak as she rode into the town, and yellow dust clung to John-the-Baptist’s wool. How many leagues! She. would have been worn but for the pur pose that buoyed her up. She rode some way. paying as little heed to the sparse groups along the streets or to he few painted Indians lounging with their pel try in the squares as to the beetle-bowed rn'ofs or the wooden statuary in the pretentious yards. Her thoughts were busy with the past —they flew back to that night at Glad den Hall, her last view of Armand. when Jarrat's troopers had dragged him away: lo the flight .of Dunmore and his family, his wanton burning of Norfolk with hi= rabble of runaway slaves, and the last tight at Gwyn's Island whence the im potent earl, with his brutal aide. Captain Foy, sailed away to the North, never again to set foot upon Virginian soil: to h r anguished wonder as to Armand's fate meanwhile. Even Henry's leturn from the -e.'o.id congress, the news that Colonel Washington had been elected commander in chief of colonial forces and the glorious outcome of his long siege of Boston had not been able to cheer her. file thought of the ng hours she had watch' d by the bedside of the bondwom an with grave-faced Doctor Craik, watching her slow return to life. Of the si ill long?’, days when she had -at by tlv iistless figure who only stared it a den-eyed and with brain piteously dulled, to h ir asked over and over again with desperate earnestness that same question—"where is it?" Can't you re- ok :c.b r V— a question nc 1 always with same result. Of tii long, fruitless ( search, the unrer,.- on'.r.g faith in him that would not yield to recital or argument, and finally the lucky accident which had given her the clew to the packet's hiding place. She had started the self-same day. Ink ing John-'the-Baptist with her. leaving a hurried message for her uncle and aunt, who were then away in Richmond. And this, the twelfth clay thereafter, found her at her journey's end. riding into the wide, clean thoroughfares of Phila delphia. "Mis' Anne—" Jo'nn-the-Baptist’s sol emn drawl broke her reverie. "Dat yal- lcr boy at de place whar we stayed las’ night say dee gwinter rriek ev’ybody okal. Do dat mean we niggers gwineter !>• while. Ink you, or is y'all gwinter b? black lak me?" But Anne had no answer. Going . toward High street, her course lay by foe open green on which the new state house fronted. She noticed that tin pavements were almost deserted, and found herself thinking wonderingl.v that the streets of Richmond were noisier. It was with a start of surprise that, on turning a corner by the green, she pulled up without warning on the skirls of a great hushed crowd, well ordered, moving restlessly, under trees that shrill ed with locusts. Most of those nearer the front were gentry. They walked back and forth slowly, trampling the blue thistles and whortleberry bushes. Next them was a stratum of the trading and working classes. No wonder the wealthier mer chants jeered them, for they wore trous ers of coarse drill, even leather jer kins; and some carried tools. Here was a group of weavers from German-town, and not far away a knot of Swedes from Wicaco. The older men among these wore legglns and skin coats. On the outskirts of all. here and there, holding themselves aloof, walked stae- lier, heavier figures in small-clothes of rich velvets and satins and wearing powdered wigs. They carried irritable looks, these ‘‘Pennsylvania lords.'’ as the bitter Adams called them, it was bad weather for Tories. From the yard of Clarke's Inn. acrass the street. they looked askance at the workmen, passing sneering allusions to the representatives from Massachusetts, angered at the assump- ‘•The hells! . . . come hack to me—only to hear them ring ! only to understand tion of legislative powers by men clearly of more humble blood than themselves. They saw the cannon in position by the state house and the continental flags fluttering from the shipping in the har bor. They knew that in the near-by woods five battalions of Associators, drill ed an d aimed, were awaiting any out come. They knew that the people were ready—if only their leaders should choose. Anne, upon her tired horse, looked with wonder at this earnest, quiet crowd and thrilled with a new sense 'of the dignity of the assemblage within those brick walls. The heat was simmering and she had thrown open the thin cloak she wore, showing a flash of crimson waist with a sheen of metal buttons. Mordecal Floyd, looking on nearby, gazed on her with pursed lips. "Small wonder,” he said grimly, "that unrighteousness doth overwhelm the chil dren of the world and move them to wrath, when we see all about us the tes timony of undenial. Lust of the eye. friend Joseph! Lust of the eye!" Joseph Galloway, standing by him. looked^at the girl, so straight and young and bright-hued; then his crafty look re turned. “Consider the lilies of the field," he quoted with unction, as he took snuff. *T doubt not.'* pursued the Quaker, wagging his pow, " "twas designed to cast a slur upon the vanity of apparel, since ‘tis a thing of so little estimation in tiie sight of God that He bestows it in the highest degree upon the meanest of His creatures. ’Tis to be presumed tlvat. were it a thing of worth in itself. Instead of bestowing colors, gildings, and broideries upon tulips. He had bestowed them upon creatures of higher dignity. To mankind He hath given but sparingly of gaudy features; a great part of them being black, a great part of them being tawny, and a great part being of other wan and dusky complexions—showing that ’tis not the outward adornment that He wishes, hut the appearing in supplica tion for the ornamenting of the Spir it ” "Even Solomon, in ail his glory, was not arrayed like one of these!” intoned his companion smoothly. "But I must be going. Mordecai. 1 have an errand at the tavern.” “Hast thou heard aught more of the message to the Congress from France?” the Quaker inquired in a low voice, as he clasped the other's fervid palm. Galloway put his lips close to the other’s ear. and a glutinous chuckle shook his jowl. “Mordecai." he said. "I dreamed last night that France had an ax to grind. Wouldn’t it bo curious if the message didn't tickle the Congress so much after all? Ho-ho!” Anne's first inquiry provoked a smile from the bystanders. Doctor Franklin? Yes, he was doubtless in the Hall, but to see him! Quite impossible! And a lady, too. At a recess she might suc ceed, but not now. Who could tell but he was on the floor at that moment? So she rode on. At High street she inquired for an inn. -as she had been in the saddle since dawn amj the horses were jaded. Learning that the principal ones were all full, owing to the pres ence of the delegates, she found her way to one of the more humble hoslelries on another street. It was the Red Lion Tavern The place seemed well-nigh deserted; had she known the significance of this day’s sitting of the Congress, she would have understood. As it was, finding no host in evidence, she went into the par lor and sat down to await his appear ance. And sitting so, from the hall, and com ing nearer, she heard the well-remem bered voice of J irrat. A panic seized iter. The packet—it was ill the lining of her cloak at that mo ment. He must not see her! She looked wildly about her. but there was no door of escape. In desperation she ran to the deep-set window. It was shut, but there were shalloon curtains across the al cove, and she shrank behind them as the door flew open. Jarrat came in. noisily; one of the inn servants was at his heels. "I would speak with the Monsiegneur,” he said. "Request him to l )e so good as to honor me here.” He stood smiling redly as the servant went, and Anne watched him from between the curtains with fascinated gaze. "At last!" lie muttered; "the final stroke, and still all goes well. If Ar mand succeeds for us. then advancement and favor for me The king must reward me. for the plan was mine alone." "Armand!” Anne's heart had given a great leap. Jarrat knew where he was— what lie did. “If he succeeds for us”— what meant those strange words? Again a step in the hall, again the door opened, a scraping servant said. ‘’Mon- seigneur.” and again Anne’s heart leap ed; for the man who stood on the thresh old. clad in a full costume of purple vel vet, was Armand. Armand, but sparer of feature with shadows beneath the eyes. Tet they looked out with all their old nobility and with a strange tire. She knew now where she had seen that fire— it was in Henry’s face—the fire of stead fast purpose that knows no quenching. Armand! Escaped from Dunmore's clutches, safe and in Philadelphia! She wanted to rush out to him, to cry to him that she had done the best she could, had come to fulfill her promise at last. But what did he with Jarrat? “So!” the latter said, "as bravely trim med ;l s ever. 'Tis the dress of a prince.” “My good Pliurno has the best of taste.’’ On Armand's face was a strange smile. “You have cozened him beautifully. X doubt not he expects reimbursement from his king.” “My king.” corrected Armand. softly. "K op it up,” laughed Jarrat. “ Tis never forgetting makes a good play-ac tor. Faith, it minds me of the old Vir ginia days. Then you posed as only a marquis. We rise in the world. Yes terday—in a prison cell at Hal ifax; today—this little plan, re lease, and presto! behold Louis’ secret envoy. Well, you are near to the pur chase of your pardon. The time is al most hero. A half-hour more and you will enter the State House. You lack r.ot assurance. Here is tlie letter you will deliver to the Congress.” Armand took the paper he handed him and put it in his breast. “’Tis signed with De Vergennes' name, of course,” went on Jarrat, “and 'tis a clever enough forgery to trick even Poor Richard for the time being. Aid in re turn for territorial compansation . . . now if 'twere only Louis Fifteenth! ’l’would be like the old skinflint. Me- thinks 'twill be a wet-blanket to allay this fever for a Declaration. 'Twill suffice to tide over till these patriot addle-pates come to their senses.” Anne’s mind was in a clamor—a hideous, unmeaning clamor of surprise, from which a single fact stood out with the clearness of a black silhouette etched on white paper. Armand, not escaped, but released—released—going before the Con gress with a lying message—a message of discouragement—going now. this very hour, and the plot was Jarrat's. It was for a single heart-brat as if the sun were darkened, as if all joy were blotted from tb- 5 universe. Then, peer ing out, she saw his eyes, ami the bi;ter scene at Gladden Hall rose to her like a vision. She saw him dragged away, and with the vision she felt, strong, tri umphant. the terrible, joyful rebellion of her own belief i n him that would not doubt. “I could not have devised it better my self—Jarrat was speaking again. "There is not a soul in Congress who could recognize you as the Louis Armand seized at Williamsburg. Luckily, Henry is in the Virginia Convention. The devil holds cards with us.” “And this,” said Armand, as if to him self, “has been the devil’s deal.” “Aye. But ’Us time for us to start; Pliarne will be there by now." He con sulted his watch. “Ten minutes to ride thither. I have horses at the door. 1 shall go with you as one of your suite. Luckily, I shall not be known. I must not miss the delight or recounting this interesting event in detail, in Virginia. Can you guess,” with a malign smile, “to whom in especial, Monsigneur?” A red flush leaped into Armand’s cheek and his teeth clenched convulsively. It was as if a great wave of passion lashed the man and left him tense and white. His tone, however, remained as low as ever. "Toil hound!” he said. “You prowling ■wolf of the dark! who know no truth, no trust, no faith! who, being vile, think all else vile the same. Thank God that to one . . to her . . my honor was al ways unstained. She believe you? No! Never! I go alone to the Congress—you go no farther with me!” A facial contortion drew Jarrat’s lips from his teeth. He stood in a leaning posture, his knuckles tint upon the table between them, a thriving suspicion in his look. A fit of shuddering seized Ann*’ as she saw this look change swirly to conviction—certainty in which rage and shame and hate were black. ”1 go no farther?’' hf repeated ha; say you? Oh. fool . . . ’ fool that l was to trust, you! You have tricked me! You never intended to do it! You will not go!—Aye, you would go. but where fore?" His voice had sunk to a metallic dullness, and he eyed the other breathing hard. Now his tone leaped again: ”1 know! The French king had his own mind! He sent your master a message to convey . . . a, message of comfort. Ah! your face says ‘aye"! Twas in the packet you gave to Mistress Tillotson at Gladden Ilall! Damn that bondwoman! You have got it! Now that you are false to us. ’tis wiis message—that message that you would give the Congress! And twas i brought you from the jail . . . I!” The last words were a sort of horrible rasping whisper, and as he spoke he came slowly around the table, his fingers clawing Its edge. “But you shall not! You double traitor! You shall not go! T know you— I alone! I will prevent it.” “You shall never leave this room, said Armand. Crouched low, holding the shalloon edges, Anne saw it all. the breath frozen in her throat—saw both blades clang out with a single movement—saw Jarrat hurl himself forward—heard the steel meet. Mixed joy and horror held her. She understood; he had cherished hi* master’s purpose all along—pursued by treachery, meeting cunning with cunning, constrained to deception. Tt was the true message of the french king that she clasped at that moment under her cloak. To carry this he had won his way from the hands of his enemies and fooled Jarrat to his purpose. And non without tiie packet, his voice would give the message to Congress. She had brought it just in time. All this came to her at once, in a suc cession of pictures vivid as patches or night landscape seen by violet lightning, and at an instant when horror overrolled her joy. Tiie street, the tap-room were so near; would none come to stop them? She feared to declare herself, f.ir a tremor of the hand, might mean death to her lover. She saw the quick end, powerless to utter a cry. Armand stiffened suddenly, his left hand fallen low; his blade passed like a needle In sailcloth, through the other’s body, and Jarrat slipped in a huddle to the floor and lay -lili. Anne tried to scream, but her throat only gave forth a whisper. Not till Ar mand had sheathed bis wet sword and the door had- closed upon him, did she find strength to part the curtains. She looked upon the prostrate man in a terror. She must summon help and then take the packet to Armand. She realized suddenly that Jarrat was not dead—that his eyes were upon her—that he was struggling to a sitting posture. "You saw . . you heard.” lie gasped. “You!” “Yes." she breathed. “You brought him the packet! My God —to think I never suspected! And he has gone—gone—" “To his honor.” He stared at her, a slow, ghastly smile coming to wreathe his lips. “Honor? Say you so? Wait.” He made an attempt to unbutton his waistcoat. “The paper to this pocket.” he groaned. “Take it and read. Quick! Quick! Nay, call no one' Men bleed not to death so soon.” She unfolded the scroll with shaking Author of “Smoking Flax*’ ;, |®. “A Furnace of Earth” >® Etc jj? ..... « fingers and read; “I. Louis Armand, released from dur ance in Halifax under special instruc tion from his Majesty's Government touching the Continental Congress, do agree that, in the event that ; do not carry out this mission, as ordered, 1 bold my life forfeit and pledge civ honor within one month this her* a Her to de liver mysi’U to Lord Chet.wyado, whose custody 1 now leave. “(Signed) ARMAND ' Site caught her breath. “Do pledge my honor to deliver myself’ - "to hold my life forfeit.” He had chosen to give his life to carry the true message. |jis life’ How dear that was t” her! lie must not do it! Oh. if God would onl\ help her to think. He must not do it! She heard Jarrat's breathing through it all, and felt his eyes, Alining, upon her. A heavy knocking came at the door, and Joseph Galloway entered, his stick in his hand. He made an exriamatii a as he saw. and threw up his hands. "Galloway"' said the wounded man, his brea.th rattling with a convulsion as the ether nent over him. “He is false to us. Armand—he is false as hed! ile—did this. He is gone to the Congress. You must stop hint!" “Yes. yes. 1 will call a leech. ’Tis not a mortal thrust, man. 1 will go to the hall. But how to do it? Proofs—’” “She , . . gasped Jarrat. in a final effort, pointing to Anne. “She . . ” and lapsed into ashen unconsciousness. CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE GREAT SUNDERING. The white-walled, high-ceiled ante-room was barely furnished with paduasoy chairs and a small slim-legged facie. A high desk used betimes by the C< lony’s Chief Justice of the Supreme Court was at one end. with doors on either side; the other end of the room opened in nar row arches between pillars, into the wide- paved hall of tiie State House. Across these pillars was stretched a heavy cloth curtain, through w hose folds sounds from the corridor reached dull and muffled. Beyond these curtains, on. the opposite side of the hall, was a great dduol? door, and through the heavy oak earne toici.-e 1*. ('.bait and an occasional hign note, like the metallic rap of a gavel. But in the ante-room this became only a distant hum like that of settling bees, Armand. clad as for a court levee, stood one side erect and sinii lug before a trio of saber-coated fig ures in duffle gray. His long, brown, rippling hair, the rare lace at his throat, the jade hilt of liis dress-sword, made, him as distinct as some brilliant hued insect among gray moths. Beside him, uniformed, his mustachios aggr essive is ever, short, wiry and alert, stood Pliarne. The sober-coated gentlemen, the dele gates appointed to meet the secret mes senger to the Congress, had made their bows to the great man, till but Dick inson. their leader, openly radiant witn the presumed bearing of his mission. Monsieur Pliarne’s proposals for ammuni tion purchases Had recently been con sidered In committee, and the announce ment of the envoy’s arrival, coming from him. a known agent of France, had car ried :t weight added to by the appear ance of the man before them. He had arrived a little late—a deliberateness that accorded well with the sobriety of his errand. Now they hut waited a pause in the debate to throw wide the doors that opened to the floor. On the other side of those doors rages what is to be the last agitated hour of tne fight. The document t.hat is to be the birth-certificate of a nation lies upon llie table. Since i-ar’.y morning the dis cussion has been bitter. Well for the hundreds who so anxious ly wait in te sunny streets and crowd the green outside that this document is to come to them softened, as a grave de liberation. when time and distance hav e smoothed its roughness. it would not have profited them to see the strenuous Adams balk at the word "tyrant.” believing George III rather a man deceived. To hear the learned \\ Itu- erspoon rage because of a- reference to the Scotch people. To see North. Caro lina delegates protest against the ar raignment of the king for forcing upon the Colonies the African slave trade. To hear Tory ridicule, unashamed, assail a leaf of immortality! What did the evil tongues not sav. in deed? "A plagiarism from Locke’s treat ise on Government”—"its phrasing stolen from a tragi-comedv of Aphra Behn s“ — ’an imitation *>l Chief Justice Draytons Charge to the Grand Jury of Charles town”—“a jumble of hackneyed ideas composed bv James Otis in one of his lucid intervals.” And back of all in this struggle, be neath the ardor of both sicle-. now thri. the fierceness was cooling, lay waiting, hesitant, the inevitable, silent but .t 11- powerful minority who waver and—de cide. The insect hum ceased suddenly. Tnere was a forward movement of the group in the ante-room toward the curtains. “Stop!” echoed an intense voice behind them; "stop!” Joseph Galloway stepped into the room from one of the side en trances and closed the door. "Prhise the Most High,” he ejaculated, “that I am eoine in time! Gentlemen, as you would save the Congress from a most shameful scandal, let not that man pass from this room!” Then- was a murmur of angry amaze ment from the group. Armand's hand dropped to his side. His face had whit ened. and Pliarne’s mustachios worked alarmingly. “Sir.” interposed Dickinson sternly. ‘ We 1 3 •*♦*»*♦*♦ \ jji