MEHITABLE sprang to her feet. Her cheeks crimsoned with excitement. There was no question in her mind but that he was a British spy, for had she not seen him in the company of Hawtree, the Tory! Her bewilderment showed in her mobile face.
As she opened her mouth to speak, the young man smiled.
"I doubt an ye have the courage to do it!" he said suavely.
"Do what, sir?" asked Mehitable, staring.
"Name me spy!" he told her. He laughed at her expression.
At that moment, a pleasant voice spoke beside them. "Ah, I see ye already know each other." And the girl shifted her gaze to Colonel Hamilton's dark, smiling face.
"I was about to ask you an you had met Master Simpson, Mistress Condit. Most o' our maids are said to like the way he treads the minuet," he remarked. "Is't not so, sir?" Colonel Hamilton looked at the other teasingly, and it was the lad's turn to flush. The young officer moved away, only looking back over his shoulder to say to Mehitable, "I was going to ask ye to come wi' me and meet my betrothed's best friend, Mistress Kitty Livingston, the daughter o' the Governor; but I must defer that pleasure until ye are less engrossed! However, mayhap ye know her also."
Half ready to weep, Mehitable looked desperately at the youth blocking her path. "I would thank ye for the buckle, sir," she said angrily, holding out her hand once more.
The other looked from her trembling, outstretched hand into her blazing eyes, and his own became steely. "I would first talk wi' ye alone," he conditioned.
But Mehitable shook her head violently. "I will hold no talk with you, sir! Give me my buckle or I will call my brother!"
Simpson looked at her scornfully. "What could he do?" he asked her.
"He could dub ye spy and—and—run ye out o' the tavern here!"
"So?" The young man's tone was amused. "Wait ye a moment, mistress!" And he was gone. It was scarcely more than a moment, however, before he was back before the girl, with Colonel Hamilton in tow.
As they reached her, Alexander Hamilton looked down into Mehitable's crimsoned face with tolerant, humorous eyes. "So," he chided. "'Tis a lovers' quarrel so soon. I did not know ye were that well acquainted, forsooth!" And he glanced ironically from one to the other.
Too much taken aback to do more than stammer, Mehitable turned from red to white. "N-nay, ye b-be under m-m-misapprehension, Colonel—indeed, I" Her voice trailed away into helpless silence, and young Simpson laughed.
"She does not know me, sir," he explained in a tone which implied the opposite. "You see," he shrugged his shoulders and sprung his thunderbolt, "she dubs me spy, Colonel Hamilton!"
As Mehitable gasped at his effrontery, Hamilton spoke gravely.
"To be a spy is to follow the path of danger. He should be commended rather than criticized, mistress!" Then, as the girl stood overwhelmed and silent, he bowed.
"I hope I have helped your cause, sir," he said to Simpson, with a friendly nod. "Though, as Cupid, I fear I be both awkward and out o' practice!" And with another bow and smile, he was gone.
Simpson regarded Mehitable sarcastically. "Ye are now convinced your cry of spy could do me no harm?" he asked her.
Mehitable could only stare at him helplessly. Was it possible that she had been mistaken in thinking him a Tory? Could he have been traveling with Hawtree and his companion in an official capacity of American spy at the time of the Ranfield Tavern episode? Every bit of her intelligence refused to accept this latter theory, however. The odious feel of his arm around her, his half-tipsy leer when John Condit had entered the tavern to her rescue convinced her that, despite evidence to the contrary in Colonel Hamilton's words, there was something wrong. For never would an American spy have been found under the influence of liquor while on duty!
So now Mehitable returned Simpson's crafty look with a steady one, though, as she gazed, a troubled expression crossed her brow. Whom did she know who had that set of head on shoulders, that cast of countenance? One by one she thought over her recent acquaintances in Morris Town and dismissed them. Yet the tantalizing resemblance remained.
"Well, mistress"—Simpson's voice was insolent—"an ye meet me again, ye will know me!"
"Aye, sir, I shall know ye!" returned Mehitable grimly. "Now," she held out her hand, "give me the buckle!"
Simpson hesitated. "Mistress," he said finally, sending a shifty glance to right and left of him, "I will return this buckle to ye on one condition! For reasons o' my own, I desire that my presence here this even be not known to your brother."
"Has he not seen ye?" Mehitable's question was curt.
"Nay." A twisted smile that crossed the fellow's face marred the boyish handsomeness of it. "I ha' taken pains to keep out o' his sight!"
"Why should I bargain with ye an ye be honorably in the country's service?" The girl shook her head, then glancing beyond his shoulder, she blurted it out involuntarily: "Besides, here comes John now!"
The next instant she could have bitten her tongue for, without a word, Simpson vanished. In vain did Mehitable try to keep her eyes upon him as he pushed his way to the assembly-room door. He disappeared as completely in the crowd as though the floor had swallowed him up. And with him went Cousin Eliza's buckle!
"Well, Sis—why such a sober face?" her brother greeted her jovially. "Art danced out so soon?"
As Charity and Young Cy pushed their way through the shifting groups of people, Mehitable nodded. "Aye, John, I be tired—let us away home."
John glanced at her trembling lips. "Why, so ye be, Hitty," he said kindly, then. And the others agreeing, they soon left.
How different was her journey home, thought Mehitable, weary and down-cast as she sat on the pillion behind John. She clutched him in an agony of fatigue, weeping silently to herself as she pictured telling Cousin Eliza of the loss of her slipper buckle. What did it matter who would take the blame! The buckle was gone and Cousin Eliza must grieve!
The next afternoon, brooding over her encounter with Simpson, and planning a dozen different ways of informing her relative of her loss, Mehitable's thoughts kept swinging back in a circle to the puzzling question, why should Simpson have desired his presence among the Continentals to be kept from John Condit the night before? What could be the reason save that the young officer, confronted by Simpson, would tell of that other encounter in Orange, and having his word accepted more freely by the Americans than a young girl's could be, that doubt would then fall more swiftly and more surely upon the spy, if he were playing double!
At last, Mehitable caught up her cape and ran upstairs. Entering her cousin's room, she found Charity entertaining the older women with a vivacious account of last evening's festivities. They all stared at Mehitable, attired for outdoors, and Charity broke off her narrative to ask where she was going.
"I don't mind the weather!" said Mehitable, in answer. "My head aches—I am going for a walk!"
"Very well," agreed Mistress Lindsley. "But go not far!"
"Do ye wish me to go wi' you, Hitty?" asked Charity, in a low voice, following the other to the door. But Mehitable shook her head and ran downstairs.
Once out on the hard, frozen road, she bent her steps straight toward headquarters, and passing the sentry at the gate, who, recognizing her with a grin, saluted her, she soon found herself admitted to the Ford mansion and conducted by the Negro doorman to the back room used by General Washington as his office. There she found Colonel Hamilton alone, working at a table upon some reports. He rose courteously.
"His Excellency be out, Mistress Condit," he told her. "Is there aught I can do for you?"
"I came not to see His Excellency, but you, sir," Mehitable answered. She stood twisting her hands, her heavy cape hood shadowing a face that looked rather young and pinched and pathetic at that moment. At her host's invitation, she seated herself abruptly and raised her eyes to find the officer studying her with a surprised look. As her glance met his, he withdrew his politely, and there was an awkward little silence. Then the young man swung around and regarded her with frank good-nature.
"An there be anything I can do, as I said," he began smilingly, and at the kindliness in his tone the girl took courage.
"Colonel Hamilton, why did ye accept Master Simpson's word, last night, that we were betrothed?" she asked him steadily. The other's face sobered.
"Perhaps because of my acquaintance wi' the young man's family," he answered in grave surprise. "Are ye not, Mistress Condit?"
"Nay." Mehitable shook her head. "I never saw the young man before but once, sir. That was in Orange at an inn run by a Tory hostess, and he was then in the company of two Tories, both of whom I know to be dangerous enemies."
Colonel Hamilton nodded. "An that be true, mistress, what of it?" he asked. "Mayhap he was but pursuing his duty!"
"Think you, sir, an he was, he would be drunk?" she asked in return.
"Drunk!" Colonel Hamilton started. "Drunk, ye say, mistress?"
"Aye, as I can prove by my brother, Captain Condit, sir." Mehitable's voice carried conviction, and His Excellency's secretary looked troubled.
"Not only that, sir—why should he lie to you in saying we were betrothed, and why should he want to bribe me to not mention his presence at the rout to my brother?" Mehitable struck her hands sharply together. "Colonel Hamilton, I dub him spy!" she cried. "He be naught but a British spy!"
As the girl's bold words dwindled into silence, Colonel Hamilton got to his feet and began a troubled pacing up and down the room. Mehitable watched him in silence until he turned to her in sudden decision.
"Mistress Condit," he said, "let us test him. I have a plan!"
And now, his clever mind forming a snap judgment and working out the details in rapid sequence, the young officer approached the table where, seating himself, he took up his quill pen. For half an hour, perhaps, the silence was broken only by the scratching of his pen upon paper, then sanding what he had written, he held out what appeared to be a lengthy and detailed report to Mehitable.
"I have here written, Mistress Condit," Hamilton said, tapping the paper with a long finger, "what purports to be a report. It is an apparent statement of our army's numbers and munitions of war. In reality, I have exaggerated both figures to four times the number. And now, this be my plan." He looked around him cautiously and then bent toward her. "I am to meet Simpson in half an hour's time at Quartermaster General Greene's office. I shall, upon his arrival, have to leave the room and will 'carelessly' leave these papers visible upon my desk. An Master Simpson think them worth carrying to the enemy, well and good! They will think twice, receiving these numbers, about attacking us! An he does not touch the papers," Colonel Hamilton bowed, "we will have retained our helper and ye will have been proven to be mistaken!" He looked for his army cape and hat. "And now, let us away!"
"Ye mean," Mehitable faltered, "ye mean ye will let me see the—the—fun, too, sir!"
"Aye!" Having found his garments upon a chair, Colonel Hamilton fastened the clasp of his cape and smiled down at her. "Surely you have earned the right! A horse for the lady, boy!" He spoke to the Negro whom he had summoned.
It did not take them long to canter to the village center, where was located the Quartermaster's office in a small building. The place, save for a sentry, was deserted, and Colonel Hamilton, ordering the man to conceal their horses behind the structure, led Mehitable directly to a room adjoining that used by General Greene as his office.
"An I leave the door ajar between, you will be able both to see and to hear what takes place in the office. There will be no danger, for it be growing dusk outside, and Simpson will not discover you!" he told her gleefully. As a matter of fact, he might have been a schoolboy, planning a trick upon another boy, so much did he seem to be enjoying the incident.
He had no sooner reëntered the office, after adjusting the door and seating himself at a table there, pretending to be immersed in work, than there was a knock upon the outer door and Simpson entered.
"Good-even to ye, my lad," said Hamilton, writing so busily that he did not look up.
"Good-even, sir." Simpson stood at ease for awhile. Mehitable, watching him through the door crack, saw his restless eyes darting here and there. Once his gaze seemed to meet hers and she started; but he immediately looked away, and she knew that she had not been detected.
Suddenly a chair scraped, and Colonel Hamilton rose from the table. "Just a moment, Simpson," he said hurriedly. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but this report must be sent out. Wait you here. I shall return shortly!" And passing into the room where Mehitable was secreted, he apparently pulled the door shut behind him. Tiptoeing over to the girl, he applied his eye to the crack also.
For a short space of time, Simpson fiddled idly about the room. He walked to the window and glanced out, perhaps to reassure himself as to a safe escape, perhaps in case Colonel Hamilton should return too suddenly. But turning all at once, he then made straight for the table and caught up the false report. Convinced upon a hasty perusal that here was the most valuable paper written so far, during the war, he folded it, and as Colonel Hamilton and Mehitable watched, he concealed it like a flash in his pocket. He lost no time in departure, then. Crossing the room with a single bound, catlike in its grace, the outer door opened and closed behind him, and his footsteps could be heard dying rapidly away in the distance.
Colonel Hamilton and Mehitable stared at each other. Simultaneously, they broke into laughter.
"I vow," cried Hamilton, waving his hand helplessly in the direction taken by Simpson, "despite my loss, I do protest it be the best joke ever played upon the British!"
"Nay," cried Mehitable, rocking with mirth, her voice going up to a funny squeak of hysteria, "the joke be upon me, sir! He still has my slip-slip-slipper buckle!"
And then, though she had wept half the night over this fact, she laughed and laughed.