My Lady of Doubt - Randall Parrish

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was no promise, no word spoken I could construe into a pledge, and yet there was invitation, a suggestion, vague but comprehended, which youth could not easily ignore. My veins throbbed with anticipation—already was my arm about the slender waist, my eyes looking into her own. For a dance with her, a possible understanding, I was willing to venture life itself.

      I turned about and glanced at the Dragoon riding behind, half tempted to question him, but I refrained, not willing to make her the subject of camp-fire gossip. It would be a more manly course to work this out myself, and surely I should meet officers at the ball who would gladly present me to the lady. I should be compelled to attend in field uniform, yet circumstances would excuse that, and what little I had seen of her convinced me she was no stickler for conventionality. The duty soldier was more apt to interest such a personality than any dandy on dress parade. With a word I dismissed my companion, and turned in to the camp of the Yagers, sure of a welcome at their mess-table, and a chance to brush up my soiled clothes.

      It must have been nearly nine o'clock when, in company with a young cornet, I rode up to the house given up to festivities, and, turning over our horses to the care of cavalry grooms, climbed the wide steps to the door leading into the hall. Interested as I was in observing faces, fearful of possible discovery by some one in the crowd, I failed to note definitely the many decorations, yet I remember how the wide hall was hung in green and white, each room opening from it possessing a distinct color scheme, and how, under the gleaming clusters of lights, and sparkling of glass chandeliers, the gay uniforms of the officers and the brilliant gowns of the ladies appeared resplendent. The vista of those great rooms, reflected by numerous mirrors, was a scene of confusing beauty, with flowers everywhere, soft, glowing carpets underfoot, and the surging crowds passing back and forth. There was scarcely a black coat present, to yield touch of sombreness to the picture, but scarlet and blue, green and white, glowing with profusion of gold lace, and glittering with medals, together with gleaming shoulders, ruffles of white lace, and shimmering skirts of silk. All was a riot of color, rich, bewildering, with smiling faces, and laughing lips everywhere. In such a spot, amid such surroundings, war seemed a dream, a far-off delirium.

      Drawn thither by the music, we climbed the broad stairs toward the ball-room, passing as we did so, in the upper hall, four drawing-rooms containing sideboards with refreshments. The ball-room itself was a picture of Oriental magnificence—the walls were delightfully decorated, the ground-work pale blue, panelled with a small, gold bead, the interior filled with drooping festoons of flowers in their natural colors. Below the surface the ground was of rose pink, the drapery festooned with blue. The effect of these decorations was vastly increased by nearly a hundred mirrors, decked out with rose-pink ribbons and artificial flowers, while in the intermediate spaces were thirty-four branches with wax lights similarly ornamented. No pen of memory can describe the scene, nor picture in the gallant company, resplendent in coloring, now moving back and forth in the evolutions of the minuet.

      My companion disappeared, and, to escape the pressure of those surging back and forth through the wide doorway, I found passage close to the wall, and half circled the room, finally discovering a halting place in the recesses of a window, where, partially concealed myself by flowing curtains, I could gaze out over the brilliant assemblage. Half ashamed of the plainness of my own attire, and feeling a stranger and an alien, I was yet consciously seeking the one face which had lured me there. I saw fair ladies in plenty, and more than once my heart leaped, only to discover its mistake. There were so many ladies of the Blended Rose on the floor as to be confusing, and with their similarity of dress, and powdered hair, I was never sure until they turned their faces toward me that my patient search was still unrewarded. Yet if she was indeed upon the floor I saw her not, and my heart grew heavy with delay. But in this survey I discovered others—of both sexes—whose names had been mentioned that afternoon, and recognized the faces of a few officers whom I had met during my wanderings. Surely some of these would present me to the lady of my dreams could I but see her, learn her name. Before the music ceased I was convinced she was not among the dancers; I would search the side rooms, and the apartments below, yet, even as the company sought seats, soldiers crossed the floor, extinguishing the lights, and amid laughter, and repartee, the throng surged toward me, hemming me in closely, as they gathered in eager bunches about the open windows.

      Enough conversation reached me to disclose a promised display of fireworks on the lawn, and almost immediately, a magnificent bouquet of rockets shot up into the black sky, illuminating everything with a glare of fire. This was followed by the lighting up of the triumphal arch, and the bursting of balloons high overhead. Attracted by the spectacle, I was staring out at the dazzling scene, when a voice spoke at my shoulder.

      "'Tis a relief to see even one soldier present ready for duty."

      I turned to look into a pair of steady blue eyes, with a bit of mocking laughter in their depths, the face revealed clearly in the glare of the rockets.

      "Necessity only," I managed to reply. "I can be as gorgeous as these others, had I brought a bag with me."

      "No doubt; every British regiment tries to outdo the others in ribbons, and gold lace. Really they become tiresome with such foppery in war times. See how they play to-night, like children, the city practically unguarded from attack," she waved an ungloved hand toward the dark without. "I venture there are men out yonder, sir, who are not dancing and laughing away these hours."

      My cheeks burned.

      "You mean Washington's troops?"

      "Aye! I saw them here in Philadelphia before Sir William came," her voice lowered, yet earnest, "and they are not playing at war; grim, silent, sober-faced men, dressed in odds and ends, not pretty to look at; some tattered and hungry, but they fight hard. Mr. Conway was telling us yesterday of how they suffered all winter long, while we danced and feasted here, Washington himself sleeping with the snow drifting over him. You do not know the Americans, for you are not long across the water, but they are not the kind to be conquered by such child's play as this."

      "You are an American then?"

      "By birth, yes," unhesitatingly. "We are of those loyal to the King, but—I admire men."

      It was with an effort I restrained my words, eager to proclaim my service, yet comprehending instantly that I dare not even trust this plain-spoken girl with the truth. She respected the men, sympathized with the sacrifices of Washington's little army, contrasted all they endured with the profligacy of the English and Hessian troops, and yet remained loyal to the King's cause. Even as I hesitated, she spoke again.

      "What is your regiment?"

      "The 42nd British Foot."

      "You have not yet been in action in America?"

      "No, but I have just crossed the Jerseys with despatches."

      She shook her head, her cheeks glowing.

      "My home was there when the war began," she explained simply. "Now it is hate, pillage, and plunder everywhere. We fled to Philadelphia for our lives, and have almost forgotten we ever had a home. We loyalists are paying a price almost equal to those men with Washington. 'Tis this memory which makes me so bitter toward those who play amid the ruins."

      "Yet you have seemed to enter into the gay spirit of the occasion," and my eyes swept over her costume.

      "Oh, I am girl enough to enjoy the glitter, even while the woman in me condemns it all. You are a soldier—a fighting soldier, I hope—and still you are here also seeking pleasure."

      "True; I yielded to temptation, but for which I should never have come."

      "What?"

      "The dare in your eyes this afternoon," I said boldly. "But for what I read there I should be out yonder riding through the night."

      She laughed, yet not wholly at ease, the long lashes drooping over her eyes.

      "Always the woman; what would you do without my sex to bear your mistakes?"

      "But was this a mistake? Did I read altogether wrong?"

      "Don't expect a confession from me, sir," demurely. "I have no memory

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