to Quebec, and while New York lacked some of the brilliancy,
some of the ultimate finish that, to his mind, had distinguished
Quebec, it was more solid, there was more of an atmosphere of
resource, and it was all vastly interesting. Charteris proved himself
a right true friend, and he opened for him whatever doors he cared to
enter that Mr. Hardy may have left unlocked. He was also thrown much
with Grosvenor, and the instinctive friendship between the two ripened
fast.

On the fifth day of his stay in New York a letter came out of the
wilderness from Wilton at Fort Refuge. It had been brought by an
Oneida runner to Albany, and was sent thence by post to New York.

Wilton wrote that time would pass rather heavily with them in the
little fortress, if the hostile Indians allowed it. Small bands now
infested that region, and the soldiers were continually making marches
against them. The strange man, whom they called Black Rifle, was of
vast help, guiding them and saving them from ambush.

Wilton wrote that he missed Philadelphia, which was certainly the
finest city outside of Europe, but he hoped to go back to it, seasoned
and improved by life in the woods. New York, where he supposed Robert
now to be, was an attractive town, in truth, a great port, but it had
not the wealth and cultivation of Philadelphia, as he hoped to show
Robert some day. Meanwhile he wished him well.

Robert smiled. He had pleasant memories of Wilton, Colden, Carson and
the others, and while he was making new friends he did not commit the
crime of forgetting old ones. It was his hope that he should meet them
all again, not merely after the war, but long before.

In his comings and goings among the great of their day Robert kept a
keen eye for the vision of St. Luc. He half hoped, half feared that
some time in the twilight or the full dusk of the night he would see
in some narrow street the tall figure wrapped in its great cloak. But
the chevalier did not appear, and Robert felt that he had not really
come as a spy upon the English army and its preparations. He must have
gone, days since.

He met Adrian Van Zoon three times, that is, he was in the same room
with him, although they spoke together only once. The merchant had in
his presence an air of detachment. He seemed to be one who continually
carried a burden, and a stripling just from the woods could not long
have a place, either favorable or unfavorable, in his memory. Robert
began to wonde