into other keeping than that
of true-born New Englanders."

"Young man, it is decided," repeated Hutchinson, rising from his
chair. "A British officer will be in attendance this evening to
receive the necessary instructions for the disposal of the troops.
Your presence also will be required. Till then, farewell."

With these words the lieutenant-governor hastily left the room, while
Alice and her cousin more slowly followed, whispering together, and
once pausing to glance back at the mysterious picture. The captain of
Castle William fancied that the girl's air and mien were such as might
have belonged to one of those spirits of fable--fairies or creatures
of a more antique mythology--who sometimes mingled their agency with
mortal affairs, half in caprice, yet with a sensibility to human weal
or woe. As he held the door for her to pass Alice beckoned to the
picture and smiled.

"Come forth, dark and evil shape!" cried she. "It is thine hour."

In the evening Lieutenant-governor Hutchinson sat in the same chamber
where the foregoing scene had occurred, surrounded by several persons
whose various interests had summoned them together. There were the
selectmen of Boston--plain patriarchal fathers of the people,
excellent representatives of the old puritanical founders whose sombre
strength had stamped so deep an impress upon the New England
character. Contrasting with these were one or two members of council,
richly dressed in the white wigs, the embroidered waistcoats and other
magnificence of the time, and making a somewhat ostentatious display
of courtier-like ceremonial. In attendance, likewise, was a major of
the British army, awaiting the lieutenant-governor's orders for the
landing of the troops, which still remained on board the transports.
The captain of Castle William stood beside Hutchinson's chair, with
folded arms, glancing rather haughtily at the British officer by whom
he was soon to be superseded in his command. On a table in the centre
of the chamber stood a branched silver candlestick, throwing down the
glow of half a dozen waxlights upon a paper apparently ready for the
lieutenant-governor's signature.

Partly shrouded in the voluminous folds of one of the window-curtains,
which fell from the ceiling to the floor, was seen the white drapery
of a lady's robe. It may appear strange that Alice Vane should have
been there at such a time, but there was something so childlike, so
wayward, in her singular