l
cortege, still halting somewhere far in the silvery north, where the
white owls sit in the firs, and the world lies robed in ermine.

All through that mellow Indian summer my betrothed grew strong, and her
hurts had nearly healed. And I, writing my letters by the open window
in the drawing-room, had been promised that she might make her first
essay to leave her chamber that day--sit in the outer sunshine perhaps,
perhaps stand upright and take a step or two. And, at this first tryst
in the sunshine, she was to set our wedding day.

From my open window I could see the city on its three hills against the
azure magnificence of the sky, and the calm, wide river, still as a
golden pond, and the white sails of sloops, becalmed on glassy surfaces
reflecting the blue woods.

A little stream ran foaming down to the river, passing the house
through a lawn all starred with late-grown dandelions; and even yet the
trout were running up to the still sands of their breeding-nooks
above--great brilliant fish, spotted with flecks that glowed like
living sparks; and now I looked to see if I might spy them pass,
shooting the falls, gay in their bridal-dress of iridescent gems,
wishing them good speed to their shadowy woodland tryst.

Too deeply happy, too content to more than trifle with the letters I
must pen, I idled there, head on hand, listening for her I loved,
watching the fair world in the sunshine there. Sometimes, smiling, I
unfolded for the hundredth time and read again the generous letter from
Sir Peter and Lady Coleville--so kindly, so cordial, so honorable, all
patched with shreds of gossip of friend and foe, and how New York lay
stunned at the news of Yorktown. Never a word of the part that I had
played so long beneath their roof--only one grave, unselfish line,
saying that they had heard me praised for my bearing at Johnstown
battle, and that they had always known that I could conduct in no wise
unworthy of a soldier.

Too, they promised, if a flag was to be had, to come to Albany for our
wedding, saying we were wild and wilful, and needed chiding, promising
to read us lessons merited.

And there was a ponderous letter from Sir Frederick Haldimand in answer
to one I wrote telling him all--a strange melange of rage at Butler's
perfidy and insolence, and utter disgust with me; though he said,
frankly enough, that he would rather see his kinswoman wedded to twenty
rebels than to one Butler. With which he slammed his p