ard, and so shaken with sobbing that I could tell him no more
than that you had gone to the Coffee House, where they meant to draw you
into a duel. He took me up to my own room, and I heard him going out to
wake Limbo to harness, and at last heard him driving away in our coach.
I hope I may never in my life spend such another hour as I passed then."

The light in the sky had gone out. I looked up at the girl before
me as she stood gazing into the flame, her features in strong relief,
her lips parted, her hair red-gold, and the rounded outlines of her
figure softened. I wondered why I had never before known her beauty.
Perchance it was because, until that night, I had never seen her heart.

I leaped to my feet and seized her hands. For a second she looked at me,
startled. Then she tore them away and ran behind the dipping chair in
the corner.

"Richard, Richard!" she exclaimed. "Did Dorothy but know!"

"Dorothy is occupied with titles," I said.

Patty's lip quivered. And I knew, blundering fool that I was, that I had
hurt her.

"Oh, you wrong her!" she cried; "believe me when I say that she loves
you, and you only, Richard."

"Loves me!" I retorted bitterly,--brutally, I fear. "No. She may have
once, long ago. But now her head is turned."

"She loves you now," answered Patty, earnestly; "and I think ever will,
if you but deserve her."

And with that she went away, leaving me to stare after her in perplexity
and consternation.

CHAPTER XVII

SOUTH RIVER

My grandfather's defection from St. Anne's called forth a deal of comment
in Annapolis. His Excellency came to remonstrate, but to no avail, and
Mr. Carvel denounced the rector in such terms that the Governor was glad
to turn the subject. My Uncle Grafton acted with such quickness and
force as would have served to lull the sharpest suspicions. He forbid
the rector his house, attended the curate's service, and took Philip
from his care. It was decided that both my cousin and I were to go to
King's College after Christmas. Grafton's conduct greatly pleased my
grandfather. "He has behaved very loyally in this matter, Richard." he
said to me. "I grow to reproach myself more every day for the injustice
I once did him. He is heaping coals of fire upon my old head. But,
faith! I cannot stomach your Aunt Caroline. You do not seem to like
your uncle, lad."

I answered that I did not.

"It was ever the Carvel way not to forget," he went on. "Nevertheless,
G