"I am, Lady Washington," replied the girl, humbly, "but believe me, that wrong as I was in this instance, I am not so wholly to blame as I seem, for one example of General Brereton's temper which he gave me, proves that he can carry his resentment to all lengths, and
"And is it because the man has a temper that you have slighted his suit?" interrupted the matron, peevishly. "Child, child, don't you know that every man that is worth his salt has a warm constitution? Why, the tales and warnings that were brought to me of the general's choleric nature when he was wooing me were enough to fright any woman. And true they were, for once roused, his wrath is terrible. Yet to me he has ever been the kindest and most amiable of husbands."
Washington smiled, as he said, "Miss Janice will know who deserves the credit for that. But my wife is right. A man is not apt to vent his wrath on the woman he loves, unless she gives him extreme cause."
"Bitter cause we gave to General Brereton, I own, but-- but I can never think that had he truly loved me he would have refused his aid in our extremity."
"Refused thee aid!" snapped Jack's partisan. "Has he done anything but help thee in every way he could? Who was it brought thy poor mother off that dreadful ship? Who was it has teased General Lafayette with such unending favours for thee, that the marquis asked me what was the source of General Brereton's interest in one Mr. Meredith? Who only last week wrote me a letter that would have melted a stone--anything, I believe, but thy heart--begging me to offer thee a home, that thou might'st escape the tavern discomfort and crowd? I declare, thy ingratitude nigh makes me regret my having wasted any liking upon thee."
"Oh, Lady Washington," cried Janice, "not a one of these did I know of; and if you but knew what gladness it brings me to learn that, once he knew we had insulted him unwittingly, he forgave us, and put his resentment away."
"Then you'll reward him as he deserves?" delightedly exclaimed the match-maker.
"I am promised, Lady Washington," replied the girl, gravely, "and were I not, I could never forget his once cruelty
"What did he?"
"I cannot bear to tell, now he has, by his kindness, endeavoured to atone for it."
"I make no doubt 't is more of his masked generosity.
Never will I believe that loving you as I know he does, he could be hard-hearted or cruel to you."
"'T was not--'t was worse than if his anger had fallen on me, Lady Washington. He refused to aid my father, and but for his Excellency's untellable generosity and--"
Washington, who had been rereading the report, looked up, and interrupted: "Did General Brereton tell you that it was my act, Miss Janice?"
"No, your Excellency, 't was from Governor Livingston that we learned of the debt we owed to you, for which no thanks can ever--"
Once again Washington interrupted. "There are no thanks due to me, Miss Janice," he said, "for, much as I may have wished to service you, my public duties made it unwise.
Your gratitude is wholly due to Brereton."
"I do not understand--What do you mean?" exclaimed the girl. "He--'t was your letter, so the governor said--"
"'T was my letter, but his act," replied Washington; and in a few words explained. "General Brereton expected, and should have been court-martialled and shot for what he did,"
he ended; "but he had served me faithfully, and so I refrained from making his misconduct public, and punished him no further than by demanding his resignation from my staff.
You lost me a good friend and servant, Miss Janice, but now, with the war in effect ended, I scarce feel regret that his action, however blamable, spared you the loss of your father."
"Now, what do you say, miss?" inquired Mrs. Washington, triumphantly.
All the reply Janice made was to let her head fall forward on the table, as she burst into tears.
"There, there, my child!" cried the matron, putting her arms about and raising the girl, so that the down bent head might find a resting-place on her bosom. "I did not mean to pain thee."
"Oh, Lady Washington," sobbed Janice, as she threw her arms about the dame's neck, "I--I am so miserable, an-- an--and so happy!"
Ten minutes later, Janice, with pale cheeks, but determined air, sought her father in the parlour, and going on her knees at his feet, said,--
"I have that to tell, dadda, which I fear will anger and pain you greatly." Then in a few words she repeated to him what Washington had told her.
"And why should that hurt me, lass? I own I treated the general somewhat scurvily, and that he has repaid it in different kind, but 't will be no grief to apologise and thank him for what he did."
"'T was not that of which I am apprehensive, but when I wrote to General Brereton, and besought his aid, I promised that I would wed him if he would but save you, and--and, oh, dadda, please be not angry with me, but I--I feel I must fulfil my pledge, if he asks it of me."
"And how of your promise--and mine--to Phil?"
"I came to you, ere seeking to see him, to explain--"
The squire shook his head doubtingly. "I can't lay blame on ye, Jan, since I owe my very life to what ye did. Yet 't is bitter to me to break faith with Philemon."
"I feel as guilty, dadda, but I think he will be generous, and give us back our promise, when I tell him all the facts."
"And 't is nigh as hard," went on the father, "to think of letting ye wed General Brereton, though I do owe my life to him."
"Ah, dadda, you will not punish him for the wrong his parents did him?"
"'T is not that, Jan, but because he is a rebel to--"
The girl gave a little laugh, as if a weight were taken from her thoughts, and she flung her arms about her father's neck and kissed him. "Why, dadda," she cried, with the old roguishness, "how can he be a rebel, now that they've won?"
The squire pulled a wry look. "Little I dreamed I'd ever break faith, or make friends of the enemies of my king, but the times are disloyal, and I suppose one must go with them. If ye can persuade Phil to release us, Jan, have your way."
Again his daughter kissed him, but this time tenderly, with all the archness gone. "Thank you, dadda, for yielding," she said, "for 't would have been horrible to me had you not."
The squire kissed her in return. "Better one rebel in the family than two," he responded with a laugh, which suggested that whatever his compunctions, he knew at heart that the outcome was for the best, and was already reconciled to it.
"Thou 'rt too good a lass, Jan, to make into more of a rebel than this same Brereton will no doubt make thee."
"He'll make no rebel of me to my darling dadda, that I promise," asserted Janice, joyfully.
Mr. Meredith laughed still more heartily. "I'll rest content if ye don't declare independence of your old dad, and allegiance to him, within one month of marriage, Jan."
As he ended, came a knock on the door and an officer entered. "His Excellency directs me to say, Miss Meredith,"
he announced, "that the provost-marshal has orders to bring Colonel Hennion to you, whenever you are ready to see him."
"I'll see him now," replied the girl.
"Poor lad!" lamented the squire.
"Oh, dadda, what can I say to him?" grieved Janice.
"I know not, lass," replied the father, as he hastened to leave the room.
It was a hard interview the girl had with Colonel Hennion, but she went through with it bravely, telling all the circumstances.
"'T is not merely that I owe him the fulfilment of the promise I made him before that to you was given, Phil,"
Janice ended, "but though I thought my love for him was dead, the moment I heard of how he had risked life and station to spare me grief; I--I--" There she ceased speaking, but her eyes and cheeks told eloquently what her tongue refused to put in words.
Philemon, with a sad face, took her hand. "I'll not make it the harder for you by protests or appeals, Janice," he said, "for, however it may pain me, I wish to spare you."
"Oh, don't, please," she sobbed. "If you--if you would only blame me."