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"Tell these gentlemen what you have told me," said Shelby, briefly; and the factor, cool and collected now, rehearsed the undeniable facts: how in Charlotte I had figured as a member of Lord Cornwallis's military family; how I had carried my malignancy to the patriot cause to the length of throwing a stanch friend to the commonwealth, to wit, one Owen Pengarvin, into the common jail; how, as Lord Cornwallis's trusted aide-de-camp, I had been sent with an express to Major Ferguson.
"I think 'twas what you said to Mr. Pengarvin." "That little smirking wretch? What has he to say or do in this?" She looked away from me and said: "He is my father's factor and man of affairs." "Ah, I have always to be craving your pardon, Margery. But I said naught to this parchment-faced to this Mr. Pengarvin, that might offend your father, or any."
Pengarvin fought like a fury, and his venomous rage defeated all his attempts to say calmly the words which might have got him a hearing. So he was haled away, spitting and struggling like a trapped wildcat; and when we were rid of him the major bade us good night again. Tybee held his peace like a good fellow till we had rolled us in our blankets before one of the camp-fires.
"If this be all, gentlemen, the man does but confirm my story," I said. "It is not all," said Shelby. "Mr. Pengarvin, stand forth." There was another stir in the backgrounding group and the pettifogger edged his way into the circle, keeping well out of hand-reach of me.
When I looked again my company was come. At the table, busied with a parchment that might have been a ducal title deed for size, stood Gilbert Stair and the factor-lawyer, Owen Pengarvin. A little back of them the good old Father Matthieu had Margery on his arm. And in the corner Tybee stood to keep the door.
For I was mad enough to have throttled him where he sat at his writing table, matching his long fingers and smirking at me with his evil smile. But of this man more in his time and place. His name was Owen Pengarvin. I would have you remember it.
It was full two days after the coming of the baronet and the factor-lawyer Pengarvin before I saw my lady's face near-hand again, and sometimes I was glad for Richard Jennifer's sake, but oftener would curse and swear because I was bound hand and foot and could not balk my enemy.
Saying he were free to leave Charlotte, how should he be riding post on my haphazard road to the westward? 'Twas against all reason, and yet the tittuping figure of which I had but a rain-veiled glimpse named itself Owen Pengarvin in spite of all the reasons I could bring to bear.
"So-ho!" said my good friend Tybee, with a little strident laugh, "'tis you I am to take out and hang, is it, Master Lawyer? I thought mayhap you'd double on your track once too often, and so it seems you have. Up with you and come along." All in a flash Pengarvin was up and bursting out in a trembling frenzy-fit of protestation. "Oh, 'tis all a mistake, my good sir a devil's own trap!
But some better understanding is needful, and we will have it here and now, once for all. Will you ring, or shall I?" He made no move to reach the bell-cord, and I rang for him. A grinning black boy came to the door, and seeing that Mr. Gilbert Stair was beyond giving the order, I gave it myself. "Find Master Pengarvin and send him here quickly. Tell him Mr. Stair wants him."
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