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Updated: June 14, 2025
"'Twas 'Tamerlane, the play that this traitorous generation calls for every 5th of November. It seems that the Governor a Whig as rank as Argyle had ordered it again for this week. 'Tis a cursed piece of slander that pictures the Prince of Orange a virtuous Emperor, his late Majesty of France a hateful tyrant. But for Haward, whose guest I was, I had not sat there with closed lips.
The time allotted to minuets having elapsed, the musicians after a short pause began to play an ancient, lively air, and a number of ladies and gentlemen, young, gayly dressed, and light of heart as of heels, engaged in a country dance. When they were joined by Mr. Marmaduke Haward and his shameless companion, there arose a great rustling and whispering.
Haward walked with them to the gate, and came back alone, stepping thoughtfully between the lilac bushes. It was not until Juba had brought candles, and he had taken his seat at table before the half-emptied bottle of wine, that it came to Haward that he had wished to tell Evelyn of the brown girl who had run for the guinea, but had forgotten to do so.
She turned to Haward, and he drew her hand within his arm. "Ay, child," he said. "We are keeping others of the company from their duty to his Excellency. Besides, the minuet invites. I do not think I have heard music so sweet before to-night. Your Excellency's most obedient servant! Gentlemen, allow us to pass." The crowd opened before them, and they found themselves in the centre of the room.
A young girl, her silken apron raised to catch the clusters which a gentleman, mounted upon a chair, threw down, gave a little scream and let fall her purple hoard. "'Gad!" cried the gentleman. One and another exclaimed, and a withered beauty seated beneath the mulberry-tree laughed shrilly. A moment, an effort, a sharp recall of wandering thoughts, and Haward had the situation in hand.
It comes of itself, and stays; we watch her with straining eyes. Who is that man in a cloak, staring at us from the pit? See, with the great peruke and the scar!" Haward, bending, looked over the rail, then drew back with a smile. "A half-breed trader," he said, "by name Jean Hugon. Something of a character." "He looked strangely at us," said Evelyn, "with how haggard a face! My scarf, Mr. Lee?
"Then will I wear it stained, as 'tis said a courtier once wore his cloak." "There is lace upon it," said Truelove timidly. MacLean turned with a smile, and laid a fold of her cloak against his dark cheek. "Ah, the lace offends you, offends thee, Truelove. Why, 'tis but to mark me a gentleman again! Last night, at Williamsburgh, I supped with Haward and some gentlemen of Virginia.
"I know, I know," answered Haward impatiently. "I changed my mind. Is that you, Saunderson, with the light? Or is it Hide?" The candle moved to one side, and there was disclosed a large white face atop of a shambling figure dressed in some coarse, dark stuff. "Neither, sir," said an expressionless voice. "Will it please your Honor to dismount?"
Haward took snuff with each of the six; asked after the father of one, the brother of another; delicately intimated his pleasure in finding the noble order of Mohocks, that had lately died in London, resurrected in Virginia; and fairly bowed the flattered youths out of the store.
As he spoke he swung himself from the saddle, pulled out his ruffles, and raised his hat. "Ladies, permit me," a wave of his hand toward his escort, who were now also on foot. "Colonel Robertson, Captain Clonder, Captain Brooke, Mr. Haward, Mr. Beverley, Dr. Robinson, Mr. Fontaine, Mr. Todd, Mr. Mason, all of the Tramontane Order. For myself, I am Alexander Spotswood, at your service."
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