For Love of Country | Page 7

by
a stately and gracious, if somewhat elderly gentleman.
There was a striking similarity, if not in facial appearance, at least in
the erect carriage and free air, between him and the young girl who,
disregarding his outstretched hand and totally disorganizing his
ceremonious bow, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him with
unwonted warmth, much to his dismay and yet not altogether to his
displeasure. Perhaps he suspected something from the bright and happy
faces of the two young people; but if so, he made no comment, merely
telling them that supper had been waiting this long time, and bidding
them hasten their preparation for the meal.
Katharine, followed by Chloe, her black maid, who had been waiting
for her, hastily ran up the stairs to her own apartments, upon this signal,
but turned upon the topmost stair and waved a kiss to the two
gentlemen who were watching her,--one with the dim eyes of an old
father, the other with the bright eyes of a young lover.

"Colonel Wilton," exclaimed Seymour, impulsively, "I have something
to say to you,--something I must say."
"Not now, my young friend," replied the colonel, genially. "Supper will
be served, nay, is served already, and only awaits you and Katharine;
afterward we shall have the whole evening, and you may say what you
will."
"Oh, but, colonel--"
"Nay, sir, do not lay upon me the unpleasant duty of commanding a
guest, when it is my privilege as host to entreat. Go, Mr. Seymour, and
make you ready. Katharine will return in a moment, and it does not
beseem gentlemen, much less officers, to keep a lady waiting, you
know. Philip and Bentley have gone fishing, and I am informed they
will not return until late. We will not wait for them."
"As you wish, sir, but I must have some private conversation with you
as soon as possible."
"After supper, my boy, after supper."
CHAPTER III
Colonel Wilton.
Left to himself for a moment, the colonel heaved a deep sigh; he had a
premonition of what was coming, and then paced slowly up and down
the long hall.
He was attired, with all the splendor of an age in which the subject of
dress engrossed the attention of the wisest and best, in the height of the
prevailing mode, which his recent arrival from Paris, then as now the
mould of fashion, permitted him to determine. The soft light from the
wax candles in their sconces in the hall fell upon his thickly powdered
wig, ran in little ripples up and down the length of his polished
dress-sword, and sparkled in the brilliants in the buckles of his shoes.
His face was the grave face of a man accustomed from of old not only

to command, but to assume the responsibility of his orders; when they
were carried out, his manner was a happy mixture of the haughty
sternness of a soldier and the complacent suavity of the courtier,
tempered both by the spirit of frankness and geniality born of the free
life of a Virginia planter in colonial times.
In his early youth he had been a soldier under Admiral Vernon, with his
old and long-deceased friend Lawrence Washington at Cartagena; later
on, he had served under Wolfe at Quebec. A visitor, and a welcome one
too, at half the courts of Europe, he looked the man of affairs he was; in
spite of his advanced age, he held himself as erect, and carried himself
as proudly as he had done on the Heights of Abraham or in the court of
St. Germain.
Too old to incur the hardships of the field, Colonel Wilton had yet
offered his services, with the ardor of the youngest patriot, to his
country, and pledged his fortune, by no means inconsiderable, in its
support. The Congress, glad to avail themselves of the services of so
distinguished a man, had sent him, in company with Silas Deane and
Benjamin Franklin, as an embassy to the court of King Louis, bearing
proposals for an alliance and with a request for assistance during the
deadly struggle of the colonies with the hereditary foe of France. They
had been reasonably successful in a portion of their attempt, at least; as
the French government had agreed, though secretly, to furnish arms and
other munitions of war through a pseudo-mercantile firm which was
represented by M. de Beaumarchais, the gifted author of the comedy
"Le Mariage de Figaro." The French had also agreed to furnish a
limited amount of money; but, more important than all these, there
were hints and indications that if the American army could win any
decisive battle or maintain the unequal conflict for any length of time,
an open and closer alliance would be made. The envoys had