That was all he said. His words were nothing but a mere threat. But he had done something that set every drop of blood in my body to tingling with hot anger. I should have followed him had he not disappeared instantly. From the moment I had first laid eyes on this man in the Jacobite Coffee-House I had taken an unaccountable dislike to him. Even when I advanced to meet him in the tap-room, I had kept the silver button hid in my closed hand as if I were unwilling to acknowledge my claim upon him. Now I understood what had given birth to my unreasonable antipathy. As he turned away after speaking the above words, Van Volkenberg made the sign of the cross. The patroon was a Catholic. How I thanked God I had received no favor from him! Instantly, as one sees the landscape at night when the lightning flashes, there lay before me that scene in Paris of the black robed priest who years before had caught my sister by the arm, and whom I had struck down upon the spot as he deserved. In quick succession there passed before my mind’s eye our flight to La Rochelle, my ten years of fruitless search, the Mariner’s Rest at Bristol, our last separation—finally the public flogging I had received in Maryland. All these troubles had been brought upon me by Catholics. A Catholic was once more threatening my peace of mind, telling me to beware. I little knew then how much greater cause I had to hate the patroon for wrongs already done to me and mine. I thought only of the present instant. I felt that we two were fated to—God knows what! I gripped my hands together and wished that I could hurry time. Bromm repeated the proclamation again, but received no response. He marched back to the fort and soon the crowd drifted into smaller groups. I returned to the Ferry-House to nurse my disappointment alone, hoping also that some word would come from the Earl concerning news received at the fort. I found Pierre sitting alone in a corner of the public room when I entered the Ferry-House. “Well,” I said. “Have you recovered?” “Quite,” he answered; then he blew out his lips with an explosive shiver. “Ow, it was cold! But I was in great luck.” “Luck, Pierre, to be ducked?” “No, not to be nibbled. There are great fish in the bay.” He leaned forward and continued in a low confidential voice. “Lady Marmaduke gave me such a dinner. You cannot imagine it. There was wine right out of France. Do you think if I should happen to be ducked again she would happen to come along?” I could not forbear to laugh and Pierre smiled too. His face, however, soon changed, and his jovial expression was replaced by the hard look that I had seen in his face when he walked to the place of his punishment.