Audrey

Truelove tightened her hold. "Ephraim, Ephraim! If a man compel thee to go

with him a mile, thee is to go with him twain; if he take thy cloak, thee

is to give him thy coat also; if he--Ah!" She buried her profaned cheek in

her arm and began to cry, but very softly.

Her tormentors, flushed with wine and sworn to obtain each one a kiss,

laughed more loudly, and one young rake, with wig and ruffles awry,

lurched forward to take the place of the coxcomb who had scored. Ephraim

wrenched himself free, and making for this gentleman might have given or

received bodily injury, had not a heavy hand falling upon his shoulder

stopped him in mid-career.

"Stand aside, boy," said MacLean, "This quarrel's mine by virtue of my

making it so. Mistress Truelove, you shall have no further annoyance. Now,

you Lowland cowards that cannot see a flower bloom but you wish to trample

it in the mire, come taste the ground yourself, and be taught that the

flower is out of reach!"

As he spoke he stepped before the Quakeress, weaponless, but with his eyes

like steel. The half dozen spendthrifts and ne'er-do-weels whom he faced

paused but long enough to see that this newly arrived champion had only

his bare hands, and was, by token of his dress, undoubtedly their

inferior, before setting upon him with drunken laughter and the loudly

avowed purpose of administering a drubbing. The one that came first he

sent rolling to the floor. "Another for Hector!" he said coolly.

The silversmith, ensconced in safety behind the table, wrung his hands.

"Sirs, sirs! Take your quarrel into the street! I'll no have fighting in

my store. What did ye rin in here for, ye Quaker baggage? Losh! did ye

ever see the like of that! Here, boy, ye can get through the window. Rin

for the constable! Rin, I tell ye, or there'll be murder done!"

A gentleman who had entered the store unobserved drew his rapier, and with

it struck up a heavy cane which was in the act of descending for the

second time upon the head of the unlucky Scot. "What is all this?" he

asked quietly. "Five men against one,--that is hardly fair play. Ah, I see

there were six; I had overlooked the gentleman on the floor, who, I hope,

is only stunned. Five to one,--the odds are heavy. Perhaps I can make them

less so." With a smile upon his lips, he stepped backward a foot or two

until he stood with the weaker side.

Now, had it been the constable who so suddenly appeared upon the scene,

the probabilities are that the fight, both sides having warmed to it,

would, despite the terrors of the law, have been carried to a finish. But

it was not the constable; it was a gentleman recently returned from

England, and become in the eyes of the youth of Williamsburgh the glass of

fashion and the mould of form. The youngster with the shoulder knots had

copied color and width of ribbon from a suit which this gentleman had worn

at the Palace; the rake with the wig awry, who passed for a wit, had done

him the honor to learn by heart portions of his play, and to repeat

(without quotation marks) a number of his epigrams; while the pretty

fellow whose cane he had struck up practiced night and morning before a

mirror his bow and manner of presenting his snuffbox. A fourth ruffler

desired office, and cared not to offend a prospective Councilor. There was

rumor, too, of a grand entertainment to be given at Fair View; it was good

to stand well with the law, but it was imperative to do so with Mr.

Marmaduke Haward. Their hands fell; they drew back a pace, and the wit

made himself spokesman. Roses were rare so early in the year; for him and

his companions, they had but wished to compliment those that bloomed in

the cheeks of the pretty Quakeress. This servant fellow, breathing fire

like a dragon, had taken it upon himself to defend the roses,--which

likely enough were grown for him,--and so had been about to bring upon

himself merited chastisement. However, since it was Mr. Marmaduke Haward

who pleaded for him--A full stop, a low bow, and a flourish. "Will Mr.

Haward honor me? 'Tis right Macouba, and the box--if the author of 'The

Puppet Show' would deign to accept it"-"Rather to change with you, sir," said the other urbanely, and drew out

his own chased and medallioned box.