The Birmingham age-herald., 1902-06-08
CHAPTER w. As to the Moods of a Maiden.

As to the Moods of a Maiden.
 We had been walking the horses slowly a good hour northward. for, I had no choice but to get on with my Journey. The rain had stopped, and the first light of a September day began to show up over the high land to the eastward. Not word had we said since getting well started. I, for one. had more to think than talk on. and the girl was too weari- ed to do more than sit in her ungainly saddle. while led her wretched nag.
 Heaven knows am no poet, and never was but the break of that day was beautiful thing to see. All the earth was wet and gllstening on the barest excuse for light The trees all but met over our heads. with now and then an open bit of country, and here and there sight of the big river. And all the little noises of the morning-the insects, the birds kept up a singing and a wheezing and droning that would make the heart bound within you.
 Then would come a little more light, and the trees would separate and stand up of themselves, and you could tell houses from sand banks. And from Q strange and ghostly whitcness there came a big red glow like a sunset, but still never was that light at setting sun. Here and there was a red-tipped bough, while tho big rocks across the stream burned with the color. Then I watched the color go by and the first white light of the sun pitched against the cliffs. catch the trees above us, and then come dropping around us on the wet turf and the red mud at our feet. And another olaa Wa Of aQ a night as one could guess at.
 '"Tis a very fine day." said a strange voice at my side.
 I turned in my saddle in wonder, and found her looking up at the trees over head and the sky through them, and said not word. What might be her ladyship's next mood? As for myself, I was worn out. too uncertain as to my next move to see aught in the situation but desperate outlook and small chance of my mission finishing that day or week.
 So the noisy silence of the wood began again.
 You hove not the manners of His Ma jesty's rt sir." said she blandly.
 T have never had occasion to be there, mistress" I answered, with some mean ing to my tone.
 "No?" said she, and studied the green leaves about her for a space "Tis a wretched thing" she added, after bit.
 What the Court?"
 Nay, the want of manners"
 Perhaps you would prefer to return to the others;" and then I stuck a spur into old Roger and cursed myself for fool
 She said not a word for a moment, and then:
 "A courtly response, indeed Where were you bred, sir?''
 Tn what, God be thanked, is a free country, mistress. The town of Boston, in Massachusetts colony"
 "Oh! I have heard tell of 1t. A little wandering town, where men pray for eight days in the week, and a woman may wear only black and never raise her eyes from the buckle of her slipper"
 "'Tis a town of great men and big hearts, Mistress Philipse. And 'tis not for even a British butterfly to demean it."
 Am l. I wonder, Mistress Philipse?" said she, looking at me with glint In her eye. "Or--" "I do not know, Madam. That was the name you took but a few hours since" l She had a look In her face that for the l life of me I could not read. Was 1t bursting desire to laugh or vixen's love of teasing?' "Or am I Mistress-Mistress-B is it?'
 "If you were so indeed you should not speak thus of the cradle of liberty "Ah, indeed! And would you tell me who should prevent it?'
 That I will mistress. No other than your husband"
 "Ah. indeed!' said she again. 'I see that you have lived much in the company of women and know them full well, Capt Balfort''
 Lieut.. Balfort, at your service. mis- tress."
 You should be a Captain, sr," said she, looking up through the trees. You bore yourself as such not many hours since"
 The change of tone was so quick that for some unknown reason 1 grew red with shame. and asked seriously enoush
 r'will you tell me why you should go through a bad scene as brave as any any soldier and then faint at sight of a drunken man?"
 "Ah, do not speak of him?' cried she. turning a face that on sudden had bit of temper in it again. And then. looking back on the road, Think you they may follow us?'
 May, mistress" I answered. Not one of them could stand"
 linen why will you bring me back to that tavern, when l am tired and would talk of other thingsT
 Twas thoughtless querry. and ask your forgiveness Sa1Q l, rldlnB clOSer to her, for I thought she would sway off the nag's back.
 But her eye grew bright again on sudden.
 Do not fear" said she, with her chin in the air. "I am no chicken-hearted maid. I do not require the support of an arm-not even when that arm belongs to husband"
 Mistress Philipse," said I earnestly resting Q hand on her horses main "you have twice referred to a part of last nights performance with the scorn that. God knows, you no doubt feel. But you are in the wrong to give 1t any credence. except as the brave act of a brave woman, who saved by her ready wit her companion from sure death and herself from worse. Do you, perchance think that companion places any other significance upon it?'
 She turned her head away and looked down at the wet ferns by the roadside for a moment without reply, and then, looking me In the face, answered:
 'Tis a foolish question, Lieutenant, and you know 1t as well as I. There fore will I not answer it."
 Why 1t should be so I cannot tell but the certainty that I saw her face of the ing within myself that turned me back in my saddle and put out the brightness of the morning.
 So again we rode on for a space.
 You do not ask me why I am in this - -~rlkHzEz