“There’s always a bed for you here; remember that, my lad,” growled the patroon.

“Take me, too,” sniffed Ruyven.

“Eh!  What?” cried the patroon.  “I’ll take you; oh yes—­over my knee, you impudent puppy!  Let me catch you sneaking off to this war and I’ll—­”

Ruyven relapsed into silence, staring at me in troubled fascination.

“The house is yours, George,” grunted the patroon.  “Help yourself to what you need for your journey.”

“Thank you, sir; say good-bye to the children, kiss them all for me, Cecile.  And don’t run away and get married until I come back.”

A stifled snivel was my answer.

Then into the room shuffled old Cato, and began to extinguish the candles; and I saw the green curtain twitch, and everybody whispered “Ah-h!”

General Schuyler arose in the dim light when the last candle was blown out.  “You are to guess the title of this picture!” he said, in his even, pleasant voice.  “It is a famous picture, familiar to all present, I think, and celebrated in the Old World as well as in the New....  Draw the curtain, Cato!”

Suddenly the curtain parted, and there stood the living, breathing figure of the “Maid-at-Arms.”  Her thick, gold hair clouded her cheeks, her eyes, blue as wood-violets, looked out sweetly from the shadowy background, her armor glittered.

A stillness fell over the dark room; slowly the green curtains closed; the figure vanished.

There was a roar of excited applause in my ears as I stumbled forward through the darkness, groping my way towards the dim gun-room through which she must pass to regain her chamber by the narrow stairway which led to the attic.

She was not there; I waited a moment, listening in the darkness, and presently I heard, somewhere overhead, a faint ringing sound and the deadened clash of armed steps on the garret floor.

“Dorothy!” I called.

The steps ceased, and I mounted the steep stairway and came out into the garret, and saw her standing there, her armor outlined against the window and the pale starlight streaming over her steel shoulder-pieces.

I shall never forget her as she stood looking at me, her steel-clad figure half buried in the darkness, yet dimly apparent in its youthful symmetry where the starlight fell on the curve of cuisse and greave, glimmering on the inlaid gorget with an unearthly light, and stirring pale sparks like fire-flies tangled in her hair.

“Did I please you?” she whispered.  “Did I not surprise you?  Cato scoured the armor for me; it is the same armor she wore, they say—­the Maid-at-Arms.  And it fits me like my leather clothes, limb and body.  Hark!...  They are applauding yet!  But I do not mean to spoil the magic picture by a senseless repetition....  And some are sure to say a ghost appeared....  Why are you so silent?...  Did I not please you?”

She flung casque and sword on the floor, cleared her white forehead from its tumbled veil of hair; then bent nearer, scanning my eyes closely.