reassure them, the door clapped to with a bang like
a pistol-shot, and my horse danced about so that I
could scarcely mount. Then I rode away, something
wondering within myself, since I had been taken for
the devil, how many others might have been, and whether
men made their own devils and their own witches, instead
of the Prince of Evil having a hand in it, and yet
that happened which I have related, and I have told
the truth.
Such a blaze of light as was the governor’s
mansion house that night I never saw, and I heard
the music of violins, and hautboys, and viola da gambas
coming from within, and a silvery babble of women’s
tongues, with a deeper undertone of men’s, and
the tread of dancing feet, and the stamping of horses
outside, with the whoas of the negro boys in attendance,
and through the broad gleam of the moonlight came
the flare and smoke of the torches. It seemed
as if the whole colony was either dancing at the governor’s
ball or standing outside on tiptoe with interest.
I sat waiting for some time, holding my restive horse
as best I might, but there coming no cessation in
the music, I dismounted, and seeing one of Madam Cavendish’s
black men, gave him the bridle to hold, and went up
to the house and entered, though not in my plum-coloured
velvet, and, indeed, being not only in my ordinary
clothes, but somewhat splashed with mire from my mad
gallop through the woods. But I judged rightly
that in so much of a crowd I should pass unnoticed
both as to myself and my apparel. I stood in
the great room near the door and watched the dance,
and ’twas as brilliant a scene as ever I had
seen anywhere even in England. The musicians
in the gallery were sawing away for their lives on
violins, and working breathlessly at the hautboys,
and all that gay company of Virginia’s best,
spinning about in a country dance of old England.
Such a brave show of velvet coats, and breeches, and
flowered brocade waistcoats, and powdered wigs, and
feathers, and laces, and ribbons, and rich flaunts
of petticoats revealing in the whirl of the dance
clocked hose on slender ankles, and high-heeled satin
shoes, would have done no discredit to the court.
But of them all, Mistress Mary Cavendish was the belle
and the star. She was dancing with my Lord Estes
when I entered, and such a goodly couple they were,
that I heard many an exclamation of delight from the
spectators, who stood thickly about the walls, the
windows even being filled with faces of black and
white servants. My Lord Estes was a handsome dark
man, handsomer and older than Sir Humphrey Hyde, who,
though dancing with the governor’s daughter
Cate, had, I could see, a rueful eye of watchfulness
toward Mary Cavendish. As he and Cate Culpeper
swung past me, Sir Humphrey’s eyes fell on my
face and he gave a start and blush, and presently,
when the dance was over and his partner seated, came
up to me with hand extended, as if I had been the
noblest guest there. “Harry, Harry,”
he whispered eagerly, “she hath danced with
me three times tonight, and hath promised again, and
Harry, saw you ever any one so beautiful as she in
that blue dress?”
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