“Let me tell thee, Joris, I was thinking of myself, as well as of thee.  For while thy grandfather talked of Aaron Burr, this thought came into my mind—­if to Annie Hyde my Joris is married, he will live in England, and I shall see him no more in this world.  But if to Cornelia Moran he is married, when his father goes to England, then here he will stay; he will live at Hyde Manor, and I shall go to see him, and he will call here to see me;—­and then, many good days came into my thoughts.  Yes, yes, in every kind thing, in every good thing, somewhere there is hid a little bit of our own will and way.  Always, if I look with straight eyes, I can find it.”  “Get me the winders, grandmother; for now you have given me a reason to hurry.”

“But why so quickly must you go?”

“Look at me!  It will take me two hours to dress.  I have had no dinner—­I want to think—­you understand, grandmother?”

Then she went into the best parlour, and opening one of the shutters let in sufficient light to find in the drawer of a little Chinese cabinet some ivory winders of very curious design and workmanship.  She folded them in soft tissue paper and handed them to her grandson with a pleasant nod; and the young man slipped them into his waistcoat pocket, and then went hurriedly away.

He had spoken of his dinner, but though somewhat hungry, he made but a light meal.  His dress seemed to him the most vitally important thing of the hour; and no girl choosing her first ball gown could have felt more anxious and critical on the subject.  His call was to be considered an accidental one; and he could not therefore dress as splendidly as if it were a ceremonious or expected visit.  After much hesitation, he selected a coat and breeches of black velvet, a pearl-coloured vest, and cravat and ruffles of fine English bone lace.  Yet when his toilet was completed, he was dissatisfied.  He felt sure more splendid apparel set off his dark beauty to greater advantage; and yet he was equally sure that more splendid apparel would not—­on this occasion—­be as suitable.

Doubting and hoping, he reached the Van Ariens’ house soon after seven o’clock.  It was not quite dark, and Jacob Van Ariens stood on the stoop, smoking his pipe and talking to a man who had the appearance of a workman; and who was, in fact, the foreman of his business quarters in the Swamp.

“Good-evening, sir,” said George with smiling politeness.  “Is Miss Van Ariens within?”

“Within?  Yes.  But company she has tonight,” said the watchful father, as he stood suspicious and immovable in the entrance.

It did not seem to George as if it would be an easy thing to pass such a porter at the door, but he continued,

“I have come with a message to Miss Van Ariens.”

“A very fine messenger!” answered Van Ariens, slightly smiling.

“A fine lady deserves a fine messenger.  But, sir, if you will do my errand for me, I am content.  ’Tis from Madame Van Heemskirk—­”