Living so continually in her own circle of ideas, and neverregulating her mind by a proper reference to present things, EstherDudley appears to have grown partially crazed. It was found that shehad no right sense of the progress and true state of the RevolutionaryWar, but held a constant faith that the armies of Britain werevictorious on every field, and destined to be ultimately triumphant.
Whenever the town rejoiced for a battle won by Washington, or Gates,or Morgan, or Greene, the news, in passing through the door of theProvince House, as through the ivory gate of dreams, becamemetamorphosed into a strange tale of the prowess of Howe, Clinton,or Cornwallis. Sooner or later it was her invincible belief thecolonies would be prostrate at the footstool of the King. Sometimesshe seemed to take for granted that such was already the case. Onone occasion, she startled the townspeople by a brilliant illuminationof the Province House, with candles at every pane of glass, and atransparency of the King's initials and a crown of light in thegreat balcony window. The figure of the aged woman in the mostgorgeous of her mildewed velvets and brocades was seen passing fromcasement to casement, until she paused before the balcony, andflourished a huge key above her head. Her wrinkled visage actuallygleamed with triumph, as if the soul within her were a festal lamp.
"What means this blaze of light? What does old Esther's joyportend?" whispered a spectator. "It is frightful to see her glidingabout the chambers, and rejoicing there without a soul to bear hercompany.""It is as if she were making merry in a tomb," said another.
"Pshaw! It is no such mystery," observed an old man, after somebrief exercise of memory. "Mistress Dudley is keeping jubilee forthe King of England's birthday."Then the people laughed aloud, and would have thrown mud againstthe blazing transparency of the King's crown and initials, only thatthey pitied the poor old dame, who was so dismally triumphant amid thewreck and ruin of the system to which she appertained.
Oftentimes it was her custom to climb the weary staircase thatwound upward to the cupola, and thence strain her dimmed eyesightseaward and countryward, watching for a British fleet, or for themarch of a grand procession, with the King's banner floating overit. The passengers in the street below would discern her anxiousvisage, and send up a shout, "When the golden Indian on the ProvinceHouse shall shoot his arrow, and when the cock on the Old Southspire shall crow, then look for a Royal Governor again!"- for this hadgrown a byword through the town. And at last, after long, longyears, old Esther Dudley knew, or perchance she only dreamed, that aRoyal Governor was on the eve of returning to the Province House toreceive the heavy key which Sir William Howe had committed to hercharge. Now it was the fact that intelligence bearing some faintanalogy to Esther's version of it was current among the townspeople.
She set the mansion in the best order that her means allowed, and,arraying herself in silks and tarnished gold, stood long before theblurred mirror to admire her own magnificence. As she gazed, thegray and withered lady moved her ashen lips, murmuring half aloud,talking to shapes that she saw within the mirror, to shadows of herown fantasies, to the household friends of memory, and bidding themrejoice with her and come forth to meet the Governor. And whileabsorbed in this communion, Mistress Dudley heard the tramp of manyfootsteps in the street, and, looking out at the window, beheld whatshe construed as the Royal Governor's arrival.
"O happy day! O blessed, blessed hour!" she exclaimed. "Let mebut bid him welcome within the portal, and my task in the ProvinceHouse, and on earth, is done!"Then with tottering feet, which age and tremulous joy caused totread amiss, she hurried down the grand staircase, her silks sweepingand rustling as she went, so that the sound was as if a train ofspectral courtiers were thronging from the dim mirror. And EstherDudley fancied that as soon as the wide door should be flung open, allthe pomp and splendor of by-gone times would pace majestically intothe Province House, and the gilded tapestry of the past would bebrightened by the sunshine of the present. She turned the key-withdrew it from the lock- unclosed the door- and stepped across thethreshold. Advancing up the court-yard appeared a person of mostdignified mien, with tokens, as Esther interpreted them, of gentleblood, high rank, and long-accustomed authority, even in his walk andevery gesture. He was richly dressed, but wore a gouty shoe, which,however, did not lessen the stateliness of his gait. Around and behindhim were people in plain civic dresses, and two or three war-wornveterans, evidently officers of rank, arrayed in a uniform of blue andbuff. But Esther Dudley, firm in the belief that had fastened itsroots about her heart, beheld only the principal personage, and neverdoubted that this was the long-looked-for Governor, to whom she was tosurrender up her charge. As he approached, she involuntarily sank downon her knees and tremblingly held forth the heavy key.
