CHAPTER XXVII.
A WATCH IN THE NIGHT.
The Superior of the House of the Jesuits sat in his sanctum lost in thought. The beautiful faces from the walls smiled a gracious welcome, and the grand tones of the cathedral organ still floated in the air, but he heeded them not. Looking impatiently at the clock, he muttered, “It is time he were here!”
As if in answer to his summons, the figure of a man appeared at the open door. He stood with cringing servility before the Jesuit. It was the soldier to whom Monseigneur Ryder had given a commission on the night of Princess Elizabeth Stuyvesant’s death.
“Ah, Caspar Swarte! I should think it about time that you appeared to give an account of yourself. Why have you dallied so long? Know you not that the business of the Church requires haste?”
“Pardon, your reverence! Believe me, I have not wasted the time. For months I have followed Francis Junius about, but each time, when I
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