It was the middle of July when the squire and Phil returned from New York, bringing with them much news of the war preparations, of Washington’s passing through the city, and of the bloody battle of Bunker Hill. Of far more importance, however, to the ladies of Greenwood, were two pieces of information which their lord and master promptly announced. First, that he wished the marriage to take place speedily, and second, that at New York he had met Mr. Evatt, just landed from a South Carolina ship, and intending, as soon as some matter of business was completed, to repeat his former visit to Greenwood,—an intention that the squire had heartily indorsed by the warmest of invitations. Both brought the colour to the cheeks of Janice, but had the parents been watchful, they would have noted that the second bit of news produced the higher tint.

Although Phil was still on apparently good terms with his father, he was, from the time of his return, much at Greenwood; and, his simple nature being quite incapable of deceit, Janice very quickly perceived that his chief motive was not so much the lover’s desire to be near, as it was to keep watch of her. Had the fellow deliberately planned to irritate the girl, he could have hit upon nothing more certain to enrage her, and a week had barely elapsed when matters reached a crisis.

Janice, who, it must be confessed, took pleasure in deliberately arousing the suspicion of Philemon, and thus forcing him to reveal how closely he spied upon her, one evening, as they rose from the supper-table, slipped out of the window and walked toward the stable. Her swain was prompt in pursuit; and she, quite conscious of this, stepped quickly to one side as she passed through the last opening in the box, and stood half-buried in the hedge. Ignorant of her proximity, Philemon came quickly through the hedge, and was promptly made aware of it by her hot words.

“’T is past endurance. I’ll not be spied on so.”

“I—I—Why, Janice, you know how I likes ter be with you,” falteringly explained Hennion.

“Spy, spy, spy—nothing but spy!” rebuked Janice; “I can’t so much as—as go to pick a flower but you are hiding behind a bush.”

“’Deed, Janice, you ’re not fairsome ter me. After you sayin’ what you did about that rake-helly bondsman, ’t is only human ter—”

“To treat me as if I was a slave. Why, Peg has more freedom than I have. If you—I’m going to the stable—to see Charles—and if you dare to follow me, I’ll—” The girl walked away and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Philemon standing by the box, the picture of indecision and anxiety. “He does n’t know that Charles was sent to the village,” thought Janice, laughing merrily to herself as she went to a stall, and pulling the horse’s head down put her cheek against it. “Oh, Joggles dear,” she sighed, “they are all against me but you.” She went from one horse to another, giving each a word and a caress. Then she stole back to the door and peeked through the crack, to find that her shadow had disappeared; this ascertained, she went and sat down on the hay. “If he tortures me, I’ll torture him,” was her thought.

Janice waited thus for but a few minutes, when she heard the rapid trot of a horse, which came to a halt at the stable door. As that sound ceased, the voice of Charles broke the silence, saying, “You stall the horse, while I see the squire;” and, in obedience to this direction, some one led Daisy into the stable. The gloom of nightfall made the interior too dark for the girl to recognise the man, and, not wishing it to be known that she was there, she sat quiet.

For a good ten minutes the man waited, whistling softly the while, before Charles returned.

“Waal, what luck?” asked the stranger ere Charles had come through the doorway.

“Luck!” growled the bondsman. “The devil’s own, as mine always is, curse it!”

“From which I calkerlate that old Meredith wuz obstinate and wud n’t set yer free.”

“Not he, plead my best. But that ’s the last I ask of him; and ’t would have served him as well to let me go, for go I will.”

“You’ll go off without—”

“I will.”

“Yer know what it means if brought back?”

“Double the time. Well, treble it, and still I’ll do it. I gave my word I’d help, and the general shall have the powder, if for nothing else than to spite that dirty coward Bagby though I serve thrice five years for’ t. Tell the lads I’ll lead them, and if they’ll meet me at Drigg’s barn to-morrow evening at ten we’ll scheme out how to do it.”

Without further parley the stranger walked away, and no sooner had the crunch of his boots ceased than Janice came forward.

Charles gave a startled exclamation as she appeared, and caught the girl roughly by the wrist. “Who’s this?” he exclaimed.

“You hurt,” complained Janice.

The bondsman relaxed but not released his hold at the sound of her voice. “You’ve heard all I said?” he demanded.

“Yes. I—I did n’t like to come out while the man was here.”

“And you’ll tell your father?”

“No,” denied the girl. “I did n’t want to listen by stealth, but since I did, I’m no tale-bearer.”

Raising the hand he held by the wrist, Charles kissed it. “I should have known you were no eavesdropper, Miss Janice,” he said, releasing his hold.

“But— Oh, what is it you are going to do?” asked Janice.

“I have your word that it goes no further?”

“Yes.”

“A secret letter came to the Brunswick Committee yester-morn from General Washington, saying that it had just been discovered that their powder account was a lie, and that there were less than ten rounds to each man in stock. He knew by some means of what is here, and he begged the committee to send it to him; for if the British attacked him in his present plight, ’t would be fatal. And yet what think you the committee did?”

“They asked you to take it to him?”

“Not they, the— Ah! there ’s no words to fit them. Old Hennion, mean hunks that he is, wanted them to write and offer to sell it at double what had been paid for ’t, while Bagby would n’t part with it on any terms, because he said ’t was needed by the ‘Invincibles’ to defend the town. The two voted down Parson McClave, who declared that Brunswick should be laid in ashes rather than that Washington should not be helped. Ah, Miss Janice, that ’s a man for these times.”

“Then what dost intend?”

“The parson came to me to counsel what was best, and ’tween us we concocted a plan to outwit the time-servers. There are plenty of fellows of spirit in the ‘Invincibles,’ and ’t is our scheme to steal the powder some night, put it on a sloop, and be to sea before daylight.”

“How monstrous exciting!” exclaimed Janice, her eyes sparkling. “And you—”

“I’ll lead them. I’m desperate enough to do anything that has risk. There’s real fighting there, if the accounts speak true, and perhaps a bullet will cancel both my shame and my bond—ay, and my—my love for you. For I love you, Miss Janice, love you more

Though taken very much by surprise, Janice drew herself up proudly, and interrupted: “You forget—” she began.

“Of course I forget!” broke in the groom. “What would love be worth if it did n’t forget everything but itself? I forget I’m a bond-servant, you ’d say. So I should if I were a king. But you are too heartless to know what love is,” he ended bitterly.

“’T is not so,” denied Janice, angrily; “but I’ll love no redemptioner, though he be as good-looking and good-tempered as you are ill-natured and ugly.”

“And who are you,” demanded the man, passionately, “to take such mighty airs? A daughter of a nobody, dubbed Esquire because he is the biggest bubble in a pint pot.”

“I shall not stay here to be insulted,” cried Janice, moving away. But in the doorway her exasperation got the better of her dignity, and she faced about and said: “You evidently don’t know that my great-grandfather was Edward Byllynge.”

The man laughed contemptuously. “Why, you little ninny,” he retorted, “my great-grandfather was king of England!”

Janice caught hold of the lintel, and stood as if transfixed for a moment, even the mortifying epithet of the groom forgotten in her amazement. “A likely tale!” she ejaculated finally when the first mute surprise was conquered.

The bond-servant had gained control of himself in the pause, for he quietly rejoined: “’T is true enough, though nothing to make boast of, save to those who set great store by grandfathers.” Then, in a sadder tone, he added: “’T was a foolish brag I never thought to make, for it carries more shame than honour, and ’t is therefore best forgotten. Moreover, I ask your pardon for saying what else I did; ’t was my tongue and not my heart which spoke.”

The insult being atoned, Janice came back. “You said you would tell me your history.”

“But then—that was when I hoped—a fool I was.” The redemptioner paused, and then took a quick step toward Janice with an eager look on his face and his hand outstretched. “There is but one woman in the world can gain the right to hear my sorry tale. May I tell it to you?”

Young and inexperienced as the girl was, the implication of the question was too obvious for her to miss, and she replied, “No.”

The man dropped his arm and stood quietly for a moment, then gave a short, abrupt laugh. “Either ’t is my lot to worship clay idols,” he said, “or no woman is worth loving.”

“Small blame to them for not loving you,” rejoined Janice.

“Electing to marry a put like Hennion! There’s a husband of whom to be proud.”

“At least he is no indentured servant,” retorted the girl, in her irritation, walking away from the stable. Once through the garden and in sight of the house, she halted, her attention attracted by some to-do about the porch. Coming swiftly forward, it was to discover the squire there, candle in hand, to light the dismounting of a horseman, and that no less than Mr. Evatt.

“A welcome to ye,” the host was saying. “Peg, tell Charles to come and take this horse. Get ye into the house, man; I’ll hold him. Ah! Jan. Take Mr. Evatt in, lass, and tell your mother we’ve a visitor.”

Janice, feeling strangely shy, led the way to the parlour, and when her mother, after the briefest of greetings, promptly bustled off to order a glass of wine and to inspect the best lodging-room—as guest chambers were then termed—her embarrassment was sufficient to bring the blood glowing into her cheeks, while, not daring so much as to meet Evatt’s eye, she hung her head and had much ado to keep from trembling.

Evatt stood with a broad smile on his face and unconcealed pleasure in his eyes, for in truth the girl made a picture to charm any man; and not till Janice lifted her eyes, and shot a furtive look at him, did he move toward her. He took her hand and whispered: “For nine months I’ve thought me of those lips and wondered when I should have taste of them. Quickly, or thy father will—”

“You must n’t!” gasped Janice, hanging her head more than ever. “I’m to marry Philemon.”

“Tush!” exclaimed the man. “I heard that tarradiddle in York City. Why, thou ’rt promised to me, dost not remember, and I’ll not release thee, that I bind to. Wouldst rather have that clout than me, Janice?”

Very falteringly and still with downcast face the girl murmured, “No.”

“Then I’ll save ye from him, mark my word. Come, up with your lips, and give me a kiss for the promise. What! still frightened? ’T is nothing so terrible. A court lady would have had a dozen kisses in the time I’ve pleaded. And ye are no mere country hoyden, without manners or—”

Already Janice was raising her head, the possibility of seeming countrified being worse even than a man’s caress; but her intended submission and Evatt’s speech were both interrupted by the clump of boots in the hall, and the pair had barely time to assume less tell-tale attitudes when the squire and Phil were standing in the doorway.

“Friend Evatt,” ejaculated Mr. Meredith, “come to my office at once. I’ve a matter needing your advice. Lass, tell your mother to send us the Madeira and rum, with some hot water, but let us not be disturbed.”

Evatt made a grimace as he followed, and threw himself into a chair with a suggestion of irritation.

“This lad, for a reason he won’t tell,” began the squire, as he closed the door, “has kept eye on a bondsman of mine, and this evening, as luck would have it, he stood upon a barrel, by one of the stable windows, and overheard a pretty story the fellow told to some one whom Phil could n’t see. Tell it o’er, lad, as ye told it me.”

Hennion, thus admonished, retold the story of the powder, as the bond-servant had related it to Janice. But two omissions he made: the first being a failure to mention the connection of his father with the matter, and the second the presence of Janice in the stable.

“Here ’s news indeed!” exclaimed Evatt.

“Ay. But what to do with it is the question.”

“Do! Why, get word of it to Howe as quick as may be, so that he may take advantage of their plight. We must send him a letter.”

“’T is easier said than done. Boston is encompassed, and no man can get through the lines.”

“I have it. The ‘Asia’ frigate, with her tender, lies in the lower bay at New York; the latter can be sent round with a letter to Boston. And ye shall bear it, lad,” added Evatt, turning to Phil.

“’T ain’t no wish of mine,” ejaculated Philemon.

“There is no one else we can trust. ’T will be but a month’s affair, at worst.”

“But I don’t care ter go,” dissented Hennion. “I want ter get married ter Miss Janice right off, an’ not—”

“Come, squire, tell the fellow he must n’t shirk his duty to his king. He can marry your daughter any time, but now the moment to do a service to his country. Why, man, if it ends this rebellion, as it seems like to, they’ll give ye a title— and ye, too, squire, I doubt not.”

“He speaks true, Phil. Here ’s a chance, indeed. Put the girl out of thy head for a time, and think a man’s thoughts.”

“Ay,” cried Evatt. “Don’t prove the old saying:

‘He who sighs for a glass without G,
Take away L and that is he.’”

It took much more urging to get Phil to yield, but finally, on a promise of the master of Greenwood that he should wed so soon as he returned, he gave a half-hearted consent. Over the rum a letter to Sir William Howe was written by Evatt, and he and Phil arranged to be up and away betimes in the morning.

“That gets him well out of the way,” remarked Evatt, as in his bedroom he stripped off his clothes. “Now to be as successful with Miss Blushing Innocence.”