The sound of shots outside put a sudden termination to the supper in both the dining-room and kitchen of Greenwood, and served to bring inmates and candles to the front and back doors. Beyond the moment’s rush of a body of horsemen past the house, no light on the interruption was obtained, until some of the escort of Clowes were despatched to the stable to learn if all was well with their horses. There they found the wounded man stretched on the snow, and just within the doorway lay Janice in a swoon, with Clarion licking her face. Both were carried to the house, and while Mrs. Meredith and the sergeant endeavoured to save the officer by a rude tourniquet, the squire held Janice’s head over some feathers which Peg burned in a bed-warmer.

“Did they kill him?” was the first question the girl asked, when the combined stench and suffocation had revived consciousness.

“He ’s just expiring,” her father replied. “His arm was struck off above the elbow, and he bleeds like a stuck pig.”

Janice staggered up, though somewhat languidly. “May— “Did he ask to see me?”

“Not he,” she was told. “Come, lass, sit quiet for a bit till thy head is steady, and tell us what ’t was all about.”

Janice sank into the chair her father set beside the fire. “He was on some mission for his Excellency,” she gasped, “and stopped here to get a fresh horse—that was how I came to know it—and while we were talking we heard the dragoons coming, so he mounted, to escape. Then I heard a cry—oh! such a cry—and the pistols—and—and—that ’s all I remember.”

“Why went he to the stable rather than to the house in the first case?” demanded her father.

Janice looked surprised. “He knew the troopers were here,” she explained.

The squire was about to speak, when Clowes’ hand on his shoulder checked him. “There’s more here than we understand,” the latter whispered. “Let me ask the questions.” He came to the fire and said:—

“Why did he take this route, if he was bearing despatches?”

The first sign of colour came creeping back into the pale cheeks of the girl, as she recalled the double motive the aide had given. “Colonel Brereton said he did not know the westerly roads, and so—”

“Colonel Brereton!” rapped out her father. “And what was he doing hereabout? Plague take the scamp that he must be forever returning to worry us!”

“How much of a force had he with him?” asked the commissary.

“He was alone,” replied Janice.

“Alone!” exclaimed the baron, incredulously; then his face lost its look of surprise. “He came by stealth to see you,

There was enough truth in the supposition to destroy the last visible signs of the girl’s swoon, and she responded over-eagerly: “I told you he was on a mission for his Excellency, and but stopped here to get a fresh horse.”

“Ay,” growled the squire, “he steals himself, then steals my crop, and now turns horse thief.”

“He was not stealing, dadda,” denied Janice. “His own horse was tired, so he left her and said he’d return Joggles some time to-morrow evening.”

Clowes whistled softly, as he and the squire exchanged glances. Just as the former was about to resume his questioning, the sound of the front door being violently thrown open gave him pause, and the next instant Phil hurriedly entered the room.

“The troopers at the stable say ye found Captain Boyde. Is he bad hurt?” he demanded.

“To the death,” spoke up the squire, for once missing the commissary’s attempt to keep him silent. “Hast caught Brereton?”

Janice had sprung to her feet and now stood listening, with a half-eager, half-frightened look.

“Brereton!” cried Philemon. “Did he head the party?”

The growing complexity was too much for the patience of the simple-minded owner of Greenwood. “May Belza have us all,” he fumed, “if I can see the bottom or even the sides of this criss-cross business. Just tell us a straight tale, lad, if we are not to have the jingle brains.”

“’T is a swingeing bad business,” groaned Phil. “Our troop rode over from Princeton ter-day, an’ the houses at Brunswick bein’ full of soldiers, I tells ’em that we could find quarters here. We was gropin’ our way when the enemy set upon us, an’ in the surprise cuts down the captain, an’ captures three of our men.”

“Dost mean to say ye let one man kill your captain and take three of ye prisoners?” scoffed the squire.

“One man!” protested the dragoon. “Think you one man could do that?”

“Janice insists that there was but Brereton—but Charles Fownes, now a rebel colonel.”

“You may lay ter it there was mor’n—” Then Philemon wavered, for the sight of the flushed, guilty look on the girl’s face gave a new bent to his thoughts. “What was he here for?” he vociferated, growing angrily red as he spoke and striding to the fire. “So he’s doin’ the Jerry Sneak about you yet, is he? I tell you, squire, I won’t have it.”

“Keep thy blustering and bullying for the mess-room and the tavern, sir,” rebuked Clowes, sharply, also showing temper. “What camp manners are these to bring into gentlemen’s houses and exhibit in the presence of ladies?”

“’S death, sir,” retorted Phil, hotly, “I take my manners from no man, nor—”

“Hoighty, toighty!” chided Mrs. Meredith, entering. “Is there not wind enough outside but ye must bellow like mad bulls within?”

“Ay,” assented the squire, “no quarrelling, gentlemen, for we’ve other things to set to. Phil, there is no occasion to go off like touchwood; ’t is not as thee thinks. What is true, however, is that we’ve a chance to catch this same rogue of a Brereton, if we but lay heads together.”

“Oh, dadda!” expostulated Janice. “You’ll not—for I promised him to tell nothing—and never would have spoken had I not been dazed—and thinking him dead. I should die of—”

“Fudge, child!” retorted Mr. Meredith. “We’ll have no heroics over a runaway redemptioner who is fighting against our good king. Furthermore, we must know all else he told ye.”

“I passed him my promise to keep secret—”

“And of that I am to be judge,” admonished the parent. “Dost think thyself of an age to act for thyself? Come: out with it; every word he spake.”

“I’ll not break my faith,” rejoined Janice, proudly, her eyes meeting her father’s bravely, though the little hands trembled as she spoke, half in fright and half in excitement.

“Nay, Miss Janice, ye scruple foolishly,” advised Lord Clowes. “Remember the old adage, that ‘A bad promise, like a good cake, is better broken than kept.’”

“‘Children, obey thy parents in the Lord, for this is right,’” quoted Mrs. Meredith, sternly.

“God never meant for me to lie—and that ’s what you would have me do.”

The squire stepped into the hail, and returned with his riding-whip. “Thou ’rt a great girl to be whipped, Janice,” he announced; “but if thou ’rt not old enough to obey, thou ’rt not too old for a trouncing. Quickly, now, which wilt thou have?”

“You can kill me, but I’ll keep my word,” panted the maiden, while shaking with fear at her resistance, at the threatened punishment, and still more at the shame of its publicity.

Forgetful of everything in his anger, the squire strode toward his daughter to carry out his threat. Ere he had crossed the room, however, to where she stood, his way was barred by Philemon.

“Look a-here, squire,” the officer remonstrated, “I ain’t a-goin’ ter stand by and see Janice hit, no ways, so if there ’s any thrashin’ ter be done, you’ve got ter begin on me.”

“Out of my way!” roared Mr. Meredith.

Phil folded his arms. “I’ve said my say,” he affirmed, shaking his head obstinately; “and if that ain’t enough, I’ll quit talkin’ and do something.”

“The boy ’s right, Meredith,” assented Clowes. “Nor do we need more of her. Send the girl to bed, and then I’ll have something to say.”

Reluctantly the squire yielded; and Janice, with glad tears in her eyes, turned and thanked Philemon by a glance that meant far more than any words. Then she went to her room, only to lie for hours staringly awake, listening to the wild whirring and whistling of the wind as she bemoaned her unintentional treachery to the aide, and sought for some method of warning him.

“I must steal away to-morrow to the Van Meters’ barn at nightfall,” was her conclusion, “and wait his coming, to tell him of my—of my mistake, for otherwise he may bring Joggles back and be captured. If I can only do it without being discovered, for dadda—” and the anxious, overwrought, tired girl wept the rest of the sentence into her pillow.

Meantime, in the room below, Lord Clowes unfolded his plan and explained why he had wished the maiden away.

“’T is obvious thy girl has an interest in this fellow,” he surmised, “and so ’t is likely she will try to-morrow evening to see him, or get word to him. Our scheme must therefore be to let her go free, but to see to ’t that we know what she’s about, and be prepared to advantage ourselves by whatever comes to pass.”

The storm ceased before the winter daylight, and with the stir of morning came information concerning the missing dragoons: the body of one was found close to the stable, with a bullet in his back, presumably a chance shot from one of his comrades; a second rode up and reported himself, having in the storm lost his way, and wellnigh his life, which he owed only to the lucky stumbling upon the house of one of the tenants; and Clarion discovered the third, less fortunate than his fellow, frozen stiff within a quarter of a mile of Greenwood.

“’T is most like that rebel colonel and horse-thief shared the same fate, for ’t was a wild night,” remarked Clowes at the breakfast table. “Howbeit, ’t will be best to have some troops hid in your stable against this evening, for he may have weathered the storm.”

The morning meal despatched, Philemon rode over to Brunswick to report the death of his superior to the colonel, as well as to unfold the trap they hoped to spring, and Harcourt considered the news so material that he and Major Tarleton accompanied Philemon on his return. After a plentiful justice to the dinner and to the decanters, the men, as the early winter darkness came on, settled down to cards, while Mrs. Meredith, in mute protest against the use of the devil’s pictures, left the room, summoned Peg, and in the garret devoted herself to the mysteries of setting up a quilting-frame. As for the dragoons, they sprawled and lounged about the kitchen, playing cards or toss, and grumbling at the quantity and quality of the Greenwood brew of small beer, till Sukey was wellnigh desperate.

Had Janice been older and more experienced, the very unguardedness would have aroused her suspicions. To her it seemed, however, but the arrangement of a kind destiny, and not daring to risk a delay till after tea, when conditions might not again so favour her, she left the work she had sat down to in the parlour after dinner, and tiptoeing through the hall, lest she should disturb the card-players in the squire’s office, she secured her warmest wrap. Returning to the parlour, she softly raised a window, and, slipping out, in another moment was within the concealing hedge-row of box.

Speeding across the garden, the girl crept through a break in the hedge, then, stooping low, she followed a stone wall till the road was reached. No longer in sight of the house, she hurried on boldly, till within sight of the Van Meter farm. She skirted the house at a discreet distance and stole into the barn. With a glance to assure herself that the mare was still there, and a kindly pat as she passed, she mounted into the mow, where for both prudence and warmth she buried herself deep in the hay. Then it seemed to Janice that hours elapsed, the sole sounds being the contented munching of horses and cattle, varied by the occasional stamp of a hoof.

Suddenly the girl sat up, with a realising sense that she had been asleep, and with no idea for how long. A sound below explained her waking, and as she listened, she made out the noise to be that of harnessing or unharnessing. Creeping as near the edge of the mow as she dared, she peered over, but all was blackness.

“Colonel Brereton?” she finally said.

A moment’s silence ensued before she had an answer, though it was eager enough when it came. “Is ’t you, Miss Janice, and where are you?”

The girl came down the ladder and moved blindly toward the stalls. As she did so, somebody came in contact with her; instantly she was enfolded by a pair of arms, and before she could speak she felt a man’s eager lips first on her cheek, and next on her chin.

“Heaven bless you for coming, my darling,” whispered Brereton.

Janice struggled to free herself as Brereton tried to caress her the third time. “Don’t,” she protested. “You—I— How dare you?”

“A pretty question to ask an ardent lover and a desperate man, whose beloved confesses her passion by coming to him!”

“I did n’t!” expostulated the girl, as, desperate with mortification, she broke away from the embrace by sheer strength and fled to the other side of the barn. “How dare you think such things of me?”

“Then for what came you?” inquired Jack.

“To warn you.”

“Of what?”

“That you must not bring Joggles back, for they—the soldiers—are watching the stable.”

“You told them?”

The girl faltered, hating to acknowledge her mistake, now that it was remedied. “If I had, why should I take the risk and the shame of coming here?” she replied.

“Forgive me, Miss Janice, for doubting you, and for my freedom just now. I did—for the moment I thought you like other women. I wanted to think you came to me, even though it cheapened you. And being desperate, I—”

“Why?” questioned the girl.

“I have failed in my mission, thanks to Lee’s folly and selfishness. Would to God the troopers who lie in wait for me would go after him! A quick raid would do it, for he lies eight miles from his army, and with no guard worth a thought. There ’d be a fine prize, if the British did but know it.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” spoke up a deep voice, and at the first word blankets were tossed off two lanterns, followed by a rush of men. For a moment there was a wild hurly-burly, and then Brereton’s voice cried, “I yield!”

As the confusion ended as suddenly as it had begun, he added scornfully:—

“To treachery!”