As the squire still stood gloomily staring, now at the departing Whigs, now at the blazing barn, and now at his stable and other buildings, Clarion, who had taken a great interest in the last hour’s doings, suddenly pricked up his ears and then ran forward to a snow-drift within a few yards of the burning building. Here he halted and gave vent to a series of loud yelps. Limping forward, the squire heard his name called in a faint voice, and the next instant discovered Philemon hidden in the snow.

“I’m bad hurt, squire,” he groaned; “but I made out to crawl from the barn.”

“Gadsbodikins!” exclaimed Mr. Meredith. “Why, Phil, I e’en forgot ye for the moment. Here ’s a pass, indeed. And none but women and a one-legged man to help ye, now ye re found.”

It took the whole household to carry Philemon indoors, and as it was impossible, in the squire’s legless and horseless condition, to send for aid, Mrs. Meredith became the surgeon. The wound proved to be a shoulder cut, serious only from the loss of blood it had entailed, and after it was washed and bandaged the patient was put to bed. Daylight had come by the time this had been accomplished, and the squire was a little cheered to find that the snow on the roofs of his farm buildings had prevented the sparks of the barn from igniting them.

Twenty-four hours elapsed before help came to the household, and then it was in the form of Harcourt’s dragoons. From Tarleton it was learned that the fugitives, on their arrival at Brunswick, asserted that Washington’s whole army had attacked them, and was in full advance upon the post,— news which had kept the whole force under arms for hours, and prevented any attempt to come to the assistance of the detachment. When the major learned that eighty picked troops had been killed or captured by a hundred raw militia, his language was more picturesque than quotable. There was nothing to be done, however; and after they had vowed retaliation for the subaltern, buried the dead, and the surgeon had looked at Phil’s wound and approved of Mrs. Meredith’s treatment, the squadron rode back to Brunswick.

This and other like experiences served to teach the English that it was not safe to send out foraging parties, and for a time active warfare practically ceased. The Continental forces, reduced at times to less than a thousand men, were not strong enough to attack the enemy’s posts, and the British, however much they might grumble over a fare of salt food, preferred it to fresher victuals when too highly seasoned with rifle bullets.

The Merediths were somewhat better provided, Sukey’s store-rooms proving to have many an unransacked cupboard, while the farmers in the vicinity, however bare they had apparently been stripped, were able, when money was offered, to supply poultry, eggs, milk, and many other comforts, which through lack of stock and labour Greenwood could no longer furnish.

His wound was therefore far from an ill to the lieutenant of horse, since it not merely relieved him from the stigma of the surrender, but saved him from the privation of the poor food and cramped quarters his fellow troopers were enduring at Brunswick. Nor did he count as the least advantage the tendance that Janice, half by volition and half by compulsion, gave him. When at last he was able to come downstairs, the days were none too long as he sat and watched her nimble fingers sew, or embroider, or work at some other of her tasks.

One drawback there was to this joy. In spite of strict orders against straggling, many a red-coated officer risked punishment for disobedience, and capture by the enemy, by sneaking through the pickets and spending long hours at Greenwood. Though Phil’s service had given him much more tongue and assurance than of yore, he was still unable to cope with them; and, conscious that he cut but a poor figure to the girl when they were present, he was at times jealous and quarrelsome.

Twice he laid his anxieties and desires before the squire and begged for an immediate wedding, but that worthy was by no means as ready as once he had been; for while convinced of the eventual success of the British, he foresaw unsettled times in the immediate future, and knew that the marriage of his girl to an officer of the English army was a serious if not decisive step. Yet delay was all he wished, being too honest a man to even think of breaking faith with the young fellow; and finally one evening, when he had become genial over a due, or rather undue, amount of Madeira and punch, he was won over by Philemon’s earnest persuasions, and declared that the wedding should take place before the British broke up their winter quarters and marched to Philadelphia.

The next morning the squire had no remembrance of his evening’s pledge, but he did not seek to cry off from it when reminded by Philemon. Mrs. Meredith was called into conclave, and then Janice was summoned and told of the edict.

“And now, lass, thou hast got thyself and us into more than one scrape,” ended the father, “so come and give thy dad a kiss to show that thou ’rt cured of thy wrong-headedness and will do as thy mother and I wish.”

Without a word Janice went to her father and kissed him; then she flung her arms about his neck, buried her head in his shoulder, and burst into tears.

The squire had been quite prepared for the conduct of two years previous and had steeled himself to enforce obedience, but this contrary behaviour took him very much aback.

“Why, Jan,” he expostulated, “this is no way to carry on when a likely young officer bespeaks ye in marriage. Many ’s the maid would give her left hand to—”

“But I don’t love him,” sobbed the girl.

“And who asked if thou didst, miss?” inquired her mother, who by dint of nursing Phil had become his strong partisan. “Dost mean to put thy silly whims above thy parents’ judgments?”

“But you would n’t do as your father wished, and married dadda,” moaned Janice.

"A giddy, perverse child I was,” retorted Mrs. Meredith; “and another art thou, to fling the misbehaviour in thy mother’s face.”

“Nay, nay, Patty—” began the squire; but whether he was stepping forward in defence of his wife or his daughter he was not permitted to say, for Mrs. Meredith continued:—

“We’ll set the wedding for next Thursday, if that suits thee, Philemon?”

“You can’t name a day too soon for me, marm,” assented Philemon, eagerly; “and as I just hearn the sound of hoofs outside, ’t is likely some officers has arrived, and I’ll speak ter them so ’s ter get word ter the chaplain, and ter my regiment. You need n’t be afraid, Miss Janice, that ’t won’t be done in high style. Like as not, General Grant will put the whole post under arms.” In truth, the lover was not at his ease, and was glad enough for an excuse which took him from the room. Nor was he less eager to announce his success to his comrades, hoping it would put an end to their attentions to his bride.

“Then ye’ll do as I bid ye, Jan?” questioned her father.

“Yes, dadda,” Janice assented dutifully, while striving to stifle her sobs. “I—I’ve been a—a—wicked creature, I know, and now I’ll do as you and mommy tell me.”

If Philemon had been made uneasy by the girl’s tears, her manner during the balance of the day did not tend to make him happier. Her sudden gravity and silence were so marked that his fellow-officers who had come to supper, and who did not know the true situation, rallied them both on Miss Meredith’s loss of spirits.

“I’ faith,” declared Sir Frederick Mobray, moved perhaps by twinges of the little green monster, “but for the lieutenant’s word I’d take oath ’t was a funeral we were to attend, and issue orders for the casing of colours and muffling of drums. In the name of good humour, Mr. Meredith, have in the spirits, and I’ll brew a punch that shall liquidate the gloom.”

After one glass of the steaming drink, the ladies, as was the custom, rose to leave the room. At the door Janice was intercepted by Peg, with word that Sukey wished to advise with her anent some matter, so the maid did not follow her mother, but turned and entered the kitchen.

The cook was not in view; but as the girl realised the fact, a cloaked man suddenly stepped from behind the chimney breast, and before the scream that rose to Janice’s lips could escape, a firm hand was laid on them. Yet, even in the moment of surprise, the girl was conscious that, press as the fingers might, there was still an element of caress in their touch.

“I seem doomed to fright you, Miss Meredith,” said Brereton, “but, indeed, ’t is not intentional. Twice in the last week I’ve tried to gain speech of you without success, and so to-night have taken desperate means.” He took his hand from her mouth. “This time I know myself safe in your hands. Ah, Miss Janice, wilt not forgive me the suspicion? for not one easy hour have I had since I knew how I had wronged you. I was sent to eastward with despatches to the New England governors, or nothing would have kept me from earlier seeking you to crave a pardon.”

“Yet thou wouldst not believe me, sir, when I sent thee word.”

“Sent me word, when?”

“By Lord Clowes.”

“Clowes?”

“Yes. The morning after you were captivated.”

“Not one word did he speak to me from the moment I was trapped until—until you, like a good angel, as now I know, came to my rescue.” He bowed his head and pressed his lips upon the palm of her hand.

The girl was beginning an explanation when a loud laugh from the dining-room recalled to her the danger. “You must not stay,” she protested, as she caught away her hand, which the aide had continued holding. “There are five—”

“I know it,” interrupted Jack; “and if you ’d not come to me, I’d have burst in on them rather than have my third ride futile.”

“Oh, go; please go!” begged the girl, his reckless manner adding yet more to her alarm.

“Say that you forgive me,” pleaded the officer, catching her hands.

“Yes, yes, anything; only go!” besought Janice, as a second laugh from the dining-room warned her anew of the peril.

Jack stooped and kissed each hand in turn, but even as he did so one of the officers in the next room bawled:—

“Here ’s a toast to Leftenant Hennion and his bride,— hip, hip, hip, bumpers!”

Janice felt herself caught by both shoulders, with all the tenderness gone from the touch.

“What does that mean?” the aide demanded, his face very close to her own.

The girl, with bowed head, partly in shame, and partly to escape the blazing eyes which fairly burned her own, replied: “I am to marry Mr. Hennion next Thursday.”

“Willingly?” burst from her questioner, as if the word were shot from a bomb.

”No.”

“Then you’ll do nothing of the kind,” denied Brereton, with a sudden gaiety of voice. “My horse is hid in the woods by the river; but say the word, and you shall be under Lady Washington’s protection at Morristown before daylight.”

“And what then?” questioned the girl.

“Then? Why, a marriage with me the moment you’ll give me ay.”

“But I care no more for you than I do for Mr. Hennion; and even—”

“But I’ll make you care for me,” interrupted Jack, ardently.

“And even if I did,” concluded Janice, “you yourself helped to teach me what the world thinks of elopements.”

“Ah, don’t let—don’t deny—”

“No, once for all; and release me, sir, I beg.”

“Not till you swear to me that this accursed wedding is not to take place till Thursday.”

“Of course not.”

“And where is it to be?”

“At the church in Brunswick.”

“And is the looby with his regiment or staying here?”

“Here.”

Brereton laughed gaily, and more loudly than was prudent. “A bet and a marvel,” he bantered: “a barley-corn to Miss Janice Meredith, that the sweetest, most bewitching creature in the world lacks a groom on her wedding day! I must not tarry, for ’t is thirty miles to Morristown, and three days is none too much time for what I would do. Farewell,” Jack ended, once more catching her hands and kissing them. He hurriedly crossed the room, but as he laid hold of the latch he as suddenly turned and strode back to the maid. “Has he ever kissed you?” he demanded, with a savage scowl on his face.

“Never!” impulsively cried the girl, while the colour flooded into her cheeks.

“Bless him for a cold-blooded icicle!” joyfully exclaimed the officer; and before Janice could realise his intention she was caught in his arms and fervently kissed. The next moment a door slammed, and he was gone, leaving the girl leaning for very want of breath against the chimney side, with redder cheeks than ever.

The colour still lingered the next morning to such an extent that it was commented upon by both her parents, who found in it proof that she was now reconciled to their wishes. Had they been closer observers, they would have noticed that several times in the course of the day it waxed or waned without apparent reason, that their daughter was singularly restless, and that any sound out of doors caused her to start and listen. Not even the getting out and trying on of her wedding gown seemed to interest her. Yet nothing occurred to break the usual monotony of the life.

Her state of nervous expectancy on the second day was shown when the inevitable contingent of English officers arrived a little before dinner; for as they appeared without previous warning in the parlour door, Janice gave a scream, which startled Philemon, who was relying upon but two legs of his chair, into a pitch over backward, and brought the squire’s gouty foot to the floor with a bump and a wail of pain.

“Body o’ me!” ejaculated one of the new-corners. “Dost take us for Satan himself, that ye greet us so?”

“Tush, man!” corrected Mobray. “Miss Meredith could not see under our cloaks, and so, no doubt, thought us rebels. Who wouldn’t scream at the prospect of an attack of the Continental blue devils—eh, Miss Janice?”

“Better the blue devils,” retorted Janice, “than a scarlet fever.”

“Hah, hah!” laughed a fellow-officer. “’T was you got us into that, Sir Frederick. Lieutenant Hennion, your first task after to-morrow’s ceremony is plain and clear.

“Would that I had the suppression of this rebellion!” groaned the baronet, “’stead of one which fights us with direst cold and hunger, to say nothing of the scurvy and the putrid fever.”

For the next few hours cold and hunger and disease were not in evidence, however; and it took little persuasion from the squire, who dearly loved jovial company, to induce the visitors to stay on to tea, and then to supper.

While they were enjoying the latter, the interruption Janice had expected came at last. In the midst of the cheer, the hall door was swung back so quietly that no one observed it, and only when he who opened it spoke did those at table realise the new arrival. Then the sight of the blue uniform with buff facings brought every officer to his feet and set them glancing cornerward, to where their side arms were stood.

“I grieve to intrude upon so mirthful a company,” apologised the new arrival, bowing. “But knowing of the unstinted hospitality of Greenwood, I made bold, Mrs. Meredith, to tell a friend that we could scarce fail of a welcome.” Brereton turned to say, “This way, Harry, after thou’st disposed thy cloak and hat,” and entered the room.

“Odds my life!” burst out the baronet, as the second interloper, garbed in Continental dragoon uniform, entered and bowed respectfully to the company. “What ’s to pay here?”

“But nay,” went on Brereton, “I see your table is already filled, so we’ll not inconvenience you by our intrusion. Perhaps, however, Miss Janice will fill us each a glass from you bowl of punch. ’T is a long ride to Morristown, and a stirrup cup will not be amiss. Yet stay again. Let me first puff off my friend to you. Ladies and gentleman, Captain Henry Lee, better known as Light Horse Harry.”

“May I perish, but this impudence passes belief!” gasped one of the officers. “Dost think thou ’rt not prisoners?”

“Ho, Jack! I told thee thy harebrainedness and love of adventure would get us into the suds yet,” spoke up Lee. “Then the ninety light horse whom we left surrounding the house are thy troops?” he questioned laughingly, of the four officers.

“Devil pick your bones, the two of you!” swore Mobray. “Wast not enough that we should be so confoundedly gapped, but you must come with the bowl but half emptied. Hast thou no bowels for gentlemen and fellow-officers?”

“Fooh!” quizzed Brereton. “Pick up the bowl and down with it at a gulp, man. Never let it be said that an officer of the Welsh Fusileers made bones of a half-full—” There the speaker caught himself short, and suddenly turned his back on the table.

“Whom have we here?” demanded the baronet. “By Heavens, Charlie, who’d think— Does Sir William know of—?”

“’S death!” cried Jack, facing about, and meeting the questioner eye to eye. “Canst not hold thy tongue, man?” Then he went on less excitedly: “I am Leftenant-Colonel John Brereton, aide-de-camp to his Excellency General Washington.”

For a moment Sir Frederick stood speechless, then he held out his hand, saying: “And a good fellow, I doubt not, despite a bad trade. Fair lady,” he continued after the handshake, “since we are doomed for the moment to be captives of some one other than thee, help to cheer us in the exchange by filling us each a parting glass. Come, Charlie, canst give us one of thy old-time toasts?”

Brereton laughed, as he took a glass from the girl. “’T is hardly possible, with ladies present, to fit thy taste, Fred. However, here goes: Honour, fame, love, and wealth may desert us, but thirst is eternal.”

“Even in captivity, thank a kind Providence,” ejaculated one of the officers, as he set down his drained tumbler.

“Now, gentlemen, boots and saddles, an’ it please you,” suggested Lee, politely.

“Thee’ll not force a wounded man to take such exposure," protested Mrs. Meredith. “Lieutenant Hennion—”

Brereton carried on the speech: “Can drink punch and study divinity. I’ll warrant he’s not so near to death’s door but he can bear one-half the ride of our poor starved troopers and beasts.”

“Farewell, Miss Janice,” groaned the baronet; “’t was thy beauty baited this trap.”

Jack lingered a moment after Lee and the prisoners had passed into the hallway.

“Can I have a moment’s word with you apart, Miss Meredith?” he asked.

“Most certainly not,” spoke up the squire, recovering from the dumbness into which the rapid occurrences of the last three minutes had reduced him. “If ye have aught to say to my lass, out with it here.”

“’T is—’t is just a word of farewell.”

“I like not thy farewells,” answered the girl, colouring.

“For once we agree, Miss Janice,” replied the officer, boldly; “and did it rest with me, there should never be another.” He bowed, and went to the door. “Mr. Meredith,” he said, “I’ve stolen a husband from your daughter. ’T is a debt I am ready to pay on demand.”