The ball had been in full progress for an hour when a masker, who from his entrance had stood leaning against the wall, suddenly left his isolated position and walked up to one of the ladies.

“Conceal your face and figure as you will, Miss Meredith, you cannot conceal your grace. Wilt honour me with this quadrille?”

“La, Sir Frederick! That you should know me, and I never dream it was you!” exclaimed the girl, as she gave her hand and let him lead her to where the figures were being formed. “There have been many guesses among the caps as to the identity of him who has held himself so aloof, but not a one suggested you. The disguise makes you look a good three inches taller.”

As they took position a feminine domino came boldly across the room to them. “Is this the way you keep your word, Sir William?” she demanded in a low voice, made harsh and grating by the fury it expressed.

“You mistake me, madam,” answered the dancer, “though I would such a rapid promotion were a possibility.”

The interloper made a startled step backward. “I have watched you for a quarter hour,” she exclaimed, as she turned away, “and would have sworn to your figure.”

“’T is wonderful,” remarked Janice, “how deceiving a domino can be.”

The dance ended, her partner said: “Miss Meredith, I have something to say to you of deepest consequence. Will you not come away from this crowd?”

“Ah, Sir Frederick,” pleaded the girl, “do not recur to it again. Though you importune me for a day, I could but make the same reply.”

“Sir Frederick passes his word that he will not tease you on that subject to-night; but speak I must concerning this match with Lord Clowes.”

“’T is in vain, sir,” replied Janice; “for every moment convinces me the more that I must wed him, and so you will but make my duty the harder.”

“I beg you to give me a word apart, for I have a message to you from Colonel Brereton.”

Janice’s hand dropped from the officer’s arm. “What is it?” she asked.

“’T is not to be given here,” urged the man. “I pray you to let me order your equipage and take you away. Another dance will be beginning on the moment, and some one will claim you.”

The girl raised her hand and once more placed it on her partner’s arm; taking the motion as a consent to his wishes, the officer led her to the doorway.

“Call Miss Meredith’s chair,” he ordered of the guard grouped about the outer door, and in a moment was able to hand her into the vehicle.

“Where to?” he asked. “I mean—Home!” he cried, in a far louder voice, as if to drown the slip, at the same moment jumping in and taking his seat beside her.

As he did so, the girl shrank away from him toward her corner of the gig. “Who are you?” she cried in a frightened voice.

“Who should I be but John Brereton?”

“Are you mad,” cried the girl, “to thus venture within the lines?”

“The news which brought me was enough to make me so,” answered Jack. “You cannot know what you are doing that you so much as think of marrying that scum. For years he has been nothing but a spy and mackerel, willing to do the dirtiest work, and the scorn of every decent man in London, as here. Are you, are your father and mother, are your friends, all Bedlam-crazed that you even consider it?”

“’T is as horrible to me as it is to you,” moaned Janice; “but it seems the only thing possible. Oh, Colonel Brereton, if you but knew our straits,—dependent for all we have, and with a future still more desperate,—you would not blame me for anything I am doing.” The girl broke into sobs as she ended, and turning from him leaned her head against the leathern curtain, where she wept, regardless of the fact that the aide possessed himself of her hand, and tried to comfort her, until the chaise drew up at its destination. Lifting rather than helping her from the carriage, Jack supported the maiden up the steps and into the hallway; but no sooner were they there than she freed herself from his supporting arm and exclaimed, “You must not stay here. Any instant you might be discovered.”

“Then take me to a room where we can be safe for a moment. I shall not leave you till I have said my say.”

“Ah, please!” begged the girl. “Some one is like to enter even now.”

Jack’s only reply was to turn to the first door and throw it open. Finding that all was dark within, he caught Miss Meredith’s fingers, and drew her in after him, saying, as he did so, “Here we are safe, and you can tell me truly of your difficulties.”

With her hand held in both of the aide’s, Janice began a disconnected outpouring of the tale of her difficulties intermixed by an occasional sob, caused quite as much by the officer’s exclamations of sympathy as by the misery of her position. Before a half of it had been spoken one of the hands grasping hers loosened itself, and she was gently drawn by an encircling arm till her head could find support on his shoulder; not resenting and indeed, scarcely conscious of the clasp, she rested it there with a strange sense of comfort and security.

“Alas!” grieved Brereton, when all had been told, “I am as deep, if not deeper, in poverty than you, and so I can give you no aid in money. Bad as things are, however, there is better possible than selling yourself to that worm, if you will but take it.”

“What?”

“The French have come to our aid at last, and are sending us a fleet. If Howe will but be as slow as usual, and the States but hasten their levies, we shall catch him between the fleet and army and Burgoyne him. Even if he act quickly, he can save himself only by abandoning Philadelphia and consolidating his forces at New York. They may then fight on, for both the strength and the weakness of the British is a natural stupidity which prevents them from knowing when they are beaten, but all doubt as to the outcome will be over. Once more it will be possible for you to dwell at Greenwood, if you will but—”

“But dadda says they will take it away and exile us,” broke in Janice.

“I have no doubt the rag-tag politicians, if not too busy scheming how to cripple General Washington, will set to on some such piece of folly, for by their persecutions and acts of outlawry and escheatage they have driven into Toryism enough to almost offset the Whigs the British plundering has made. But from this you can be saved if you will but let me.” As the officer ended, the clasp of his arm tightened, though it lost no element of the caress.

“How?”

“I stand well in the cause; and though I could not, I fear, save your property to you, they would never take it once it were in Whig hands, and so by a marriage to me you can secure it. Ah, Miss Meredith, you have said you do not love me, and I stand here to-night a beggar, save for the sword I wear; but I love you as never man loved woman before, and my life shall be given to tenderness and care for you. Surely your own home with me is better than exile with that cur! And I’ll make you love me! I’ll woo you till I win you, my sweet, if it take a life to do it.” Raising the hand he held, the aide kissed it fondly. “I know I’ve given you reason to think me disrespectful and rough; I know I have the devil’s own temper; but if I’ve caused you pain at moments, I’ve suffered tenfold in the recollection. Can you not forgive me?” Once again he eagerly caressed her hand; and finding that she offered no resistance to the endearments, Jack, with an inarticulate cry of delight, stooped and pressed his lips to her cheek.

On the instant Janice felt a hand laid on her shoulders, then on her head, as if some one were feeling of her.

“Who is this?” demanded Jack, lifting his head with a start.

The question was scarce uttered when the sound of a blow came to the girl’s ears, and the arm which had been supporting her relaxed its hold, as the lover sank rather than fell to the floor. With loud screams the girl staggered backward, groping her way blindly in the dark. There came the sound of feet hurrying down the hallway, and the door was thrown open by one of the men servants, revealing, by the shaft of light which came through it, the figure of Jack stretched on the floor, with the commissary kneeling upon him, engaged in binding his wrists with a handkerchief.

“Out to the stables, and get me a guard!” ordered Lord Clowes. “I have a spy captured here. No; first light those candles from the lamp in the hall. I advise ye, Miss Meredith,” he said scoffingly, “that next time ye arrange an assignation with a lover that ye take the precaution to assure yourself that the room is unoccupied.”

“Oh, Lord Clowes,” implored the girl, “won’t you let him go for my sake?”

“That plea is the least likely of any to gain your wish,” responded the baron, derisively.

“I will promise that I will never wed him, will never see him again,” offered Janice.

“Of that I can give ye assurance,” retorted the commissary, rising and picking up from where he had dropped it the horse pistol with which he had stunned the unconscious man. “A drum-head court-martial will sit not later than to-morrow morning, Miss Meredith, and there will be one less rebel in the world ere nightfall. Your promise is a fairly safe one to make. Here,” he continued, as the soldiers came running into the room, “fetch a pail of water and douse it over this fellow, for I want to carry him before Sir William. Ye were wise not to remove your wraps, Miss Meredith, for I shall have to ask your company as well.”

When the aide was sufficiently conscious to be able to stand, he was put between two of the soldiers, and ten minutes later the whole party reached the house of the commander-in-chief. Given entrance, without waiting to have their arrival announced, the commissary led the way through the parlour into the back room, where, about a supper table, the British commander, Mrs. Loring, and two officers were sitting.

“Ye must pardon this intrusion, Sir William,” explained Lord Clowes, as Howe, in surprise, faced about, “but we have just caught a spy red-handed, and an important one at that, being none less than Colonel Brereton, an aide of Mr. Washington. Bring him forward, sergeant.”

As Jack was led into the strong light, Mrs. Loring started to her feet with a scream, echoed by an exclamation of “By God!” from one of the officers, while the three or four glasses at Howe’s place were noisily swept into a jumble by the impulsive swing of the general’s arm as he threw himself backward and rested against the table.

“Charlie, Charlie!” cried Mrs. Loring. “You here?”

Standing rigidly erect, the aide said coldly, “My name is John Brereton; nor have I the honour of your acquaintance.”

“What’s to do here?” ejaculated Lord Clowes. “I know the man to be what he says, and that he has come in disguise within our lines to spy.”

Without looking at the commissary, Jack answered: “I wore no disguise when I passed through your lines, nor have I for a moment laid aside my uniform.”

“Call ye those rags a uniform?” jeered the commissary.

Howe gave a hearty laugh. “Why, yes, baron,” he answered. “Know you not the rebel colours by this time?”

“And how about the domino he wears over them, and the mask I hold in my hand?” contended Lord Clowes.

“I procured them this evening at the Franklin house in Second Street, as you will learn by sending some one to inquire, merely to attend the ball.”

A second exclamation broke from Mrs. Loring: “Then ’t was you I mistook for—Sir William, I thought ’t was you from his figure.”

Again the general laughed. “Ho, Loring,” said he to one of the officers. “What say you to that?”

“Take and hang me, or send me to the pest hole you kill your prisoners in, but let me get away from here,” raged Jack, white with passion, as he gave a futile wrench in an attempt to free his hands.

“Art so anxious to be hanged, boy?”

“’T is a fit end to a life begun as mine was!” answered the aide.

“Oh, Sir William,” spoke up Janice,” he did not come to spy, but only to see me. You will not hang him for that, surely?"

“Yoicks! Must you snare, even into the hangman’s noose, every one that looks but at you, Miss Janice? If the day ever comes when the innocent no longer swing for the guilty, ’t is you will be hung.”

“We lose time over this badinage, Sir William,” complained the commissary, angrily. “The fellow is a spy without question.”

“He is not,” cried Mrs. Loring; “and he shall not even be a prisoner. You will not hold him, Sir William, when he came but to see the maid he loves?”

“Come, sir,” said the general. “Wilt ask thy life of me?”

“No. And be damned to you!”

“You see, Jane.”

“I care not what he says; you shall let him go free.”

“Are ye all mad?” fumed the commissary.

“He ever had the art of getting the women on his side, Clowes,” laughed Sir William, good-naturedly. “How the dear creatures love a man of fire! Look you, boy, with such a friend as Mrs. Loring—to say nothing of others—no limit can be set to your advancement, if you will but put foolish pride in your pocket, and throw in your lot with us.”

“I’d sooner starve with Washington than feast with you.”

“That ’s easily done!” remarked Loring, jeeringly.

“Not so easily as in your prisons,” retorted Jack.

“Don’t be foolish and stick to your tantrums, lad,” persuaded Howe.

“Is a man foolish who elects to stick to the winning side? For you are beaten, Sir William, and none know it better than you."

“Damn thy tongue!” roared Howe, springing up.

“Don’t blame him for it, William,” cried Mrs. Loring. “How can he be other than a lad of spirit?”

Howe fell back into his seat. “There ’t is again. Ah, gentlemen, the sex beat us in the end! Well, Jane, since thou ’t commander-in-chief, please issue thy orders.”

“Set him free at once."

“We can scarce do that, though we’ll not hang him as a spy, lest all the caps go into mourning. Commissary Loring, he is yours; we will hold him as a prisoner of war.”

“Do that and you must answer for it,” said Jack. “You can hang me as a spy, if you choose, but yesterday I rode into Germantown under a flag of truce, and on your own pass, as one of the commissioners of exchange. What word will you send to General Washington if you attempt to hold me prisoner?”

“Well done!” exclaimed Howe. “One would almost think it had been prearranged. Release his arms, sergeant. Loring, let the boy have a horse and a pass to Germantown. I rely on your honour, sir, that you take no advantage of what you have seen or heard within our lines.”

Jack bowed assent without a word.

“And now, sir, that you are free,” went on Sir William, “have you no thanks for us?”

“Not one.”

“Ah, Charlie,” begged Mrs. Loring, “just a single word of forgiveness.”

Without a sign to show he heard her, Jack went to Janice and took her hand. “Don’t forget my pledge. Save you I can, if you will but let me.” He stooped his head slightly and hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on her lips, then he kissed her hand.

And as he did so, Mrs. Loring burst into tears. “You are killing me by your cruelty,” she cried.

“Ah, Colonel Brereton, say something kind to her!” begged the girl, impulsively.

Wheeling about, Jack strode forward, till he stood beside the woman. “This scoundrel,” he began, indicating Clowes with a contemptuous gesture, “is seeking to force Miss Meredith into a marriage: save her from that, and the wrong you did me is atoned.”

“I will; I will!” replied Mrs. Loring, lifting her head eagerly. “I’ll—Ah, Charlie, one kiss—just one to show that I am forgiven—No, not for that,” she hurriedly added, as the aide drew back—“to show—for what I will do for her. Everything I can I will—Just one.”

For an instant Brereton hesitated, then bent his head; and the woman, with a cry of joy, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him not once, but five or six times, and would have continued but for his removing her hands and stepping backward.

“Come, sir,”, said Loring, irritably, “if the whole army is not to have wind of this, follow me. Daybreak is not far away, and you should be in the saddle.”

The aide once more went to Janice, and would have again taken her hand; but the girl shrank away, and turned her back upon him.

“One farewell,” pleaded Jack.

“You have had it,” replied Janice, without turning.

“Ay. Be off with you,” seconded Howe, and without a word Brereton followed Loring from the room.

As the front door banged, and ere any one had spoken, the thunder of a cannon sounded loud and clear, and at short intervals other booms succeeded, as if the first was echoing repeatedly. But the trained ear of the general was not deceived.

“’T is the water battery saluting,” he said, rising. “So Sir Henry Clinton has evidently arrived. Come, gentlemen, ’t is only courteous that we meet him at the landing.”