In the movement that ensued, Janice slipped into the hallway, and in a moment she was scurrying along the street, so busy with her thoughts that she forgot the satin slippers which had hitherto been so carefully saved from the pavements. She had not gone a square when the sound of footsteps behind her made the girl quicken her pace; but instantly the pursuer accelerated his, and, really alarmed, Janice broke into a run which ended only as she darted up the steps of her home, where she seized the knocker and banged wildly. Before any one had been roused within, the man stood beside her, and with his first word the fugitive recognised Lord Clowes.

“I meant not to frighten ye,” he said; “but ye should not have come away alone, for there are pretty desperate knaves stealing about, and had ye encountered the patrol, ye would have been taken to the provost-marshal for carrying no lantern.”

Relieved to know who it was, but too breathless to make reply, Janice leaned against the lintel until a sleepy soldier gave them entrance. There was a further delay while Lord Clowes ignited a dip from the lamp and lighted her to the stairway. Here he handed it to her, but retaining his own hold, so as to prevent her departing, he said—

“I lost my temper at hearing that young scamp make such ardent love, and so I spoke harshly to ye. Canst not make allowance for a lover’s jealousy?”

“Please let me have the light.”

“Whether ye pardon me or no, of one thing I am sure,” went on Clowes, still holding the candle, “ye are not so love-sick of this rogue as to overlook his seeking the aid of his discarded mistress in his suit of ye. I noted your look as she kissed him.”

“’T is not a subject I choose to discuss with you, nor is it one for any gentlewoman,” said Janice, dropping her hold on the candle and starting upstairs. At the top she paused long enough to say, “Nor do I trust your version,” and then hurried to her room and bolted the door.

Here, dark as it was, she went straight to the bureau, and pulling open the bottom drawer fumbled about in it. Her hands presently encountered the unfinished purse, and for a moment they closed on it, while something resembling a sob escaped her. But with one hand she continued searching; and so soon as her groping put her fingers on the miniature of Mrs. Loring she rose, and feeling the way to a window, she opened it and threw out the slip of ivory. The girl made a motion as if to send the purse after it, but checked the impulse, and forgetting to close the window, and without a thought of her once treasured gown, she threw herself on the bed, and began to sob miserably. Before many minutes, worn out with excitement, fatigue, and the lateness, she fell asleep, but it was only to dream uneasily over the night’s doings, in which all was a confused jumble, save for the eager tones of her lover’s voice as he pleaded his suit, the sight of him as he lay on the floor after the candles had been lighted, and, finally, the look in his eyes as he made his farewell. Yet no sooner did these recur than they were succeeded by that of Mrs. Loring’s eager and passionate kissing of Brereton, and each time this served to bring Janice back into a half-awake condition.

After breakfast the next morning, as she was pretendedly reading Racine’s “Iphigénie,” lest her mother should find her doing nothing and order her to some task, a letter was handed her by one of the servants, with word that it had been brought by a soldier; and breaking the seal, Janice read:

My deer child
    pleas do forgiv al i spoke to yu a bout the furst time i see yu for i did not understan it at al i was dredful up set bi last nite and feel mitey pukish this mawning, but i hope yu will cum to see me soon for i want much to tawk with yu a bout how i can help yu and to kiss and hugg yu for yu ar so prity that i shud lov just to tuck yu lik sum one else did yu see how his eys lovd yu when he was going a way he yused to look that way at me and i cried mitey hard al nite at his krulty pleas cum soon to unhapy

Jane Loring.

ps. i shal cum to yu if yu dont cum quick

“There is no answer,” the maiden told the servant; then, as he went to the door she added, “And should a Mrs. Loring wish to see me, you will refuse me to her.”

Left alone, Janice went to the fireplace, in which the advance of spring no longer made a fire necessary, and, taking from its niche the tinder box, she struck flint on steel, and in a moment had a blaze started. Not waiting to let it gain headway, she laid the letter upon the flame, and held it there with the tongs till it ignited. “I knew without your telling me,” she said, “that he no longer loved you, and great wonder it is, considering your age, that he ever could.”

“Hast turned fire-worshipper?” demanded André’s voice, merrily, as she still knelt, “for if so, ’t will be glad news for the sparks.”

The girl sprang to her feet. “I—I was just burning a —a—some rubbish,” she answered.

“Here I am, not in the lion’s den, but in the jackal’s, and my stay must be brief. Canst detect that I am big with news?”

“Of what?”’

“This morning Sir Henry Clinton arrived, and for the first time the army learns that Sir William has resigned his command, and is leaving us. The field officers wish to mark his departure by a farewell fête in his honour, and as it would be a mockery without the ladies, we are appealing to them to aid us. We plan to have a tourney of knights, each of whom is to have a damsel who shall reward him with a favour at the end of the contest. I have bespoken fair Peggy for mine, and I am sure Mobray, who is not yet returned, will ask you. Wilt help us?”

“Gladly,” assented Janice, eagerly, “if dadda will let me.”

“I met him in High Street on my way here, made my plea, and, though at first he pulled a negative look, when I reminded him he owed Sir William for a good place, he relented and said you could.”

“And what am I to do?”

“You are to be gowned in a Turkish costume, in the—”

“Nay, Captain André” replied Janice, shaking her head, “we are too poor to spend any money in such manner.”

“Think you the knights are so lacking in chivalry that we could permit our guests to pay? The subscription is large enough to cover all expenses, the stuffs are already purchased, and all you will have to do is to make them up in the manner of this sketch.”

“Then I accept with pleasure and thanks.”

“’T is we owe the thanks. And now farewell, for I have much to do.”

“Captain André,” said the girl, as he opened the door, “I have a question—Wilt answer me something?”

“Need you ask?”

“I suppose ’t is a peculiar one, and so—Do you—is it generally thought by—Do the gentlemen of the army deem Mrs. Loring beautiful?”

“Too handsome for the good of our—of the army.”

“Even though she paints and powders?”

“But in London and Paris ’t is the mode.”

“I think ’t is a horrid custom.”

“And so would every woman had she but thy cheeks. Ah, Miss Meredith, ’t is easy for the maid whose tints are a daily toast at the messes to blame those to whom nature has not given a transparent skin and mantling blood.”

When Mobray returned from Germantown, he at once sought out Janice and confirmed André’s action. Though he found her working on the costume, it was with so melancholy a countenance that he demanded the cause.

“T is what you know already,” moaned the girl, miserably. “Lord Clowes is pressing me for an answer, and now dadda is urgent that I give him ay.”

“Why?”

“He went to see Sir Henry, and had so cold a reception that he thinks ’t is certain he is to lose his place, let alone the report that General Clinton was heard to say Sir William’s friends were to be got rid of. What can we do?”

“But Char—Brereton assured me he had spoked the fellow’s wheel by securing the aid of—”

“’T is naught to me what he has done,” interrupted Janice, proudly; “nor did I give him the right to intervene.”

“You must not give yourself to Clowes. ’T is—ah— rather than see that I’ll speak out.”

“About what?”

“Leftenant Hennion is not dead! ’T was but another of Clowes’ lies, and your father shall know it, let him do his worst.” Without giving his courage time to cool, the young fellow dashed across the hallway to the office where the commissary and squire were sitting, and announced: “News, Mr. Meredith. Leftenant Hennion is alive, for his name was on the rebel lists of prisoners to be exchanged.”

“Oddsbodikins!” ejaculated the squire. “Here ’s an upset, Clowes, to all our talk.”

“Ye’ll not be fool enough to let it make any difference,” growled the baron, his eyes resting on Mobray with a look that boded no good. “Ye’ll only increase your difficulties by holding to that old folly.”

“Nay, Clowes, Lambert Meredith ne’er broke his word to any man, and, God helping, he never will.”

With a real struggle, the commissary held his anger in check. “I’ll talk of this later,” he said, after a pause, “when I can speak less warmly than now I feel. As for ye, sir,” he said, facing Mobray, “I will endeavour—the favour ye have done shall not be forgotten.”

“Take what revenge you please, my Lord,” replied Mobray, his voice shaking a little none the less, “I have done what as a gentleman I was compelled to do, and am ready for the consequences, be they what they may.”

“A fit return for my lenience,” remarked Clowes to the squire after Sir Frederick had made his exit. “He has long owed me money, for which I have never pressed him, yet now he would have it that if I but ask payment, ’t is revenge.”

One result of Mobray’s outbreak was to give Janice another knight for the pageant.

“’T is a crying shame,” André told her; “but poor Fred has gone to the wall at last, and is to be sold up. Therefore he chooses to withdraw from the tourney, and begs me to make his apologies to you, for he is too dumpish to wish to see any one. ’T will make no difference to you, save that you will have Brigade Major Tarleton in place of the baronet.”

“Can nothing be done for him?” asked Janice.

“Be assured, if anything could be, his fellow-officers would not have allowed the army to lose him, for he is loved by every man in the service; but he is in for over eight thousand pounds.”

“’T is very sad,” sighed Janice. “I thought him a man of property,” she added aloud, while to herself she said, “Then it could not have been he who bought my miniature.”

“Nay, he was sometimes in funds by his winnings, but he long since scattered his patrimony.”

Janice’s letter to Tabitha had long before, by its length, become in truth a journal, and to its pages were confided an account of the farewell fête to the British general:—

“‘The Mischianza,’ as ’t is styled; Tibbie, began at four o clock in the afternoon with a grand regatta, all the galleys and flatboats being covered with awnings and dressed out with colours and streamers, making a most elegant spectacle. The embarkation took place at the upper end of the city, mommy and I entering the ‘Hussar’ which bore Sir William Howe. Preceded by the music boats, the full length of the town we were rowed, whilst every ship was decked with flags and ensigns, and the shores were crowded with spectators, who joined in ‘God save the King’ when the bands played it; and the ‘Roebuck’ frigate fired a royal salute. About six we drew up opposite the Wharton house, and landing, made our way between files of troops and sailors to a triumphal arch that ushered to an amphitheatre which had been erected for the guests, of whom, Tibbie, but four hundred were invited. Behind these seats spectators not to be numbered darked the whole plain around; held in check by a strong guard which controlled their curiosity. The fourteen knights’ ladies (selected, Tibbie, so ’t was given out, as the fore-most in youth, beauty, and fashion, and into a fine frenzy it threw those maids who were not asked) were seated in the front, and though ’t is not for me to say it, we made a most pleasing display. Our costume was fancy, and consisted of gauze turbans, spangled and edged with gold and silver, on the right side of which a veil of the same hung as low as the waist, and the left side of the turban was enriched with pearls and tassels of gold or silver, crested with a feather. The jacket was of the polonaise kind; of white silk with long sleeves, and sashes worn around the waist tied with a large bow on the left side, hung very low and trimmed, spangled; and fringed according to the colours of the knight. But, wilt believe it, Tibbie, instead of skirts, ’t was loose trousers, gathered at the ankle, we wore, and a fine to-do mommy made at first over the idea, till dadda said I might do as the other girls did; though indeed, Tibbie, ’t is to be confessed I felt monstrous strange, and scarce enjoyed a dance through thought of them. And here let me relate that this was the ostensible reason for Mr. Shippen refusing to allow Margaret and Sarah to take part after they had their gowns made (and weren’t they dancing mad at being forbid!), but ’t is more shrewdly suspected that ’t was because of a rumour (which no thinking person credits) that Philadelphia is to be evacuated, and so, being a man of no opinions, he chose not to risk offending the Whigs.
    “Once seated; the combined bands of the army sounded a very loud and animated march, which was the signal for the beginning of the ceremony of the carousel. The seven knights of The Blended Rose, most marvellously dressed in a costume of the Henry IV. period of France (which, being so beyond description, I have endeavoured a sketch), on white horses, preceded by a herald and three trumpeters, entered the quadrangle, and by proclamation asserted that the ladies of The Blended Rose excelled in wit, beauty, and accomplishment those of the whole world, and challenged any knight to dispute it. Thereupon appeared the seven knights of The Burning Mountain, and by their herald announced that they would disprove by arms the vainglorious assertions of the knights of The Blended Rose and show that the ladies of The Burning Mountain as far excelled all others in charms as the knights themselves surpassed all others in prowess. Upon this a glove of defiance was thrown, the esquires presented their knights with their lances, the signal for the charge was sounded, and the conflict ensued, until on a second signal they fell back, leaving but their chiefs in single combat. These fighting furiously, were Presently parted by the judges of the field, with the announcement that they were of equal valour, and their ladies of equal beauty. Forming in single file, they advanced and saluted, and a finish was put to this part of the entertainment.
    “We now retired to the house for tea, where the knights, having dismounted, followed us, and paid homage to their fair ones, from each of whom they received a favour. The ball then succeeded, which lasted till nine, when the company distributed themselves at the windows and doors to view fireworks of marvellous beauty, ending with a grand illumination of the arch. More dancing then occupied us, till we were summoned to supper, which was served in a saloon one hundred and eighty feet long, gaily painted and decorated; and made brilliant by a great number of lustres hung from the roof, while looking-glasses, chandeliers, and girandoles decked the walls, the whole enlivened by garlands of flowers and festoons of silk and ribbons. Here we were waited upon by twenty-four negroes in blue and white turbans and party-coloured clothes and sashes, whilst the most pathetic music was performed by a concealed band. Toasts to the king and queen, the royal family, the army and navy, with their respective commanders, the knights and their ladies, and the ladies in general, were drunk in succession, each followed by a flourish of music, when once again the dancing was resumed, and lasted till the orb of day intruded his presence upon us.
    “Sir William left us at noon to-day, regretted by the whole army, and, as I write this, I can hear a salute of guns in honour of Sir Henry Clinton’s assuming the command. Pray Heaven he does not remove dadda.
    “At last I know, Tibbie, what court life must be like.”

Three days after the departure of Howe, the squire came into dinner, a paper in hand, and with a beaming face. “Fine news!” he observed. “I am not to be displaced.”

“Good!” cried the commissary, while Janice clapped her hands. “I spoke to Sir Henry strongly in your favour, and am joyed to hear that it has borne fruit.”

“How dost thou know, Lambert?” asked Mrs. Meredith.

“I have here an order to load the ‘Rose’ tender with such rebel property as the commissaries shall designate, and superintend its removal to New York. They ’d ne’er employ me on so long a job, were I marked to lose my employment, eh, Clowes?”

“Well reasoned. For ’t is not merely a task of time, but one of confidence. But look ye, man, if ye ’re indeed to make a voyage to York and back, which will likely take a month, ’t is best that we settle this question of marriage ere ye go. I’ve given Miss Janice time, I think ye’ll grant, and ’t will be an advantage in your absence that she and Mrs. Meredith have one bound to protect them.”

“I’d say ay in a moment, Clowes, but for my word to Hennion.”

“’T is a promise thou shouldst ne’er have made, and which it is now thy every interest to be quit of, let alone that ’t is so distasteful to thy daughter.”

“A promise is a promise,” answered the father, with an obstinate motion of head.

“And a fool ’s a fool,” retorted Clowes, losing his temper. “In counsel and aid I’ve done my best for ye; now go your gait, and see what comes of it.”

A week later, Mr. Meredith bade farewell to wife and daughter.

“I wish you were n’t going, dadda,” Janice moaned. “’T is so akin to last summer that it frights me.”

“Nay, lass, be grateful that I have the job to do, and that with good winds I shall return within a fortnight. Clowes has passed his word that ye shall want for nothing. I’ll be back ere ye know I’ve gone.”

There was a good cause, however, for the girl’s fear of the future, for in less than a week from her father’s sailing, on every street corner, in every tavern, and in every drawing-room of the town the news that Philadelphia was to be evacuated was being eagerly and anxiously discussed.