The concealment of the master of Greenwood proved easy affair, for it was now the harvest season and the neighbouring farmers were far too engaged by their own interests to have thought of anything else, while the four miles was distance sufficient to deter the villagers from keeping an eye on the daily household life. For their own comfort, a place of concealment was arranged for the squire in the garret behind the big loom; but thus assured of a retreat, he spent his time on the second floor, his only precautions being to avoid the windows in daylight hours and to keep Clarion at hand to give warning of any interloper.

In the next few days Mrs. Meredith twice reverted to the subject of their midnight discussion, but each time only to find her husband unyieldingly persistent that Janice was pledged to Philemon, and that if this bar did not exist, he would never countenance Brereton’s suit. As for the girl, she shunned all allusion to the matter, taking refuge in a proud silence.

In September an unexpected event brought the difficulty to a crisis. One evening, after the work of the day was over, as they sat in Mrs. Meredith’s room, waiting for the dusk to deepen enough for beds to become welcome, a creak of the stairs set all three to listening, and brought Clarion to his feet. Though no repetition of the sound followed, the dog, after a moment’s attention, dashed out of the room and was heard springing and jumping about, with yelps betokening joyful recognition of some one. Reassured by this, yet wishing to know more, Janice hurried into the hall. Coming from the half-light, it was too dark for her to distinguish anything, so she was forced to grope her way to the stairs; but other eyes were keener, and Janice, without warning, was encompassed by a man’s arms, which drew her to him that his lips might press an eager kiss upon hers.

“Who is it?” whispered the pilferer, after the theft.

“Oh, Colonel Brereton!” exclaimed the girl, in an undertone; “I knew at once, but—”

“Forgive me if I frightened you, sweetheart,” begged the officer, softly. “I could not resist the impulse to surprise you, and so tied my horse down the road a bit, that I might steal in upon you unaware.”

“But what brings you?” questioned the girl, anxiously.

Brereton, with a touch of irritation, answered: “And you can ask? Even my vanity is forced to realise you waste little love on me that you need explanation. Sixty miles and over I have rid to-day solely that I might bide the night here, and not so much as a word of welcome do you give me. But I vow you shall love me some day even as I love you; that you too shall long for sight of me when I am away, and caress me as fondly when I return.”

“I did not mean that I was not glad to see you,” protested the maiden; “but—I thought I thought you could not leave the army."

“Know then, madam,” banteringly explained the lover, “that the court-martial which has been trying Lee for his conduct at Monmouth has come to a verdict, which required transmission to Congress, for confirmation, and as I enjoy nothing better than two hundred and forty miles of riding in September heats and dust, I fairly went on my knees to his Excellency for permission to bear it. And now do you ask why I wished it? Do I not deserve something to lighten the journey? Ah, my sweet, if you care for me a little, prove it by once returning me one of my kisses!”

“With whom art thou speaking, daughter?” demanded Mrs. Meredith, losing patience at the continuance of the dialogue she could just realise.

“’T is I, John Brereton, Mrs. Meredith,” spoke up the intruder, “come in search of a night’s lodgings.”

The information was enough to make the squire forget prudence, in the spleen it aroused. “Have done with your whispered prittle-prattle, Jan, and let me have sight of this fellow,” he called angrily.

“Mr. Meredith! you here?” cried the officer, springing to the doorway, to make sure that his ears did not deceive him.

“Ay, and no wonder ’t is a sad surprise to ye,” went on Mr. Meredith, irascibly. “There shall be no more stolen interviews—ay, or kisses—from henceforth, ye Jerry Sneak! Come out of the hall, Janice, and have done with this courting by stealth.”

“I call Heaven to witness,” retorted Jack, hotly, “if once I have acted underhand; and you have no right—”

“Pooh! ’t is not for a jail-bird and bond-servant and rebel to lay down the right and wrong to Lambert Meredith.”

“Oh, dadda—” expostulatingly began Janice.

“What is more,” continued the father, regardless of her protest, “I’ll have ye know that I take your behind-back wooing of my daughter as an insult, and will none of it.”

“Is it prudent, Lambert, needlessly to offend Colonel Brereton?” deprecated Mrs. Meredith.

“Ay. Let him give me up to the authorities,” sneered the husband. “’T will be all of a piece with his other doings.”

“To such an imputation I refuse to make denial,” said Brereton, proudly; “but be warned, sir, by the trials for treason now going on in Jersey and Pennsylvania, what fate awaits you if you are captured. Even I could not save you, I fear, after your taking office from the king, if you were caught thus.”

“Wait till ye ’re asked, and we’ll see who first needs help, ye or I,” retorted the squire. “Meantime understand that I’ll not have ye at Greenwood, save as a bond-servant. My girl is promised to a man of property and respectability, and is to be had by no servant who dare not so much as let the world know who were his father and mother!”

It was now too dark to distinguish anything, so the others did not see how Brereton’s face whitened. For a moment he was silent, then in a voice hoarsely strident he said: “No man but you could speak thus and not pay the full penalty of his words; and since you take so low an advantage of my position, further relations with you are impossible. Janice, choose between me and your father, for there can be but the one of us in your future life.”

“Oh, Jack,” cried the girl, imploringly, “you cannot—if you love me, you cannot ask such a thing of me.”

“He puts it well,” asserted Mr. Meredith. “Dost intend to obey me, child, or—”

“Oh, dadda,” chokingly moaned Janice, “you know I have promised obedience, and never will I be undutiful, but—”

The aide, not giving her time to complete the sentence, vehemently exclaimed, “’T is as I might have expected! Lover good enough I am when you are in peril or want, but once saved, I am quickly taught that your favours are granted from policy and not from love.”

“’T is not so,” denied the girl, indignantly yet miserably; “I—”

“Be still, Jan,” ordered the father. “Think ye, sir, Lambert Meredith’s daughter would ever bring herself to wed a no-name and double-name fellow such as ye? Here is a letter I fetched to ye from that—Mrs. Loring: take it and go to her. She’s the fit company for gentry of your breed, and not my girl.”

“Beg of me forgiveness on your deathbed, or on mine, and I’ll not pardon you the words you have just spoken,” thundered the officer; “and though you stand on the gallows itself I will not stir finger to save you. Once for all, Janice, take choice between us.”

“’T is an option you have no right to force upon me,” responded the girl, desperately.

“Ay, pay no heed to what he says, Jan. Hand him this letter and let him go.”

“If he wants it, he must take it himself,” cried Janice. “I’ll not touch her letter.”

The indignant loathing in the tone of the speaker was too clearly expressed not to be understood, and Brereton replied to it rather than to her words. “I tried to speak to you of her—to tell you the whole wretched story, when last I saw you, but I could not bring myself in such hap—at such an hour—the moment was too untimely—and so I did not. Little I suspected that you already knew the facts of my connection with her.”

“Despite the proof I myself had, I have ever refused to credit when told by others what you have just owned,” declared the girl. “Nor will I listen to you. From the first I scorned and hated her, and now wish never to hear of the shameful creature again.”

Without a word the officer passed into the hall, and began the descent. Before he had reached the foot of the stairs Janice was at its head.

“You’ll not go without a good-by, Jack,” she pleaded. “Obey dadda I ought—but—Oh, Jack—I will—if you will but come back—Yes, I will kiss you.”

Brereton halted and clutched the banister, as if to prevent either departure or return, and could the girl have seen the look on his face she would have been in his arms before he had time to conquer himself. But in doubt as to what the pause indicated, she stood waiting, and after a moment’s struggle Jack strode through the hallway and was gone. So long as his footsteps could be heard Janice stood listening to them, but when they had died out of hearing she went into her own room, and the parents heard the bolt shot.

There was something in the girl’s eyes the next morning which prevented either father or mother from recurring to the scene, and time did not make it easier; for Janice, with a proudly sad face, did her tasks in an almost absolute silence, which told more clearly than words her misery. Probably the matter would have eventually been reopened, but two days brought a new difficulty which gave both Mr. and Mrs. Meredith something else for thought.

Its first warning was from the hound, who roused his master, as he dozed in an easy-chair one sleepy afternoon, by a growl, and the squire’s own ears served to tell him that horsemen were entering the gate. The women on the floor below also heard the sounds, and with a call to make sure that the refugee was seeking his hiding-place, the mother and daughter hurried to the front door to learn what the incursion might portend.

From the porch they could see a half-dozen riders in uniform, who had drawn rein just inside the gateway, while yet another, accompanied by two dogs, rode up to where they were standing.

“’T is General Lee,” exclaimed Mrs. Meredith, as he came within recognising distance. “Probably he wishes a night’s lodging.”

It was far from what the officer wanted, as it proved; for when he had come within good speaking distance he called angrily, “Ho! ye are there, are ye, hussy? Still busily seeking, I suppose, to be a pick-thanks with those in power by casting ridicule on those they are caballing to destroy.”

“I know not the cause for thy extraordinary words, General Lee,” replied Mrs. Meredith, with much dignity, “and can only conclude that a warm afternoon has tempted thee into a too free use of the bottle.”

“Bah!” ejaculated Lee. “My bicker is not with ye, but with your girl, who, it seems, has a liking for mischief and slander.”

“I am ignorant to what thee refers, sir, and cannot believe—” began the mother.

“Deny if you can that she limned the caricature of me which was handed about the theatre, and made me and my dogs the laugh of the town for a week?” interrupted Lee. “Only three days since I had a letter from a friend in Philadelphia, telling me a journal of hers had been examined by the council, and that therein she confessed it as her work.”

“Indeed, General Lee,” said Mrs. Meredith, apologetically, “the child meant no—”

“I tell you I’m not to be mollified by any woman’s brabble,” blustered Lee. “I know ’t is part and parcel of an attempt to ruin my character. Even to this silly witling, all are endeavouring to break me down by one succession of abominable, damnable lies. The very court that has been trying me would not believe that white was white as regards me, or that black was black as regards this G. Washington, whom the army and the people consider as an infallible divinity, when he is but a bladder of emptiness and pride. I am now on my way to get their verdict against me, and in favour of this Great Gargantua, or Lama Babek—for I know not which to call him—set aside, and I stopped in passing to tell you that I—”

What the general intended was not to be known, for at this point there came that which turned his thoughts. One of his dogs, an English spaniel, neither interested in Janice’s caricature of Lee, nor in Lee’s abuse of Washington, took advantage of his master’s preoccupation to steal into the house,— a proceeding which Clarion evidently resented, for suddenly from within came loud yaps and growls, which told only too plainly that if there was no protector of the household from the anger of the general, there was one who objected to the intrusion of his dog. Scarcely had the sounds of the fight begun than shrill yelps of pain indicated that one participant was getting very much the worst of it, and which, was quickly shown by the general roaring an oath and a command that they stop the “murder of my Caesar.” The din was too great within, however, for Clarion to hear the order that both ladies shouted to him, though it is to be questioned if he would have heeded them if he had; and with another oath Lee was out of his saddle and into the house, his riding-whip raised to take summary vengeance.

Just as the general entered the hallway, the spaniel, wriggling free from the hound’s onslaught, fled upstairs, closely pursued by the other dog, and after the two stamped the officer. On the second floor the fugitive faltered, to cast an agonised glance behind him, but sight of Clarion’s open mouth was enough, and up the garret stairs he fled. At the top he once more paused, looking in all directions for a haven of refuge; and seeing a man in the act of retreating behind the loom in the corner, he fled to him for protection. When Lee entered the garret, only Clarion, every bristle on end, was in view, standing guard over a corner of the room; and striding to him, the general lashed him twice with his riding-whip ere the transgressor, with howls of surprised pain, fled. Then Lee peered behind the loom in search of his favourite.

“Devil seize me!” he exclaimed. “What have we here? Ho! a good find,” he jeered, as he made out the squire. He rushed to one of the windows, threw it up, and called a summons to the group of horsemen, then came back as the squire crawled from his retreat. “Little did I reck,” gloated Lee, “when I read at the tavern this very day the governor’s proclamation attainting you, that ye’d come to be my prize. And poetic justice it is that I should have the chance to avenge in you the insult of your daughter.”