"Is not the King soon to have his revenge? And is that a reason why you should leave me now?"

"You deserted your first colors."

"'Twas in extraordinary circ.u.mstances, and in the right cause. And is that a reason why you--"

"You took my horse."

"But paid you for it, and you have your horse again. Abuse me, madam, but do not go from me. Call me rebel, deserter, robber, what you will, but remain with me. Denunciation from your lips is sweeter than praise from others. Chastise me, strike me, trample on me,--I shall worship you none the less!"

He inclined his body further forward over the chair-back, and thus was very near her. She put out her hand to repel him. He moved back with humility, but took her hand and kissed it, with an appearance of pa.s.sion qualified by reverence.

"How dare you touch my hand?" And she quickly drew it from him.

"A poor wretch who loves, and is soon to die, dares much!"

"You seem resigned to dying," she remarked.

"Have I not said 'tis better than living with a hopeless pa.s.sion?"

"And yet death," she said, "_that_ kind of a death is not pleasant."

"I'm not afraid of it," said he, wondering how the minutes were running, yet not daring the loss of time to look. "'Tis not in consigning me to the enemy that you have your revenge on me, 'tis in making me vainly love you. I receive the greater hurt from your beauty, not from the British provost-marshal!"

"Bravado!" said she.

"Time will show," said he.

"If you are so strong a man that you can endure the one hurt so calmly, why are you not a little stronger,--strong enough to ignore this other hurt,--this _love_-wound, as you call it?"

She blushed furiously, and much against her will, at the mere word, "love-wound." Her mood now seemed to be one of pretended incredulity, and yet of a vague unwillingness that the man should be so weak to her charms.

Peyton conceived that a change of play might aid his game.

"By heaven," he cried, "I will! 'Tis a weakness, as you imply! I shall close my heart, vanquish my feelings! No word more of love! I defy your beauty, your proud face, your splendid eyes! I shall die free of your image. Go where you will, madam. It sha'n't be a puling lover that the British hang. A snap o' the finger for your all-conquering charms!--why do you not leave me?"

"What! Do you order me from my own parlor?"

Hope accelerated Peyton's heart at this, but he feigned indifference.

"Go or stay," he said; "'tis nothing to me!"

"You rebel, you speak like that to me!"

Her speech rang with genuine anger, and of a little hotter quality than he had thought to raise.

He was about to answer, when suddenly a sound, far and faint, reached his ear. "Isn't that--do you hear--" he said, huskily, and turning cold.

"Horses?" said Elizabeth. "Yes,--on the road from King's Bridge."

She went to one of the eastern windows, opened the sash, unfastened the shutter without, and let in a rush of cold air. Then she closed the sash and looked out through the small panes.

"Is it--" said Peyton, quietly, with as much steadiness as he could command, "I wonder--can it be--"

"A troop of rangers!" said Elizabeth. "And Sam is with them!" She closed the shutter, and turned to Peyton, her face still glowing with the resentment elicited by the cavalier att.i.tude he had a.s.sumed before this alarm. "Go or stay, 'tis nothing to you, you said! The last insult, Sir Rebel Captain!" and she made for the door.

"You mustn't go! You mustn't go!" was the only speech he could summon.

But she was already pa.s.sing him. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a kerchief from her dress, and dropped it on the floor. She did not observe his act.

"Pardon me!" he cried. "Your kerchief! You've dropped it, don't you see?"

She turned and saw it on the floor.

Peyton quickly stepped from behind his chair, stooped and picked up the kerchief, kissed it, and handed it to her, then staggered to his former support, showing in his face and by a groan the pain caused him by his movement.

"Your wound!" said Elizabeth, standing still. "You shouldn't have stooped!"

Harry's pain and consequent weakness, added to his consciousness of the rapidly approaching enemy, who had already turned in from the main road, gave him a pallor that would have claimed the attention of a less compa.s.sionate woman even than Elizabeth.

"No matter!" he murmured, feebly. Then, as if about to swoon, he threw his head back, lost his hold of the chair-back, and staggered to the spinet. Leaning on this, he gasped, "My cravat! I feel as if I were choking!" and made some futile effort with his hand to unfasten the neck-cloth. "Would you," he panted, "may I beg--loosen it?"

She went to his side, undid the cravat, and otherwise relieved his neck of its confinement. She could not but meet his gaze as she did so. It was a gaze of eager, adoring eyes. He feebly smiled his thanks, and spoke, between short breaths, the words, "The hour--I love you--yes, the troops!"

The horses were clattering up towards the house.

A voice of command was heard through the window.

"Halt! Guard the windows and the rear, you four!"

"Colden's voice!" exclaimed Peyton.

Elizabeth was somewhat startled. "He must have been still at King's Bridge when Sam arrived," said she.

"He must be a close friend," said Peyton.

"He is my affianced husband."

Peyton staggered, as if shot, around the projection of the spinet, and came to a rest in the small s.p.a.ce between that projection and the west wall of the room. "Her affianced! Then it's all up with me!"

The outside door was heard to open. Elizabeth turned her back towards the spinet and Peyton, and faced the door to the hall. That, too, was flung wide. Peyton dropped on his right knee, behind the spinet, leaning forward and stretching his wounded leg out behind him, just as Colden rushed in at the head of six of the Queen's Rangers, who were armed with short muskets. The major stopped short at sight of Elizabeth, and the rangers stood behind him, just within the door.

Peyton was hidden by the spinet.

"Where is the rebel, Elizabeth?" cried Colden.

She met his gaze straight, and spoke calmly, with a barely perceptible tremor.

"You are too late, Jack! The prisoner has eluded me. Look for him on the road to Tarrytown,--and be quick about it, for G.o.d's sake!"

Colden drew back aghast, thrown from the height of triumph to the depth of chagrin. Peyton, fearing lest the one joyous bound of his heart might have betrayed him, remained perfectly still, knowing that if any movement should take Elizabeth from between the soldiers and the projection of the spinet, or if the soldiers should enter further and chance to look under the spinet, he would be seen.

"Don't you understand?" said Elizabeth, a.s.suming one impatience to conceal another. "There's no time to lose! 'Twas the rebel Peyton!