confound the beggar's impudence!--sprang into the
sleigh, and you were foolish enough to fetch him out of the danger of
pursuit, all because of loyalty to the cause of so-called freedom. I
cannot understand--Stay! Captain Yorke was on the steps as I came out,
hearing the shouts; did he witness this extraordinary occurrence?"

"I told you the fugitive had concealed himself in the bottom of the
sleigh before I entered it," said Betty, terror seizing her lest a
chance word should implicate Geoffrey in the matter. "Would you have me
turn a helpless man loose among your Hessians? I have too vivid
recollection of Nathan Hale's fate to contribute another victim to
English mercy."

The taunt stung Verplanck, for, like many of the more liberal Tories, he
had deeply deplored the tragic ending of the gallant Hale, although
forced to regard it as one of the stern necessities of war. He bit his
lip as he answered:--

"Thank you, Betty; I am glad Clarissa does not regard me as quite so
bloodthirsty as you evidently deem me." Then, eying her keenly, as if
struck by a sudden thought, "Did you know the man, or was it all pure
patriotism?"

"Yes," returned Betty, filled with indignation at the sneer, and facing
him with all her native courage; "yes, I know him well."

"Know him?" echoed the bewildered Gulian, "are you mad or am I
dreaming?"

"Neither, I trust. The Whig spy, as you are pleased to call him, was my
brother, Oliver Wolcott. Thank God that he has made good his escape, and
congratulate yourself, Gulian, that you aided, even remotely, in it."

"Betty, Betty, if this be true, I trust Clarissa does not know."

"Never fear," with a choking sob; "I shall not tell her. She suffers
enough, poor soul, with her husband upon one side and her people upon
the other of this most cruel war."

"Betty, go to your chamber," said Gulian sternly. "I will myself escort
Kitty to her own door, and impress upon her the necessity of keeping the
matter a close secret. My mortification would be great were it known.
Why, it might even endanger my friendship with Sir Henry Clinton."

Betty left the room, but her lip curled as she said to herself, "A Tory
to the tips of his fingers; God forbid that I should ever feel what
Clarissa must."

Very little sleep visited Betty that night (or what remained of it) as
she lay with open eyes that strained into the growing dawn, picturing to
herself Oliver's flight across the North River, and hoping ferv