divided
place was being approached afar from the north by a company of mounted
troops riding as if the devil was after them. It was not the devil,
but another body of cavalry, riding at equal speed, though at a great
distance behind. The three people from New York as yet neither saw nor
heard anything of these horsemen dashing down from the north. Yet the
major's spirits sank lower and lower, as if he had an omen of coming
evil.

He was a handsome young man, Major John Colden, being not more than
twenty-seven years old, and having the clearly outlined features best
suited to that period of smooth-shaven faces. His dark eyes and his
pensive expression were none the less effective for the white powder
on his cued hair. A slightly petulant, uneasy look rather added to his
countenance. He was of medium height and regular figure. He wore a
civilian's cloak or outer coat over the uniform of his rank and corps,
thus hiding also his sword and pistol. Other externals of his attire
were riding-boots, gloves, and a three-cornered hat without a military
cockade. He was mounted on a sorrel horse a little darker in hue than
the animal ridden by Miss Elizabeth's black boy, Cuff, who wore the
rich livery of the Philipses.

The steed of Miss Elizabeth was a slender black, sensitive and
responsive to her slightest command--a fit mount for this, the most
imperious, though not the oldest, daughter of Colonel Frederick
Philipse, third lord, under the bygone royal regime, of the manor of
Philipsburgh in the Province of New York. They gave classic names to
quadrupeds in those days and Addison's tragedy was highly respected,
so Elizabeth's scholarly father had christened this horse Cato.
Howsoever the others who loved her regarded her present jaunt, no
opposition was shown by Cato. Obedient now as ever, the animal bore
her zealously forward, be it to danger or to what she would.

Elizabeth's resolve to revisit the manor hall on the Hudson, which had
been left closed up in the steward's charge when the family had sought
safety in their New York City residence in 1777, had sprung in part
from a powerful longing for the country and in part from a dream which
had reawakened strongly her love for the old house of her birth and of
most of her girlhood. The peril of her resolve only increased her
determination to carry it out. Her parents, brothers, and sisters
stood aghast at the project, and refused in any way to countenance it.
But there was n