from the bay as the sun went down into the crimson
flood. Bang! A cloud of white smoke hung over Pearl Street where the
evening gun had spoken; the flag on the fort fluttered down, the flag on
the battery followed. Out on the darkening river a lanthorn glimmered
from the deck of the _Jersey_; a light sparkled on Paulus Hook.

"Hark! hear the drums!" she murmured. Far down Broadway the British
drums sounded, nearer, nearer, now loud along Dock Street, now lost in
Queen, then swinging west by north they came up Broad, into Wall; and I
could hear the fifes shrilling out, "The World turned Upside-down," and
the measured tread of the patrol, marching to the Upper Barracks and
the Prison.

The drummers wheeled into Broadway beneath our windows; leaning over I
saw them pass, and I was aware of something else, too--a great
strapping figure in a drover's smock, watching the British drums from
the side path across the way--my friend of Nassau Street--and clinging
to his arm, a little withered man, wrinkled, mild-eyed, clad also like
a drover, and snapping his bull-whip to accent the rhythm of the
rolling drums.

"I think I shall go down," said a soft voice beside me; "pray do not
move, Mr. Renault, you are so picturesque in silhouette against the
sunset--and I hear that silhouettes are so fashionable in New York
fopdom."

I bowed; she held out her hand--just a trifle, as she passed me, the
gesture of a coquette or of perfect innocence--and I touched it lightly
with finger-tip and lip.

"Until supper," she said--"and, Mr. Renault, do you suppose we shall
have bread for supper?"

"Why not?" I asked, all unsuspicious.

"Because I fancied flour might be scarce in New York"--she glanced at
my unpowdered head, then fled, her blue eyes full of laughter.

It is true that all hair powder is made of flour, but I did not use it
like a Hessian. And I looked after her with an uncertain smile and with
a respect born of experience and grave uncertainty.

CHAPTER II

THE HOUSEHOLD

About dusk Sir Peter arrived from lower Westchester while I was
dressing. Warned by the rattle of wheels from the coach-house at the
foot of the garden, and peering through the curtains, I saw the lamps
shining and heard the trample of our horses on the stable floor; and
presently, as I expected, Sir Peter came a-knocking at my door, and my
servant left the dressing of my hair to admit the master of the house.
He came in, his handsome face radi