ose Loyalists? You
and your Indian companions may keep what you take for yourselves."

"You can believe me or not, just as you wish," Jean quietly and firmly
replied. "But those supplies are going to the Loyalists in the
morning. I would be ashamed to be called Colonel Sterling's daughter
if I were afraid to use strong measures to save starving people."

At these words the man suddenly lifted himself on his right elbow, and
peered keenly at the girl.

"Light the rest of those candles," he ordered. "I must see your face.
I want to know if you are telling me the truth."

Jean did so, and then returned to the man's side.

"Stand there," he commanded, "a little to the right, so I can see your
face. Ah, that's better. Now, tell me your father's Christian name."

"James," the girl replied.

"Yes, but James what? He has a second name, has he not?"

"Witrow. James Witrow Sterling; that's his full name."

"What was your mother's name?"

"Deborah Ruth."

"But her maiden name?"

"Winslow."

"And your name?"

"Priscilla Jean, although I only get 'Jean.'"

"After whom were you named?"

"A very dear friend of my parents."

"Who was she?"

"Priscilla Jean Norman, so I have been told."

"Where is she now?"

"I do not know. She and her husband disappeared years ago, and no word
has been received from them since. They were the dearest friends my
father had, and he feels the loss very keenly."

"Is your mother alive?"

"No; she died several years ago."

With a deep sigh the man dropped back upon the pillow, and remained
silent for a few minutes. Jean sat down by his side, lost in thought.
What was the meaning of the man's sudden excitement? she asked herself.
And why did he question her so closely about her parents' names?
Perhaps he had known them in the past. At length the man stirred,
reached out his right hand and touched hers.

"Young woman," he began, "for your parents' sake alone I give you
permission to take food and clothing to those starving people."

"Oh, I am so glad!" Jean replied. "But did you know my father and
mother?"

To this question the man seemed to pay no heed. His eyes were fixed
upon the seven candles.

"Yes, there were seven of us," he murmured as if to himself, "seven who
were all in all to one another. But six went out, and I was left
alone. Put them out again, Miss, and leave just one burning. You may
go now, as I want to think. Send Sam to me. He can slee