His grip tightened; a smile lighted his careworn face as though a ray of
pure sunshine had struck his eyes.

"Ormond," he said, "I have bred much mischief among us all, yet with the
kindest motives in the world. If honor and modesty forbids an
explanation, at least let me repair what I can. I have given your cousin
Dorothy her freedom; and now, before I go, I ask your friendship. Nay,
give me more--give me joy, Ormond! Man, man, must I speak more plainly
still? Must I name the bravest maid in county Tryon? Must I say that the
woman I love loves me--Magdalen Brant?"

He laughed like a boy in his excitement. "We wed in Albany on Thursday!
Think of it, man! I showed her no mercy, I warrant you, soon as I
was free!"

He colored vividly. "Nay, that's ungallant to our Maid-at-Arms," he
stammered. "I'm flustered--you will pardon that. She rides with us to
Albany--I mean Magdalen--we wed at my aunt's house--"

The trumpet of the Legion was sounding persistently; the clatter of
spurred boots filled the hallway; Ruyven burst in, sabre banging, and
flung himself into my arms.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" he cried. "We are marching with the left wing to
Balston. I'll write you, cousin, when we take Burgoyne--I'll write you
all about it and exactly how I conducted!"

I felt the parting clasp of their hands, but scarcely saw them through
the tears of sheer weakness that filled my eyes. The capacity for deep
emotion was deadened in me; the strain had been too great; the reaction
had left me scarcely capable of realizing the instant portent of events.

The mellow trampling of horses came from below. I hobbled to the window
and looked down where the troopers were riding in fours, falling in
behind a train of artillery which passed jolting and bumping along
the stockade.

A young girl, superbly mounted, came galloping by, and behind her
spurred Sir George Covert and Ruyven. At full speed she turned her head
and looked up at my window, and I think I never saw such radiant
happiness in any woman's face as in Magdalen Brant's when she swept past
with a gesture of adieu and swung her horse out into the road. A
general's escort and staff checked their horses to make way for her. The
officers lifted their black cockaded hats; a slim, boyish officer, in a
white-and-gold uniform, rode forward to receive her, with a low salute
that only a Frenchman could imitate.

So, escorted by prancing, clattering cavalry, and surrounded by a
brillian