the horse's neck and checked him for a brief
second. Mrs. Seymour and the trooper were somewhat in advance and had
almost reached the opposite shore.

"I--you--that is"--faltered Betty, meekly dropping her eyelids--"Oh,
sir, do you really think we shall gain the Inn safely?"

"There is no cause for fear," said Geoffrey coldly. "I know the path;"
and he plodded on in silence. Another few rods, a slip, a half halt; but
this time it was Yorke who stumbled and fell on one knee.

"Confound my sword," he cried, recovering his feet. "But we are nearly
there. See, Mrs. Seymour has gained the road and is riding on to the
Inn."

No reply from Betty; in truth, if he had but known it, she dared not
trust her voice lest its first sound should be a sob. And Yorke, divided
between amusement and wrath at her perversity, vowed he would say no
more until she grew less capricious.

The road was well trodden and the snow light as the pair pursued it in
silence. The famous hostelry known as King's Bridge Inn was upon the
highway going up the Hudson, where Spuyten Duyvil Creek ran down to
Harlem River, and many a rendezvous and intrigue had been carried on
within its low, wide rooms since the Colonies had declared their
independence of British rule. As Yorke approached the door, inside which
Mrs. Seymour had already disappeared, a tall, dark man in riding-boots
and long coat came hastily forth, and as Betty dropped the reins of her
horse he was at her side. "Oh, Gulian," cried she, stretching out both
hands, "don't you know me? 'Tis I, Betty Wolcott; have I outgrown your
recollection?"

"Betty, indeed," replied Gulian Verplanck, lifting her off the horse,
"and right glad am I to welcome you. What good fortune brought you in
contact with Captain Yorke's patrol? Had I known of your near approach,
I should myself have ridden forth with him, but the air was chilly and I
deemed it more prudent to stop at the Inn until to-morrow."

"Since I see you safe"--began Geoffrey, as Betty half turned toward him.

"You do not know whom you have so kindly assisted," broke in Verplanck;
"this is Mistress Betty Wolcott, sister to my wife. Betty, I present to
you Captain Geoffrey Yorke, aide to Sir Henry Clinton, and my friend."

Betty executed her most stately and deepest courtesy, and Yorke swept
his hat gracefully to the very ground; but as she raised her eyes she
said, with a mischievous glance, "I am pleased to learn the name of this
gentleman. S