d Mr. Valentine. He had at
last begun to snore. But this infliction brought its own remedy, for
when his jaws opened wider his tobacco pipe fell from his mouth and
struck his folded hands. He awoke with a start, and blinked
wonderingly at Peyton, whose face, turned towards the old man, still
wore the look of disapproval evoked by the momentary snoring.

"Still here, eh?" piped Mr. Valentine. "I dreamt you were being hanged
to the fireplace, like a pig to be smoked. I was quite upset over it!
Such a fine young gentleman, and one of Harry Lee's officers, too!"

And the old man shook his head deploringly.

"Then why don't you help me out of this?" demanded Peyton, whose
impulse was for grasping at straws, for he thought of black Sam urging
Cato through the wind towards King's Bridge at a gallop.

"It ain't possible," said Valentine, phlegmatically.

"If it were, would you?" asked Harry, a spark of hope igniting from
the appearance that the old man was, at least, not antagonistic to
him.

"Why, yes," began the octogenarian, placidly.

Harry's heart bounded.

"If," the old man went on, "I could without lending aid to the King's
enemies. But you see I couldn't. I won't lend aid to neither side's
enemies.[7] I don't want to die afore my time." And he gazed
complacently at the fire.

Peyton knew the hopeless immovability of selfish old age.

"God!" he muttered, in despair. "Is there no one I can turn to?"

"There's none within hearing would dare go against the orders of Miss
Elizabeth," said Mr. Valentine.

"Miss Elizabeth evidently rules with a firm hand," said Peyton,
bitterly. "Her word--" He stopped suddenly, as if struck by a new
thought. "If I could but move _her_! If I could make her change her
mind!"

"You couldn't. No one ever could, and as for a rebel soldier--"

"She has a heart of iron, that girl!" broke in Peyton. "The cruelty of
a savage!"

Mr. Valentine took on a sincerely deprecating look. "Oh, you mustn't
abuse Miss Elizabeth," said he. "It ain't cruelty, it's only proper
pride. And she isn't hard. She has the kindest heart,--to those she's
fond of."

"To those she's fond of," repeated Harry, mechanically.

"Yes," said the old man; "her people, her horses, her dogs and cats,
and even her servants and slaves."

"Tender creature, who has a heart for a dog and not for a man!"

The old man's loyalty to three generations of Philipses made him a
stubborn defender, and he answered:

"She'd h