r hurt,--this _love_-wound, as you call it?"

She blushed furiously, and much against her will, at the mere word,
"love-wound." Her mood now seemed to be one of pretended incredulity,
and yet of a vague unwillingness that the man should be so weak to her
charms.

Peyton conceived that a change of play might aid his game.

"By heaven," he cried, "I will! 'Tis a weakness, as you imply! I shall
close my heart, vanquish my feelings! No word more of love! I defy
your beauty, your proud face, your splendid eyes! I shall die free of
your image. Go where you will, madam. It sha'n't be a puling lover
that the British hang. A snap o' the finger for your all-conquering
charms!--why do you not leave me?"

"What! Do you order me from my own parlor?"

Hope accelerated Peyton's heart at this, but he feigned indifference.

"Go or stay," he said; "'tis nothing to me!"

"You rebel, you speak like that to me!"

Her speech rang with genuine anger, and of a little hotter quality
than he had thought to raise.

He was about to answer, when suddenly a sound, far and faint, reached
his ear. "Isn't that--do you hear--" he said, huskily, and turning
cold.

"Horses?" said Elizabeth. "Yes,--on the road from King's Bridge."

She went to one of the eastern windows, opened the sash, unfastened
the shutter without, and let in a rush of cold air. Then she closed
the sash and looked out through the small panes.

"Is it--" said Peyton, quietly, with as much steadiness as he could
command, "I wonder--can it be--"

"A troop of rangers!" said Elizabeth. "And Sam is with them!" She
closed the shutter, and turned to Peyton, her face still glowing with
the resentment elicited by the cavalier attitude he had assumed before
this alarm. "Go or stay, 'tis nothing to you, you said! The last
insult, Sir Rebel Captain!" and she made for the door.

"You mustn't go! You mustn't go!" was the only speech he could summon.
But she was already passing him. He snatched a kerchief from her
dress, and dropped it on the floor. She did not observe his act.
"Pardon me!" he cried. "Your kerchief! You've dropped it, don't you
see?"

She turned and saw it on the floor.

Peyton quickly stepped from behind his chair, stooped and picked up
the kerchief, kissed it, and handed it to her, then staggered to his
former support, showing in his face and by a groan the pain caused him
by his movement.

"Your wound!" said Elizabeth, standing still. "You shouldn't have
stoo