comes the last," whispered Miss Joliffe, pointing her
tremulous finger to the staircase.

A figure had come into view as if descending the stairs, although so
dusky was the region whence it emerged some of the spectators fancied
that they had seen this human shape suddenly moulding itself amid the
gloom. Downward the figure came with a stately and martial tread, and,
reaching the lowest stair, was observed to be a tall man booted and
wrapped in a military cloak, which was drawn up around the face so as
to meet the napped brim of a laced hat; the features, therefore, were
completely hidden. But the British officers deemed that they had seen
that military cloak before, and even recognized the frayed embroidery
on the collar, as well as the gilded scabbard of a sword which
protruded from the folds of the cloak and glittered in a vivid gleam
of light. Apart from these trifling particulars there were
characteristics of gait and bearing which impelled the wondering
guests to glance from the shrouded figure to Sir William Howe, as if
to satisfy themselves that their host had not suddenly vanished from
the midst of them. With a dark flush of wrath upon his brow, they saw
the general draw his sword and advance to meet the figure in the cloak
before the latter had stepped one pace upon the floor.

"Villain, unmuffle yourself!" cried he. "You pass no farther."

The figure, without blenching a hair's-breadth from the sword which
was pointed at his breast, made a solemn pause and lowered the cape of
the cloak from about his face, yet not sufficiently for the spectators
to catch a glimpse of it. But Sir William Howe had evidently seen
enough. The sternness of his countenance gave place to a look of wild
amazement, if not horror, while he recoiled several steps from the
figure and let fall his sword upon the floor. The martial shape again
drew the cloak about his features and passed on, but, reaching the
threshold with his back toward the spectators, he was seen to stamp
his foot and shake his clenched hands in the air. It was afterward
affirmed that Sir William Howe had repeated that selfsame gesture of
rage and sorrow when for the last time, and as the last royal
governor, he passed through the portal of the province-house.

"Hark! The procession moves," said Miss Joliffe.

The music was dying away along the street, and its dismal strains were
mingled with the knell of midnight from the steeple of the Old South
and with the ro