and
had the man in their grasp.

"Who are you?" said Clark.

"Name o' Skene, from Pennsylvanya," said the man, "and by the Lord God ye
shall have the fort."

"You looked for us?" said Clark.

"Faith, never less," said the Pennsylvanian. "The one sentry is at the
main gate."

"And the governor?"

"Rocheblave?" said the Pennsylvanian. "He sleeps yonder in the old
Jesuit house in the middle."

Clark turned to Tom McChesney, who was at his elbow.

"Corporal!" said he, swiftly, "secure the sentry at the main gate! You,"
he added, turning to the Pennsylvanian, "lead us to the governor. But
mind, if you betray me, I'll be the first to blow out your brains."

The man seized a lantern and made swiftly over the level ground until the
rubble-work of the old Jesuit house showed in the light, nor Clark nor
any of them stopped to think of the danger our little handful ran at the
mercy of a stranger. The house was silent. We halted, and Clark threw
himself against the rude panels of the door, which gave to inward
blackness. Our men filled the little passage, and suddenly we found
ourselves in a low-ceiled room in front of a great four-poster bed. And
in it, upright, blinking at the light, were two odd Frenchified figures
in tasselled nightcaps. Astonishment and anger and fear struggled in the
faces of Monsieur de Rocheblave and his lady. A regard for truth compels
me to admit that it was madame who first found her voice, and no
uncertain one it was.

First came a shriek that might have roused the garrison.

"Villains! Murderers! Outragers of decency!" she cried with spirit,
pouring a heap of invectives, now in French, now in English, much to the
discomfiture of our backwoodsmen, who peered at her helplessly.

"Nom du diable!" cried the commandant, when his lady's breath was gone,
"what does this mean?"

"It means, sir," answered Clark, promptly, "that you are my prisoner."

"And who are you?" gasped the commandant.

"George Rogers Clark, Colonel in the service of the Commonwealth of
Virginia." He held out his hand restrainingly, for the furious Monsieur
Rocheblave made an attempt to rise. "You will oblige me by remaining in
bed, sir, for a moment."

"Coquins! Canailles! Cochons!" shrieked the lady.

"Madame," said Colonel Clark, politely, "the necessities of war are often
cruel."

He made a bow, and paying no further attention to the torrent of her
reproaches or the threats of the helpless commandant, he calml