Captain Willoughby understood his son; he glanced towards his unconscious wife, as if to see how far she felt with him.

“Our own families are divided, of course, much as they have been in the previous discussions,” he added.  “The De Lanceys, Van Cortlandts, Philipses, Bayards, and most of that town connection, with a large portion of the Long Island families, I should think, are with the crown; while the Livingstons, Morrises, Schuylers, Rensselaers, and their friends, go with the colony.  Is not this the manner in which they are divided?”

“With some limitations, sir.  All the De Lanceys, with most of their strong connections and influence, are with us—­with the king, I mean—­while all the Livingstons and Morrises are against us.  The other families are divided—­as with the Cortlandts, Schuylers, and Rensselaers.  It is fortunate for the Patroon, that he is a boy.”

“Why so, Bob?” asked the captain, looking inquiringly up, at his son.

“Simply, sir, that his great estate may not be confiscated.  So many of his near connections are against us, that he could hardly escape the contamination; and the consequences would be inevitable.”

“Do you consider that so certain, sir?  As there are two sides to the question, may there not be two results to the war?”

“I think not, sir.  England is no power to be defied by colonies insignificant as these.”

“This is well enough for a king’s officer, major Willoughby; but all large bodies of men are formidable when they are right, and nations—­ these colonies are a nation, in extent and number—­are not so easily put down, when the spirit of liberty is up and doing among them.”

The major listened to his father with pain and wonder.  The captain spoke earnestly, and there was a flush about his fine countenance, that gave it sternness and authority.  Unused to debate with his father, especially when the latter was in such a mood, the son remained silent, though his mother, who was thoroughly loyal in her heart—­meaning loyal as applied to a sovereign—­and who had the utmost confidence in her husband’s tenderness and consideration for herself, was not so scrupulous.

“Why, Willoughby,” she cried, “you really incline to rebellion!  I, even I, who was born in the colonies, think them very wrong to resist their anointed king, and sovereign prince.”

“Ah, Wilhelmina,” answered the captain, more mildly, “you have a true colonist’s admiration of home.  But I was old enough, when I left England, to appreciate what I saw and knew, and cannot feel all this provincial admiration.”

“But surely, my dear captain, England is a very great country,” interrupted the chaplain—­“a prodigious country; one that can claim all our respect and love.  Look at the church, now, the purified continuation of the ancient visible authority of Christ on earth!  It is the consideration of this church that has subdued my natural love of birth-place, and altered my sentiments.”