“Was he?  Will he go off to-day with all the other redcoats?”

“He sailed away to England some months ago,—­I recollect he came to bid good-by to Clarissa,—­but do you know, Moppet,” lowering his voice, with a glance over his shoulder to be certain that he was not overheard, “I think I saw him two days ago.”

“In New York?” said Moppet, with a start.  “Why you said he’d gone to England.”

“But he could come back, surely.  Moppet, I think he was proper fond of Betty.”

“Peter Provoost, do you fancy that my sister would smile on a scarlet coat?  You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” and Moppet looked the picture of virtuous indignation.

“Well, I’ve seen her do it,” retorted Peter, not in the least abashed, “and what’s more I heard him call her ‘sweetheart’ once.”

“Oh, Peter!” Moppet’s curiosity very nearly got the better of her discretion; but she halted in time, and bit her tongue to keep it silent.

“And if you won’t tell—­promise?”—­Moppet nodded—­“not a word, mind, even to Betty—­where do you think I saw Captain Yorke the other day?  You’ll never guess;—­it was at Fraunces’s Tavern on Broad Street, and he was in earnest conversation with General Wolcott.”

“With my father?” This time Moppet’s astonishment was real, and Peter chuckled at his success in news-telling.

“Children,” called a voice from the hall, “where are you?  Do you want to come with me on an errand for Clarissa near Bowling Green, which must be done before the streets are full of the troops?”

“Surely,” cried both voices, as Peter dashed in one direction after his cocked hat, and Miss Moppet flew in another for the blue hood.  Betty waited until the pair returned, laughing and panting, and then taking a hand of each she proceeded up Wall Street to Broadway, and down that thoroughfare toward Bowling Green.  Before they had quite reached their destination the sound of bugle and trumpet made them turn about, and Peter suggested that they should mount a convenient pair of steps in front of a large white house, which had apparently been closed by its owners, for a number of bystanders were already posted there.  They were just in time, for around the corner of William Street came a group of officers on horseback, their scarlet uniforms glittering in the sun.  It was Sir Guy Carleton and his staff, on their way to the Battery, where they would take boats and be rowed over to a man-of-war which awaited them in the bay.  A murmur, then louder sounds of disapprobation, started up from the street.

“There they go!” cried a voice, “and good riddance to Hessians and Tories.”

Betty’s cheeks flushed.  Oh, those hateful scarlet coats, symbols of what had caused her so much misery.  And yet—­with another and deeper wave of color—­it was Geoffrey’s uniform and these were his brother officers, going where they would see him; oh, why, why, was fate so unkind, and life so hard!  Another moment and they were out of sight, but keen-eyed Moppet caught a glimpse of Betty’s downcast face and said to herself, “Oh, I dare not tell her; I wish I did.”