But it was not for Mrs. Jeffrey to enlighten her, and tearing her letter in pieces the governess sat down in her easy-chair by the window, mentally congratulating herself upon the fact that “the two young savages,” as she styled Douglas and Warner, were to leave on the morrow.  This last act of theirs, the hoisting of the banner, had been the culminating point; and, too indignant to sit with them at the same table, she resolutely kept her room throughout the entire day, poring intently over Baxter’s “Saints’ Rest,” her favorite volume when at all flurried or excited.  Occasionally, too, she would stop her ears with jeweler’s cotton, to shut out the sound of “Hail, Columbia!” as it came up to her from the parlor below, where the young men were doing their best to show their patriotism.

Towards evening, alarmed by a whizzing sound, which seemed to be often repeated, and wishing to know the cause, she stole halfway down the stairs, when the mischievous Maggie greeted her with a “serpent,” which, hissing beneath her feet, sent her quickly back to her room, from which she did not venture again.  Mrs. Jeffrey was very good-natured, and reflecting that “young folks must have fun,” she became at last comparatively calm, and at an early hour sought her pillow.  But thoughts of “stars and stripes” waving directly over her head, as she knew they were, made her nervous, and the long clock struck the hour of two, and she was yet restless and wakeful, notwithstanding the near approach of dawn.

“Maybe the ‘Saints’ Rest’ will quiet me a trifle,” she thought; and, striking a light, she attempted to read; but in vain, for every word was a star, every line a stripe, and every leaf a flag.  Shutting the book and hurriedly pacing the floor, she exclaimed:  “It’s of no use trying to sleep, or meditate either.  Baxter himself couldn’t do it with that thing over his head, and I mean to take it down.  It’s a duty I owe to King George’s memory, and to Madam Conway;” and, stealing from her room, she groped her way up the dark, narrow stairway, until, emerging into the bright moonlight, she stood directly beneath the American banner, waving so gracefully in the night wind.  “It’s a clever enough device,” she said, gazing rather admiringly at it.  “And I’d let it be if I s’posed I could sleep a wink; but I can’t.  It’s worse for my nerves than strong green tea, and I’ll not lie awake for all the Yankee flags in Christendom.”  So saying, the resolute little woman tugged at the quilt-frame until she loosened it from its fastenings, and then started to return.

But, alas! the way was narrow and dark, the banner was large and cumbersome, while the lady that bore it was nervous and weak.  It is not strange, then, that Maggie, who slept at no great distance, was awakened by a tremendous crash, as of someone falling the entire length of the tower stairs, while a voice, frightened and faint, called out; “Help me, Margaret, do!  I am dead!  I know I am!”