I borrowed a long coat, having put off my dress, and, when all was ready, went with a lantern to get the ladies.  Louise recognized me first.

“Grace au ciel! le capitaine!” said she, running to meet me.

I dropped my lantern as we came face to face, and have ever been glad of that little accident, for there in the dark my arms went around her, and our lips met for a silent kiss full of history and of holy confidence.  Then she put her hand upon my face with a gentle caressing touch, and turned her own away.

“I am very, very glad to see you,” I said.

“Dieu!” said her sister, coming near, “we should be glad to see you, if it were possible.”

I lighted the lantern hurriedly.

“Ciel! the light becomes him,” said Louison, her grand eyes aglow.

But before there was time to answer I had kissed her also.

“He is a bold thing,” she added, turning soberly to the baroness.

“Both a bold and happy thing,” I answered.  “Forgive me.  I should not be so bold if I were not—­well—­insanely happy.”

“He is only a boy,” said the baroness, laughing as she kissed me.

“Poor little ingenu!” said Louison, patting my arm.

Louise, tall and lovely and sedate as ever, stood near me, primping her bonnet.

“Little ingenu!” she repeated, with a faint laugh of irony as she placed the dainty thing on her head.

“Well, what do you think of him?” said Louison, turning to help her.

“Dieu! that he is very big and dreadful,” said the other, soberly.  “I should think we had better be going.”

These things move slowly on paper, but the greeting was to me painfully short, there being of it not more than a minuteful, I should say.  On our way to the lights they plied me with whispered queries, and were in fear of more fighting.  The prisoners were now in the coach, and our men—­there were twelve—­stood on every side of it, their pikes in hand.  The boats were near, and we hurried to the river by a toteway.  Our schooner lay some twenty rods off a point.  A bateau and six canoes were waiting on the beach, and when we had come to the schooner I unbound the prisoners.

“You can get ashore with this bateau,” I said.  “You will find the horses tied to a tree.”

“Wha’ does thet mean?” said D’ri.

“That we have no right to hold them,” was my answer.  “Ronley was, in no way responsible for their coming.”

Leaning over the side with a lantern, while one of our men held the bateau, I motioned to the coachman.

“Give that ‘humberreller’ to the butler, with my compliments,” I whispered.

Our anchors up, our sails took the wind in a jiffy.

“Member how we used ye,” D’ri called to the receding Britishers, “an’ ef ye ever meet a Yankee try t’ be p’lite tew ’im.”

Dawn had come before we got off at the Harbor dock.  I took the ladies to an inn for breakfast, wrote a report, and went for my horse and uniform.  General Brown was buttoning his suspenders when they admitted me to his room.