“’Tis all up, gentlemen!” cried Captain Falconer, in a tone of resignation, and without even an oath; whereupon we wheeled in disappointment and made back upon our tracks; being pursued for some miles, but finally abandoned, by the cavalry we had seen, which, as we did not learn till long afterward, was led by Winwood.  We left some dead and wounded near the place where we had been taken by surprise; and some whose horses had been hurt were made prisoners.

For his conduct in all this business, an offer was made to Philip of promotion to a majority; but he firmly declined it, saying that he owed the news of our expedition to such circumstances that he chose not, in his own person, to profit by it.[6]

CHAPTER XIV.

The Bad Shilling Turns up Once More in Queen Street.

“This will be sad news to Mrs. Winwood, gentlemen,” said Captain Falconer to Tom and me, as we rode toward the place where we should take the boats for New York.  The day was well forward, but its gray sunless light held little cheer for such a silent, dejected crew as we were.

The captain was too much the self-controlled gentleman to show great disappointment on his own account, though he had probably set store upon this venture, as an opportunity that he lacked in his regular duties on General Clinton’s staff, where he served pending the delayed enlistment of the loyalist cavalry troop he had been sent over to command.  But though he might hide his own regrets, now that we were nearing Margaret, it was proper to consider our failure with reference to her.

“Doubtless,” he went on, “there was treachery against us somewhere; for we cannot suppose such vigilance and preparation to be usual with the rebels.  But we must not hint as much to her.  The leak may have been, you see, through one of the instruments of her choosing—­the man Meadows, perhaps, or—­” (He stopped short of mentioning Ned Faringfield, whose trustworthiness on either side he was warranted, by much that he had heard, in doubting.) “In any case,” he resumed, “’twould be indelicate to imply that her judgment of men, her confidence in any one, could have been mistaken.  We’d best merely tell her, then, that the rebels were on the alert, and fell upon us before we could meet her brother.”

We thought to find her with face all alive, expectant of the best news, or at least in a fever of impatience, and that therefore ’twould be the more painful to tell her the truth.  But when the captain’s servant let the three of us in at the front door (Tom and I had waited while Falconer briefly reported our fiasco to General Clinton) and we found her waiting for us upon the stairs, her face was pale with a set and tragic wofulness, as if tidings of our failure had preceded us.  There was, perhaps, an instant’s last flutter of hope against hope, a momentary remnant of inquiry, in her eyes; but this yielded to despairing certainty at her first clear sight of our crestfallen faces.