The two men return to their places.  The townsfolk raise a cheer; and begin to exchange exultant looks, with a presentiment of triumph as they see their Pastor speaking with their enemies in the gate.

Anderson (exhaling a deep breath of relief, and dabbing his perspiring brow with his handkerchief).  Thank God, I was in time!

Burgoyne (calm as ever, and still watch in hand).  Ample time, sir.  Plenty of time.  I should never dream of hanging any gentleman by an American clock. (He puts up his watch.)

Anderson.  Yes:  we are some minutes ahead of you already, General.  Now tell them to take the rope from the neck of that American citizen.

Burgoyne (to the executioner in the cart—­very politely).  Kindly undo Mr. Dudgeon.

The executioner takes the rope from Richard’s neck, unties has hands, and helps him on with his coat.

Judith (stealing timidly to Anderson).  Tony.

Anderson (putting his arm round her shoulders and bantering her affectionately).  Well what do you think of you husband, now, eh?—­eh??—­eh???

Judith.  I am ashamed—­ (She hides her face against his breast.)

Burgoyne (to Swindon).  You look disappointed, Major Swindon.

Swindon.  You look defeated, General Burgoyne.

Burgoyne.  I am, sir; and I am humane enough to be glad of it. (Richard jumps down from the cart, Brudenell offering his hand to help him, and runs to Anderson, whose left hand he shakes heartily, the right being occupied by Judith.) By the way, Mr. Anderson, I do not quite understand.  The safe-conduct was for a commander of the militia.  I understand you are a—­(he looks as pointedly as his good manners permit at the riding boots, the pistols, and Richard’s coat, and adds) a clergyman.

Anderson (between Judith and Richard).  Sir:  it is in the hour of trial that a man finds his true profession.  This foolish young man (placing his hand on Richard’s shoulder) boasted himself the Devil’s Disciple; but when the hour of trial came to him, he found that it was his destiny to suffer and be faithful to the death.  I thought myself a decent minister of the gospel of peace; but when the hour of trial came to me, I found that it was my destiny to be a man of action and that my place was amid the thunder of the captains and the shouting.  So I am starting life at fifty as Captain Anthony Anderson of the Springtown militia; and the Devil’s Disciple here will start presently as the Reverend Richard Dudgeon, and wag his pow in my old pulpit, and give good advice to this silly sentimental little wife of mine (putting his other hand on her shoulder.  She steals a glance at Richard to see how the prospect pleases him).  Your mother told me, Richard, that I should never have chosen Judith if I’d been born for the ministry.  I am afraid she was right; so, by your leave, you may keep my coat and I’ll keep yours.