“Becuz they wud n’t be left behind on no accaount.  Yer see, yer Excellency, things hez been kinder onsettled in Middlesex Caounty, an’ it hain’t been a joyful time to them as wuz Tories; so when orders cum ter bring old Meredith ter York Island, his wife an’ gal wuz so scar’t nothin’ would do but they must come along.”

“Ay,” spoke up the man by the fireplace, bitterly.  “A nice pass ye’ve brought things to, that women dare not tarry in their own homes for fear of insult.”

“You may go,” said the officer to the captor, pointing at the door.

“Ain’t I ter hear the ’zamination, yer Excellency?” demanded the man, regretfully.  “The hull caounty is sot on known’ ther fac’s.”  But as the hand still pointed to the entrance, the man passed reluctantly through it.

Taking a seat shadowed from the dim light of the solitary candle, the officer asked:  “You are aware, Mr. Meredith, on what charge you are in military custody?”

“Not I,” growled the master of Greenwood.  “For more than a year gone I’ve taken no part in affairs, but ’t is all of a piece with ye Whigs that—­to trump up a charge against—­”

“This is no trumpery accusation,” interrupted the officer.  “I hold here a letter to Sir William Howe, found after our army took possession of Boston, signed by one Clowes, and conveying vastly important information as to our lack of powder, which he states he obtained through you.”

“Now a pox on the villain!” cried the squire.  “Has he not tried to do me enough harm in other ways, but he must add this to it?  Janice, see the evil ye’ve wrought.”

“Oh, dadda,” cried the girl, desperately, “I know I was—­ was a wicked creature, but I’ve been sorry, and suffered for it, and I don’t think ’t is fair to blame me for this.  ’T was not I who brought him—­”

“Silence, miss!” interrupted her mother.  “Wouldst sauce thy father in his trouble?”

“I presume you obtained the knowledge Clowes transmitted from your daughter?” surmised the officer.

“My daughter?  Not I!  How could a chit of a girl know aught of such things?  Clowes got it from young Hennion, and devil a thing had I really to do with it, write what he pleases.”

“Pray take chairs, ladies,” suggested the aide, with more politeness.  “Now, sir, unravel this matter, so far as ’t is known to you.”

When the squire’s brief tale of how the information was obtained and forwarded to Boston was told, the officer was silent for some moments.  Then he asked:  “Hast had word of Clowes since then?”

“Not sight or word since the night the—­”

“Oh, dadda,” moaned Janice, “please don’t!”

“Since he attempted to steal my girl from me.  And if e’er I meet him I trust I’ll have my horsewhip handy.”

“Is Hennion where we can lay hold upon him?”

“Not he.  ’T was impossible for him to get out of Boston, try his best, and the last word we had of him—­wrote to his rascally father—­was that he’d ‘listed in Ruggles’ loyalists.”