“To order—­to get the dice for a last desperate main.”

“General Washington is going to try—?”

“Ay.  Ah, Miss Janice, they have beaten our troops, but they’ve still to beat our general, and if I can but make Lee—­ I must not linger.  Wilt give me a good-by and God-speed to warm me on the ride?”

“Both,” answered Janice, holding out her hand, which the officer once again stooped and kissed.  “And to-night I’ll pray for his Excellency.’

Brereton shoved open the door wide enough for the horse to pass through.  “And not for his Excellency’s aide?” he asked.

Janice laughed a little shyly as she replied:  “Does not the greater always include the lesser?”

Barely were the words spoken, when a sound from the outside reached them, making both start and listen intently.  It needed but an instant’s attention to resolve the approaching noise into the jingle of bits and sabres.

“Hist!” whispered the officer, warningly.  “Cavalry.”  He threw back the holster-flap of the saddle to free a pistol, and, grasping his scabbard to prevent it from clanking, he stepped through the doorway, leading Joggles by the bridle.

“Ho, there!” came a voice out of the driving snow.  “We’ve lost sight and road.  Which way is ’t to Greenwood?”

Brereton put foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle.  “Away to the right,” he responded, as he softly drew his sabre, and slipped the empty scabbard between his thigh and the saddle.  Gathering up the reins, he wheeled Joggles to the left.

“Can’t ye give us some guidance, whoever ye be?” asked the voice, now much nearer, while the sound of horses’ breathing and the murmur of men’s voices proved that a considerable party were struggling through the deepening snow.  “Where are you, anyway?’

Brereton touched Joggles with the spur gently, and the steed moved forward.  Not five steps had been taken before the horse shied slightly to avoid collision with another, and, in doing so, he gave a neigh.

“Here ’s the fellow, Hennion,” spoke up a rider.  “Now we’ll be stabled quick enough.”  He reached out and caught at the bridle.

There was a swishing sound, as Brereton swung his sword aloft and brought it down on the extended arm.  Using what remained of the momentum of the stroke, the aide let the flat of the weapon fall sharply on Joggles’ flank; the horse bounded forward, and, in a dozen strides, had passed through the disordered troop.

A shrill cry of pain came from the officer, followed by a dozen exclamations and oaths from the troopers, and then a sharp order, “Catch or kill him!”

“Ha, Joggles, old boy,” chuckled his rider, “there ’s not much chance of our being cold yet a while.  But we know the roads, and we’ll show them a trick or two if they’ll but stick to us long enough.”

Bang! bang! bang! went some horse-pistols.

“Shoot away!” jeered the aide, softly, though he leaned low in the saddle as he wheeled through the small opening in the hedge and galloped over the garden beds. “’T is only British dragoons who’d blindly waste lead on a northeaster.  ’T is lucky the snow took no offence at my curses of it an hour ago.”