“Dadda, no!” cried the girl.  “Don’t say it!”

“Ay.  Where didst thou suppose the money came from on which I lived in New York and all of us here?  Didst think thy gown came from heaven?”

“I’d have died sooner than owe it to him,” moaned Janice.  “How could you let me go to the expense?”

“’T was not to be avoided, Jan.  As Sir William’s wish was that we should lend our countenance to the festivities, ’t would not have done to displeasure him, and since I was to be debtor to Lord Clowes, another fifty pounds was not worth balking at.  More still I’ll have to ask from him, I fear, ere we are safe out of this wretched coil.”

“Oh, prithee, dadda,” implored the girl, “do not take another shilling.  I’ll work my fingers to the bone—­do anything —­rather than be indebted to him!”

“’T is not to be helped, child.  Think ye work is to be obtained at such a time, with hundreds in the city out of employment and at the point of starvation?  Thank your stars, rather, that we have a friend who not merely gives us a shelter and food, but advances us cash enough to make us easy.  Dost think I have not tried for employment myself?  I’ve been to merchant after merchant to beg even smouting work, and done the same to the quartermaster’s and commissary’s departments, but nothing wage-earning is to be had.”

“’T is horrible!” despairingly wailed Janice.

“That it might be blacker can at least be said, and that is why I wish thee not to let thy feelings set too strongly against Lord Clowes.  Here ’s a peer of England, Jan, with wealth as well, eager to wed thee.  He is not what I would have him, but it would be a load off my mind and off thy mother’s to feel that thy future at least is made safe and—­”

“I’d die sooner than live such a future,” cried the girl.  “I could not live with him!”

“Yet ye ran off with this man.”

“But then I did not know him as I know him now.  You won’t force me, will you, dadda?”

“That I’ll not; but act not impulsively, lass.  Talk with thy mother, and view it from all sides.  And meantime, we’ll hope he’ll not hear of the poor lad’s death.”

Left alone by her father to digest this advice, Janice lapsed into a despondent attitude, while remarking:  “’T is horrible, and never could I bring myself to it.  Starvation would be easier.”  She sat a little time pondering; then, getting her cloak, calash, and pattens, she set forth, the look of thought displaced by one of determination.  A hurried walk of a few squares brought her to the Franklin house, where she asked for Andre.

“Miss Meredith,” cried the captain, as he appeared at the door, “this is indeed an honour!  But why tarry you outside?”

“I fear me, Captain Andre, that I am doing a monstrous bold thing, and therefore will not enter, but beg of you instead that you walk with me a little distance, for I am in a real difficulty and would ask your help.”