The officer caught up his hat and sword, and in a moment they were walking down Second Street.  Several times Janice unsuccessfully sought to begin her tale, but Andre finally had to come to her assistance.

“You surely do not fear to trust me, Miss Meredith, and you cannot doubt the surety of assistance, if it be within my power?”

For a moment the girl’s lips trembled; then she said,” Dost truly think the miniature frame I showed thee is worth as much as five hundred pounds?”

“I think ’t is, beyond doubt.”

“And dost thou think that thee couldst obtain four hundred pounds for it?”

“Of that I can scarce give assurance, for ’t is a question whether a purchaser can be found for it.  Yet I make small doubt, Miss Meredith,” he added, “that if you will leave your portrait in it, one man there is in Philadelphia will gladly buy it at that price, though he run in debt to do it.  If you desire to sell it, why do you not offer it to Mobray?”

The girl had coloured with Andre’s first remark, and ere he had completed his speech, her cheeks were all aglow.  “I—­ I could not offer it to him.  Surely you can understand that ’t would be impossible?” she stammered.

“I suppose I am dull-witted not to know it,” said Andre, hurriedly, in evident desire to lessen her embarrassment.  “However, ’t was but a suggestion, and if you desire to sell, I will gladly undertake to negotiate it for you.”

“Oh, will you?” cried the girl, eagerly. “’T will so greatly service me.”

Without more ado, she held out her hand, which contained the miniature, and after a second outburst of thanks, quite unconscious of the fact that she was leaving him abruptly, she hurried away, not homeward, but in a direction which presently brought her to a house before which a sentry paced, where she stopped.

“Is Sir William within?” she asked of the uniformed servant who answered her knock; and when told that he was, added:  “Wilt say that Miss Meredith begs speech with him?”

The servant showed her into the parlour, then passed into the room back of it, and Janice heard the murmur of his words as he delivered her message.

“Miss Meredith,” cried a woman’s voice.  “What does that puss want with you, Sir William?”

The bass of a masculine reply came to the visitor’s ears, though pitched too low for her to distinguish words.

“I know better than to take any man’s oath concerning that,” retorted the feminine speaker; and on the last word the door was flung wider open, and a woman of full figure and of very pronounced beauty burst into the room where the girl sat, closely followed, if not in fact pursued, by the British commander-in-chief.  “What do you want with Sir William?” she demanded.

Janice had risen, half in fright and half in courtesy; but the cry she uttered, even as the inquiry was put, was significant of something more than either.