“But—­Oh, what is it you are going to do?” asked Janice.

“I have your word that it goes no further?”

“Yes.”

“A secret letter came to the Brunswick Committee yester-morn from General Washington, saying that it had just been discovered that their powder account was a lie, and that there were less than ten rounds to each man in stock.  He knew by some means of what is here, and he begged the committee to send it to him; for if the British attacked him in his present plight, ’t would be fatal.  And yet what think you the committee did?”

“They asked you to take it to him?”

“Not they, the—­Ah! there ’s no words to fit them.  Old Hennion, mean hunks that he is, wanted them to write and offer to sell it at double what had been paid for ’t, while Bagby would n’t part with it on any terms, because he said ’t was needed by the ‘Invincibles’ to defend the town.  The two voted down Parson McClave, who declared that Brunswick should be laid in ashes rather than that Washington should not be helped.  Ah, Miss Janice, that ’s a man for these times.”

“Then what dost intend?”

“The parson came to me to counsel what was best, and ’tween us we concocted a plan to outwit the time-servers.  There are plenty of fellows of spirit in the ‘Invincibles,’ and ’t is our scheme to steal the powder some night, put it on a sloop, and be to sea before daylight.”

“How monstrous exciting!” exclaimed Janice, her eyes sparkling.  “And you—­”

“I’ll lead them.  I’m desperate enough to do anything that has risk.  There’s real fighting there, if the accounts speak true, and perhaps a bullet will cancel both my shame and my bond—­ay, and my—­my love for you.  For I love you, Miss Janice, love you more

Though taken very much by surprise, Janice drew herself up proudly, and interrupted:  “You forget—­” she began.

“Of course I forget!” broke in the groom.  “What would love be worth if it did n’t forget everything but itself?  I forget I’m a bond-servant, you ’d say.  So I should if I were a king.  But you are too heartless to know what love is,” he ended bitterly.

“’T is not so,” denied Janice, angrily; “but I’ll love no redemptioner, though he be as good-looking and good-tempered as you are ill-natured and ugly.”

“And who are you,” demanded the man, passionately, “to take such mighty airs?  A daughter of a nobody, dubbed Esquire because he is the biggest bubble in a pint pot.”

“I shall not stay here to be insulted,” cried Janice, moving away.  But in the doorway her exasperation got the better of her dignity, and she faced about and said:  “You evidently don’t know that my great-grandfather was Edward Byllynge.”

The man laughed contemptuously.  “Why, you little ninny,” he retorted, “my great-grandfather was king of England!”

Janice caught hold of the lintel, and stood as if transfixed for a moment, even the mortifying epithet of the groom forgotten in her amazement.  “A likely tale!” she ejaculated finally when the first mute surprise was conquered.