“Pshaw!” cried the earl, smiling, “Lance is in his dotage, and can talk of nothing but what happened thirty or forty years ago. Our expedition was a mere prank. I found out nothing, and risked not only my life but this poor fellow’s without warrant.” “The duke, sir,” said Lance, very respectfully, “was of another mind. And, sir, I have never thought of Madame Geoffroy, and her fits and her fainting and her furbelows, these thirty-five years without laughing.” At which George went off into such convulsions of laughter that Lord Fairfax knew Lance had told him the whole story. After four days of stormy weather it became clear and cold. They were only twenty miles from Greenway Court, but the earl sent a man ahead to find out if the streams were fordable, and whether it were yet worth while to start. The man came back the next day about sunset, saying it would be possible for them to get to Greenway Court the next day. Although George had stood the confinement in the cabin stoically, he was delighted to be on the move again, and both he and the earl relished their last supper there the more for knowing it would be the last. All the arrangements were made for an early start on horseback next morning, and at nine o’clock Lord Fairfax and George were about turning in when they heard a timid knock at the door. Lance, with a candle in his hand, opened the door, and at first saw nothing at all; but as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he saw a negro boy and a dog. Lance was so surprised that he did not at first speak, but the boy piped up very promptly: “Is Marse George Washington here, suh?” George, on hearing his name called in that voice, jumped from his chair as if he had been shot, and the next moment was standing face to face with Billy, while Rattler sprang at him with wild barks of delight. Billy’s greeting was brief and to the point. “Heah I is, Marse George, wid Rattler.” [Illustration: “‘IS MARSE GEORGE WASHINGTON HERE, SUH?’”] “Where on earth did you come from?” asked George, breathlessly, dragging the boy into the cabin. As the light of the fire and the candles fell upon him he looked as if he might have come three hundred miles instead of less than a hundred and fifty, he was so thin, so hollow-eyed, and gaunt. His shoes were quite gone except the uppers, and he was in rags and tatters; yet nothing could dim the joy shining in his beady black eyes, while his mouth came open as if it were on hinges. Lord Fairfax, turning in his chair, was struck by the look of rapturous delight on poor Billy’s face. The boy, still grinning, answered: