What with care and anxiety, she had come to the place where open wrath is the only escape from the shame of tears. To her surprise the Colonel made no rejoinder. The younger officer at his side caught his eye as he was about to make some insolent reply. Captain, the Honorable John Verney, to be some day in the peerage if spared by war, was a person whom the Colonel did not care to offend, and who, as Mrs. Markham spoke, said, “You had better get another billet, Grimstone. No doubt André would exchange with you.” The Colonel growled but held his tongue, knowing very well that few officers were as well cared for as Mrs. Markham’s guests. Verney, a gentleman of the best, smiled at her and nodded reassuringly. He meant, as often before, to set her at ease as to her difficulty in suiting the Colonel. The third guest, a Hessian officer, Count Von Einstein, annoyed by the Colonel’s rudeness, turned the talk aside as he said, in fair English: “The letter you gave me for your husband in New York I was able to forward but I had first to go through the form of reading it: I think I did say so; else it could not have gone.” “Of course,” returned Mrs. Markham, coloring. “Is there any chance of exchange of prisoners?” “I fear not,” said Verney, “unless the Continentals should capture the Count or Colonel Grimstone.” “There isn’t much chance of that, mother,” whispered Tom. “They like town too well.” “Hush!” she said, but smiled at him affectionately. Amid the stress of war, the talk at table, and his mother’s anxiety, the lad had become thoughtful beyond his years. “What a terrible night!” said Mrs. Markham, as the wind roared around the house and the casements rattled. Her mind was on the camp at Valley Forge, whence came, from the Quaker farmers, now and then, tales of starvation, misery, and desertion very encouraging to Sir William Howe, who felt that there was small need to assist the weather in fighting his battles. Some such thought was in the mind of the Colonel, for he remarked, “The rebels must be enjoying it.” “There are two sides to that question,” replied Verney. “How two, sir?” asked Grimstone. “Oh, we cannot move,” said the Count. “Not even the great Frederick ever made a campaign in winter.” “Who wants to move? I do not,” growled the Colonel. “I would try it, if I were Sir William.” “And how?” asked the Colonel. “Well, this way,” said Verney. He rose, and taking a sheet of paper from a desk near by sat down again and rapidly drew the course of the river Schuylkill. “This way. March five thousand men up each side of the river, cross on the ice from this side, and attack on both sides at once.” The Count looked up. “That is just what Major Montresor is urging Sir William to do, and at once. He hesitates----” “But the snow,” said the Colonel. “He won’t try it,” returned Verney. “No, thank Heaven,” said the Colonel, and the sketch was crumpled up and cast aside to fall on the floor under the table.