Lucy Foster came in at that moment, and her eyes filled with renewed resentment as she heard these words addressed to her invalid father. “How long, Mr. Clarage,” she asked, “is this to continue? My father is not strong, as you well know; your ruffianly behavior is making him ill!” “Ah, it is the little rebel,” laughed Clarage, in his bull-like tones. Then he turned to Mark Harwood. “Do you know, Harwood, who she reminds me of as she stands there with her eyes flashing and her little hands clinched? Why, that cousin of yours--Laura, you know. Why man, it seems to me that all the prettiest girls in the colony are rebels.” “But Laura will not remain one for any great length of time,” said Mark. “And neither would Miss Lucy, here, for all her angry looks, under like conditions.” “Why, how is that?” “Laura is to be married,” returned Mark. Tom Deering, in the tall clock, started. “Married, eh?” said Clarage. “And when, pray?” “On next Christmas eve.” “And to whom?” “To Lieutenant Cheyne, of Tarleton’s horse.” Laura married! and to the inhuman monster who had tortured poor Cole! Tom could not, would not believe it! “I did not fancy she’d consent to wed a king’s officer,” said one of the Tory band. “She was always a proud little thing--a very spitfire.” “Oh, she’ll consent fast enough,” laughed Mark. “She refused Cheyne, point-blank, when my father proposed the match; but before Christmas day comes around, she’ll have changed her mind, I’ll promise you that. My father is not a man to be balked in his purpose by a slip of a girl.” “Why did he select Cheyne as her husband?” asked Clarage, with interest. “Come, tell us that; I’ll warrant there’s some good reason for it.” “There is a good reason for everything that Jasper Harwood does,” said the Tory who had before spoken. “You are right in that,” said Mark. “You see, father is very anxious that the estate of our rebel relative, Deering, who was taken in arms against the king, shall not revert to the crown.” “Very good of him,” said some one. “But it is the first time that I knew him to have any friendly feeling toward Deering.” “He has none. It is not for Deering’s sake that my father is anxious, but for his own. You see, he wants the estate for himself.” A gale of laughter went up at this confession. Lucy had been urging her father to go to his chamber, as his face was growing more drawn and haggard every moment, showing that the strain was greater than he cared to admit. At last he consented; she opened the door leading into the hall and he passed out, thinking that Lucy was following him. He paused at the tall clock to speak an encouraging word to the boy concealed therein, then looked surprisedly about for Lucy. “She has gone on up to her room without waiting for me,” said he, to himself. Then with another “courage, my lad,” to Tom, he ascended the staircase.