It had gone down half an hour before, leaving a great crimson gash in the western sky, above which ran a bank of smoky gray clouds, where the evening star was beginning to blink. It had been a day of thawing. The sun had started the icy rime to running from the trees and shrubs, and melted the snow upon the roofs, while the white covering of the land was burned away here and there, until it seemed to be out at knees and elbows, where showed the brown and dirty green of the soil. But an intense cold had come with the darkness, turning the melted snow to crystal, and hanging glittering pendants from everything. "I wish Cousin Dot was all well, the way she used to be," sighed small 'Bitha, sitting with her rosy face so rumpled by the pressure of the little supporting palms as to remind one of the cherubs seen upon ancient tombstones. She spoke in a voice too low for any one to hear save those nearest her; and Mary gave a warning "Hush," as she glanced at the abstracted face of her father-in-law, who was gazing intently at the flames leaping from the logs. "She 'll not hear what I say," the child went on, now with a touch of impatience. "She often does n't hear me when I speak to her. Many times I ask her something over and over again, when she is looking straight at me; and then she will act as if she'd been asleep, and ask me what I've been saying." "Your cousin was very ill, you must remember, 'Bitha," her grandame explained; "and it takes her a long time to recover, and be like herself again." But the child shook her blonde head with an air of profound wisdom. "I think it is only that bad medicine of Dr. Paine's," she said. "When I am ill, I shall ask Tyntie to fetch me a medicine man, such as the Indians have. I should like to see him dance and beat his drum." "I should think we have had enough of the sound of beating drums, 'Bitha," replied Mary, speaking so sharply as to arouse her father-in-law into looking toward her. Here John Devereux, just returned from the town, came in and announced the withdrawal of the British soldiers from the town and Neck. "When will they go?" his wife asked eagerly. "A shipload of them has already sailed,--it left the harbor before sunset; and some of the dragoons are about starting. It did my heart good to see the red-backs taking the road to Salem. We are well quit of them; and when they are gone we can easily manage all the ships they send into the harbor to annoy us or spy upon us." He laughed with a mingling of indignation and contempt; but his manner changed quickly as he glanced toward his sister. "Dot!" he cried, "what is it, child?" And he sprang to her. She had turned about when he came into the room, and was now lying back against the spinet, her head on the music-rack,--lying there speechless, motionless; for the girl--and for the first time in her life--had fainted. CHAPTER XXIV An hour later, when left in her own room with Mary, Dorothy poured out her secret sorrow.