“Her loves are like her moods, my dear Hugh; who knows how long they will last? Until a woman is married she is not to be despaired of.” I shook my head sadly and went out. I returned late in the evening, to order my horse to be saddled and sent to me before breakfast next morning; for I kept it at no cost in my aunt’s ample stable. To my horror, I found a sentinel at the door, and the hall full of army baggage. In the parlour was a tall Hessian, General von Knyphausen, and Count Donop and others, smoking, much at their ease. They were fairly civil, but did not concern themselves greatly if I liked it or not. I found my aunt in bed, in a fever of vain anger. She had the bed-curtains drawn, and when I was bid to enter, put aside the chintz so as to make room for her head, which appeared in a tall nightcap. I am unfit, I fear, to describe this gear; but it brought out all her large features very strongly, and to have seen her would have terrified a Hessian regiment. “My house is full of Dutch dogs,” she cried. “As soon as they came they ordered bones.” In fact, they had asked quite civilly if they might have supper. “I saw them at their feed,” says my aunt, “and the big beast, General Knyphausen, spread my best butter on his bread with his thumb, sir--his thumb! Count Donop is better; but Von Heiser! and the pipes! heavens!” Here she retreated within her curtains, and I heard her say, “Bessy Ferguson saw them come in, and must sail across the street and tell Job--the page with the turban--to congratulate me for her, and to advise me to get a keg of sauerkraut.” I assured my aunt that fortunately these were gentlemen, but she was inconsolable, declaring herself ill, and that Dr. Rush must come at once. “But,” I said, “he is gone with all the Congress to York.” “Then I shall die,” moaned my aunt. At last, knowing her well, I said, “Is it not too sad?” “What’s that? What?” “Mr. Howe has taken Mrs. Pemberton’s carriage and the pair of sorrels for his own use.” At this my Aunt Gainor’s large face reappeared, not as melancholic as before, and I added, “Friend Waln has six to care for, and Thomas Scattergood has the Hessian chaplain and a drunken major. The rest of Friends are no better off.” “Thank the Lord for all His mercies!” said Miss Wynne. “And Mr. Cadwalader’s house on Little Dock street Sir William has.” “A pity that, Hugh. The fine furniture will pay for it, I fear. I think, Hugh, I am better, or I shall be soon.” “They talk of the Meeting over the way for a barrack, Aunt Gainor.” Now this was idly rumoured, but how could one resist to feed an occasion so comic? “I think I should die contented,” said Miss Wynne. “Now go away, Hugh. I have had my medicine, and I like it.” She was quick at self-analysis, and was laughing low, really happier for the miseries of her Tory acquaintances.