When at last the evening's festivities, if such they might be termed, were over, it was Andre, preceded by a couple of soldiers with lanterns, who escorted them back to their home, and at Janice's request he ordered the two men to remain in the now deserted house. "They must leave you before daybreak," the officer warned them; "but they will assure you a quiet night. I would that you were safe in New York, however, and shall rest uneasy till I welcome you there. Ladies, you have made many an hour happier to John Andre," ended the young officer, his voice breaking slightly. "Some day, God willing, he will endeavour to repay them." "Oh, Captain Andre," replied Janice, "'t is we are the debtors indeed!" "We'll not quarrel over that at parting," said Andre, forcing a merry note into his voice. "When this wretched rebellion is over, and you are well back at Greenwood, and may that be soon, I will visit you and endeavour to settle debit and credit." Just as he finished, the sound of drums was heard. "'T is past tattoo, surely?" Mrs. Meredith questioned with a start. "Ay," answered Andre. "'T is the rogue's march they are ruffling for a would-be deserter who was drum-headed this evening, and whom they are taking to the State House yard to hang. Brrew! Was not the gloom of to-night great enough without that as a last touch to ring in our ears? What a fate for a soldier who might have died in battle! Farewell, and may it be but a short au revoir," and, turning, the young officer hurried away, singing out, in an attempt to be cheery, the soldier's song:-- "Why, soldiers, why Should we be melancholy, boys? Why, soldiers, why, Whose business 't is to die? What, sighing? fie! Drown fear, drink on, be jolly, boys. 'T is he, you, or I!" XLVIII A TIME OF TERROR The Merediths were awakened the next morning by sounds which told of the movements of troops, and all day long the regiments were marching to the river, and as fast as they could be ferried, were transferred to the Jersey side, the townspeople who, by choice or necessity, were left behind being helpless spectators meanwhile. Once again the streets of Philadelphia assumed the appearance of almost absolute desertion; for as the sun went down the prudent-minded retired within doors, taking good heed to bar shutters and bolt doors, and the precaution was well, for all night long men might be seen prowling about the streets,--jail-birds, British deserters, and other desperadoes, tempted by hope of plunder.