The hours wore on, and still no tidings came. Joscelyn went restlessly from room to room, unable to fix her attention upon anything. It was close upon ten o'clock when the thud of hoofs resounded outside, and a minute after Barry entered the room. Evidently the news he brought was of a gloomy character, for his face was clouded. "The spy--they have caught him!" Joscelyn cried, leaning heavily on her chair. "The spy? What do you mean--what is the matter that you are so pale?" The solicitude in his voice was not unmixed with a curious surprise. Then when she hesitated over her answer, he said; coming quite close to her, "Why are you so interested in this spy?" Then in a moment she was herself again. "They say it was he who saved my life on the commons; should I be true to my womanhood if I dismissed him from my thoughts? I tell you frankly I wish him well." She returned his gaze quietly, and he took her hand with a deference that was an apology. "And I, too, wish him well for that service, no matter what he may have carried to his general to our undoing--for he has not been taken. I am a soldier and a servant of the king, but in my heart of hearts your safety is more than the safety of Lord Cornwallis's whole command." His reward was a dazzling smile and an invitation to sit with her upon the sofa, which action brought him within a foot of her. He longed to lessen even that distance, but comforted himself with the thought that his hand might creep to hers at the first softening of her manner. "What made you think I brought news of the spy?" "You were so grave I thought naught but an execution could be in progress." "It is indeed a kind of execution, for this is to be my good-by," he said sadly. "We march in two hours; already camp is broken, and preparations are being made." "And this decision was reached--?" "Late last night at a council of officers. This spy has carried away information about our position that Greene could use to our defeat; that, with other reasons, brought about the decision. I did not sleep one moment for thinking of leaving you." "And the search for the spy is given over?" "Yes." She could not repress a sigh of relief, but he did not so interpret it. Mary had withdrawn to the window, and her mother had left the room; they two might as well have been alone. "My God, how I shall miss you!" cried the young fellow at last, desperately. "You see I never loved a woman before, and so I know not how to bear this parting." "You are a soldier," she said gently. "A soldier endures any pain manfully." "Yes, but no sword thrust ever hurt like this. You are glad you have met me?" "Very glad." "And you will miss me and think of me sometimes?" "Many times." "And when the war is over, I may come back and--and claim your love?" He had taken her hand, and she could not at once draw it away, for a strange hesitation was upon her. "I cannot promise," she said at last. "Ten days ago I did not know you."