"I must be going; mother is at Mistress Strudwick's and will be angry if she knows I came here," Betty said at last, rising with a sigh. But Joscelyn held her back with both hands. "Not yet, Betty, not yet; we can see her far down the street by the lights from the windows. Stay a little longer; it is such a comfort to have you." "I wish I could come without this deception." "I, too, with all my heart." "You had a letter to-day; was it from Master Singleton?" "No; it was this sad one from Richard, by the same messenger that brought yours. The last letter I had from Eustace was the one I sent you some two weeks ago. Since he was then on the eve of going to New York to carry letters to General Clinton, it is not likely he is among those in the beleaguered city of Yorktown." "I have been so glad to think this," Betty answered, sighing. "Do you know, Joscelyn, I saw him in the parlour yonder for a few minutes the day the British marched?" "Yes; I told mother to have you here, and then I sent him back from headquarters." Betty kissed her gratefully. "I might have guessed it. It was such a happy ten minutes! But, Joscelyn, mother never mentions his name except to remind me that his father and mine were bitter enemies." "Wait until Richard comes home; he doubtless will look at matters differently; and as he says, so will your mother do." "Not unless you plead for me; and even that may not now avail, for he may share mother's anger against you." "Richard will not be angry with me when he returns," Joscelyn answered confidently; and Betty kissed her softly. "Oh, Joscelyn, if it could only have been Richard instead of Captain Barry to win even this much of your heart! But there, I must be going; some one is coming down the street." "You will come again sometime?" "Yes, for I have wanted you so much." "And I you." They held each other close for a moment, and then Betty ran across the street and dodged into the shadow of her own door. Her visit helped Joscelyn immeasurably, in that it gave her a sense of sympathy. But she could not shake off the depression of Richard's news; it was a culmination of the long strain upon her nervous system. In the succeeding days she had fits of silent brooding which sometimes, in the sombre twilights, ended in tears. For the first time since the news of Lexington, her neighbours found her grave and preoccupied. The fearless badinage with which she had met every attack upon her partisan creed was suddenly stayed, as though she heard not their thrusts and innuendoes. And Mistress Strudwick watched her with a vague uneasiness, longing to see the old, quick passion flame up now and then. But this frame of mind was rudely broken by the thrilling news of the fall of Yorktown. She had expected it for days, but the reality roused all of her former spirit, and put her once more upon the defensive.