When he finished, women were weeping upon each other's necks, thinking of their own little ones and those other murdered babies. And fierce was the denunciation of Butler for enlisting in his army savages whose brutality could not be controlled. This was not war; it was assassination, as cowardly as it was cruel. So bitter was the feeling aroused, that for a while the fact that the courier had brought some letters was quite overlooked, until Mistress Nash and Janet Cameron came forward with epistles which contained messages for many of those present. Then it was remembered that the other two letters had both been for Joscelyn Cheshire, and immediately a dozen voices demanded her. But she was already well down the street, her arm linked in Betty Clevering's. "Come away, Aunt Cheshire will be wretched about you," the latter had whispered to her, remembering the scene in this very place a few weeks before and dreading a repetition of it, and in her secret heart wishing that at least one of the letters in Joscelyn's hand should not be read aloud to the public, knowing well that in it was some love-message for herself, for was not that why Eustace wrote so often to Joscelyn? And so she dragged her companion back the way they had come; but as they walked Joscelyn tore open the letter with the familiar seal, exclaiming gayly:-- "Paper is not scarce with Eustace, since he sends me three whole sheets. Let me see--Betty--Betty--Betty--just in a fleeting glance I see your name some eight times. What a fondness he hath for writing the word!" "Let me read with you, Joscelyn," cried Betty, her cheeks very bright; and drawing close together the two girls held the sheet between them and slackened their pace. But they were not left long to their privacy, for by the time they reached the Cheshire door a dozen neighbours were upon them. "So, so, Joscelyn, be not running away with your tidings. Tell us what Clinton is doing in New York," exclaimed Mistress Strudwick, who had come with the others to give the girl countenance, if so she should need it. "Ay, do not be playing the selfish, but give us the news," cried several voices. "I am as ignorant as you of General Clinton's doings," the girl said, smiling at the first speaker; "for, as far as I have got, the letter is full of questions about somebody here at home." "Yes, a spying letter for information, no doubt," sneered Amanda Bryce. "The courier said they were both from some one in New York. Who writes to you from Clinton's army?" "Eustace Singleton, a handsome lad whom you know right well, Mistress Bryce." "He sends you two letters by the same hand? Faith! he is an ardent correspondent." "Nay, this other letter is in a strange writing. I know not yet who hath sent it." "Break the wafer and read it to us." "I do not choose, Mistress Bryce, to give my letters to the public." "Do not choose, because you do not dare." "Do not dare?"