Joscelyn's cheek burnt scarlet under his lips, but so glad was she to see him safe after all their anxiety that she submitted without protest. In faith, it was over so quickly, there had been no time for resistance. Devouring her with his eyes, he tried to retain her hand when the greeting was over, but after a moment she slipped it, not unkindly, from his grasp, and presently when he had told them briefly of his marvellous escape, she ran over to give her mother the news and to see if there was not a piece of his favourite cake in the cupboard. A warm tingle was in her veins, and she put her hand up to the cheek he had kissed. How pleasant it was to hear his voice in the house. If he would only leave the war alone, and--and quit making love to her, she would be so fond of him; they used to be excellent comrades before these two things came between them. Thinking thus, she put a napkin over the cake and turned to leave the pantry; but Richard, under pretext of speaking to her mother, had followed her, and now stood in the door barring her exit. "Joscelyn, how good it is to see you again! Have you thought of me?" "'Twould have been impossible not to think of you with nothing else being talked of in the house these two months past." "But have you missed me?" "Why, we miss anything to which we have been accustomed." "And you sorrowed for me?" "Truly, Richard, I should be a most hard-hearted girl not to sorrow over such suffering as has been yours." "God bless you!" He was so full of joy over the meeting that he did not notice the lack of love-warmth in her voice, but when he would have put his arm about her, she pushed him off with quiet decision. "Nay, Richard, do not begin that. You told your mother just now that you had but three hours to stay with us; let us not waste a single moment of the time in a useless love-making." "But you kissed me for greeting." "Nay, sir, 'twas you kissed me," she said, with a shimmer of laughter over her face like sunlight upon dancing water. "Listen, sweetheart," he said, coming very close to her, his head swimming with the soft intoxication of her presence; "we may have but these few minutes together, but I want you to know that it was the thought of you that kept me alive in that vile prison and finally nerved me to escape. But for you,--for the fierce longing to see you, to touch you,--I should have stayed there and died like a rat." "Eustace did all he could," she broke in, "but our letter was long in reaching him, for General Clinton had sent him to help repel the attack on Rhode Island, and he did not return to New York for more than a month."