She sat there sobbing for some time, first weeping wildly then wearily and in despair. Presently she slipped down from the bench, tried both the doors and the windows and at last, carrying one of the candles, climbed the stairs to see if escape were possible through one of the upper windows. It was as she had feared however, the heavy wooden shutters had been nailed in place when the sleeping rooms had been abandoned, and no effort of hers could force them open. She went down again, opened one of the windows that looked toward the great house and tried to call for help. The roaring wind swept the words from her lips so quickly that she scarce could hear the cry herself. She could not even see the other house, for every light in it had long since been put out. There was no hope that any one there would miss her before morning, for only Jason knew of her not being at home and he, she was well aware, would sleep until midday unless forcibly awakened. She turned back to begin her weaving again, but found herself suddenly too worn out for further labour; instead she crept into the big chair by the fire and sat there, limp and weary, her hands lying idle in her lap. She watched long the dancing firelight as it flickered back and forth on the low heavy-beamed ceiling. One of the candles sputtered and went out, but the other burned steady in its copper candlestick although its light seemed suddenly to have become very feeble and tiny in the midst of all those moving shadows. The ever rising wind roared down the chimney and made the faggots flare up, break apart and fall quickly into glowing coals. The white birch log, however, burned faithfully and cast a pleasant warmth over her as she sat in the big chair. She was thinking of the soldiers marching away into the storm; she wondered if they would accomplish their errand safely; she hoped they would—she hoped they would not. She thought of the young Captain, of his bravery when he had escaped alone after all his comrades had surrendered, of his kindness to Miles, of the gentleness of his voice when he said, “I am so sorry, little Mademoiselle.” Her heart burned with anger when she thought of his leaving her in such a plight, it melted again at the remembrance of how like he was to Stephen and Master Simon. One moment she wished he might be attacked and taken by the American troops, the next she pictured him lying somewhere on the snowy road, wounded and helpless, and she shivered at the thought.