The fire burned low at last and the room grew very cold. She wrapped her cloak about her and tried walking up and down the room to keep warm, but found herself so weary that she was forced to sit in the chair again, half frozen as she was. The last candle dwindled down into its candlestick, flared high once, then glimmered and went out. The room was in darkness save for two vague grey blots that showed where the windows were. The wind that had proved the friend of the English soldiers and that had dealt so treacherously with her by burning out her fire, had now dropped and all was so still that she could hear the creaking of the branches of the trees outside and the soft pat-pat against the window of the still falling snow. She must have dozed at last, stiff and uncomfortable as she was, for it was a long time later that she started suddenly wide awake. She saw then that daylight had come upon her unawares, that the windows showed now the wide, white fields outside, and that all the strange shadowy shapes about the dusky room were beginning to show familiar forms of table, spinning-wheel and loom. It must have been the sound of footsteps on the doorstone that aroused her, for even as she opened her eyes she saw that the door was opening and some one was coming in. Dazed, bewildered by her sudden waking, scarcely knowing where she was, she sat staring at the dark figure that strode across to her and leaned over the great chair. “Little Mademoiselle,” said the Captain’s voice, “is it true that you are still here and safe?” “You—you came back!” she gasped up at him in uncomprehending astonishment. “Was there a battle? Did you find our soldiers?” “There has been no fighting,” he answered cheerfully, as he fumbled with stiff fingers, trying to lift the cloak that had slipped from her shoulders. “We did not find your fellow-patriots, nor did they find us, so we were well enough content. The storm stood us in good stead, for all the good people of your village and the next were sleeping so soundly, with doors and windows barred and feather beds pulled over their heads, that no one heard us go by and we brought away Andrew Shadwell and his friends with never a living soul to say us nay.” “But where have your soldiers gone?” she asked still bewildered, for there was no sound outside and she could see through the window that the fields and road were empty. “They are embarking at the cove, five miles from here, where lies the ship that is to carry them safely away, now that our errand is safely done. It was a most unwelcome one and fell to my lot only because I had been through this countryside before. And when all was over I could no longer bear the thought of a brave little maid sitting here all alone in the dark and cold, so I came back—that is all. I will see that you come safely to your house and then go back to join my men.”