"Ye're as like to be hanged yerself," said Tom, somewhat resentfully, giving the proverb a rather literal interpretation. "Tush, mon, nae offence, its ony an auld Scotch saw, that. But an angry mon was yon tall Captain Scott [Footnote: Afterwards Major- General Scott, Commander-in-Chief of the United States army. The prisoners were sent to Montreal and Quebec. Hull was subsequently court-marshalled for cowardice and condemned to death, but he was reprieved on account of Revolutionary service.] at thae surrender. How he stamped an' raved an' broke his sword." "I am sure the Gineral was very kind to them. On our march home, the prisoners shared and fared as well as we did." "I heard," said Neville, "that Hull was afraid the Indians would massacre the women and children who had taken refuge in the fort." "No fear of that," said Loker. "Tecumseh told the Gineral they had sworn off liquor during the war. It's the fire-water that makes the Indian a madman, an' the white man, too." "Well, thank God," said Neville, "it is a great and bloodless victory. I hope it will bring a speedy peace." "I am afraid not," said the squire, arousing from his doze in the "ingle nook." "We had a seven years' struggle of it in the old war, and I fear that there will have to be some blood-letting before these bad humours are cufed. But we'll hope for the best. Come, Katharine, bring us a flagon of your sweet cider." The sturdy brown flagon was brought, and the gleaming pewter mugs were filled--it was long before the days of Temperance Societies-- even the preacher thinking it no harm to take his mug of the sweet, amber-coloured draught. Neville read from the great family Bible that night the majestic forty-sixth psalm, so grandly paraphrased in Luther's hymn, "Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott;" the favourite battle-hymn, chanting which the Protestant armies marched to victory on many a hard-fought field--the hymn sung by the host of Gustavus Adolphus on the eve of the fatal fight of Lutzen. As he read the closing verses of the psalm the young preacher's voice assumed the triumphant tone of assured faith in the glorious prophecy: "He maketh wars to cease unto the ends of the earth; He breaketh the bow and cutteth the spear in sunder; He burneth the chariot in the fire. "Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. "The Lord of Hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge." "Amen!" unconsciously but fervently responded the soft low voice of Katherine Drayton to this prophecy of millennial peace, and this solemn avowal of present confidence in the Most High. Alas! before to-morrow's sun should set, her woman's heart should bleed at the desolations of war brought home to her very hearthstone. CHAPTER III. QUEENSTON HEIGHTS.