"But why? For what reason?" she cried. "Will not vessels sail, as usual? Are you afraid we shall be harmed on the sea? 'Tis ridiculous! The rebels have no war-ships. Why need we stay? What have we to do with these troubles? 'Tis not our business to put them down. The king has soldiers enough." "Ay," said Phil, surprised at her vehemence, but speaking the more quietly for that, "'tis the colonies will need soldiers." "Then what folly are you talking? Why should we stay for this war." "That I may take my part in it, my dear." "Bravo, brother Phil!" cried Tom Faringfield. "You nor I sha'n't miss a chance to fight for the king!" "Nor I, either," I added. "'Tis not for the king, that I shall be fighting," said Phil, simply. A silence of astonishment fell on the company. 'Twas broken by Mr. Faringfield: "Bravo, Phil, say _I_ this time." And, losing no jot of his haughty manner, he went over, and with one hand grasping Phil's, laid the other approvingly on the young man's shoulder. "What, have we rebels in our own family?" cried Mrs. Faringfield, whose horror at the fact gave her of a sudden the needful courage. "Madam, do your sentiments differ from mine?" asked her husband. "Sir, I am a De Lancey!" she replied, with a chilling haughtiness almost equal to his own. Tom, buoyed by his feelings of loyalty above the fear of his father's displeasure, crossed to his mother, and kissed her; and even Fanny had the spirit to show defiantly on which side she stood, by nestling to her mother's side and caressing her head. "Good, mamma!" cried Margaret. "No one shall make rebels of us! Understand that, Mr. Philip Winwood!" Philip, though an ashen hue about the lips showed what was passing in his heart, tried to take the bitterness from the situation by treating it playfully. "You see, Mr. Faringfield, if we are indeed rebels against our king, we are paid by our wives turning rebels against ourselves." "You cannot make a joke of it, sir," said Margaret, with a menacing coldness in her tone. "'Tis little need the king has of _my_ influence, I fancy; he has armies to fight his battles. But there's one thing does concern me, and that is my visit to London.--But you'll not deprive me of that, dear, will you, now that you think of it better?" Her voice had softened as she turned to pleading. "We must wait, my dear, while there is uncertainty or war." "But you haven't the right to make me wait!" she cried, her voice warming to mingled rage, reproach, and threat. "Why, wars last for years--I should be an old woman! You're not free to deny me this pleasure, or postpone it an hour! You promised it from the first, you encouraged my anticipations until I came to live upon them, you fed my hopes till they dropped everything else in the world. Night and day I have looked forward to it, thought of it, dreamt of it! And now you say I must wait--months, at least; probably years! But you can't mean it, Phil! You wouldn't be so cruel! Tell me!"