Peyton uttered a short laugh of derision at this piece of prudence. The steward and Sam withdrew to the hall, where Sam remained, while Williams went in search of Elizabeth for further orders. As soon as she had assured herself, by watching and listening, that Peyton was safe in the parlor, she had stolen quietly down-stairs to the dining-room, where she had met her aunt, with whom the steward now found her sitting. She told him to get the duck-gun, make sure it was loaded and primed, and to wait with Sam on the settle in the hall. She then requested her aunt to remain in the dining-room, silently returned to the hall, and took station by the door leading from the parlor,--the door which Williams, at Colden's command, had left slightly ajar. Her original plan, she felt, might have to be altered by reason of Colden's having obtruded his hand into the game, a possibility she had not, in roughly sketching that plan, taken into account. It was in order to have the guidance of circumstance, that she now put herself in the way of hearing, unseen, what might pass between the two men. Meanwhile, through the snow-storm, Colden's two soldiers, who had indeed tarried at the tavern for the heating up of their interiors, were blasphemously urging their sleepy horses towards the manor-house. In the parlor, the two enemies were facing each other, Peyton on his chair, his tied wrists behind him, Colden standing at some distance from him, holding the broken sword. As soon as they were alone, Peyton uttered another one-syllabled laugh, and said: "The hospitality of this house beats my recollection. One is always coming back to it." "You'll not come back the next time you leave it!" said Major Colden, his eyes glittering with gratified rancor. "And when shall that time be?" asked Peyton, airily. "As soon as two of my men arrive, whom I outrode on my way hither to-night. They attended me out of New York. I shall be generous and give them over to you, to attend you _into_ New York." "Thanks for the escort!" "'Tis the only kind you rebels ever have, when you enter New York," sneered the major. "We shall enter it with an escort of our own choosing some day! And a sorry day that for you Tories and refugees, my dear gentleman!" "But if that day ever comes, _you'll_ have been rotting underground a long time,--and thanks to _me_, don't forget that!" "Thanks to _her_, you coward!" cried Peyton. "'Twas she that sent her servants after me! You didn't dare try taking me, alone!" "Bah!" said Colden, hotly, "I might have pistolled you here to-night"--and he placed his hand on the fire-arm in his belt--"but for the presence of the ladies!" "Was it the ladies' presence," retorted Peyton, contemptuously, "or the fact that you're a devilish bad shot?"