"Then I'm glad I've been punctilious in the matter," said Peyton, but without any increase of deference. "Egad, I think I've been as scrupulous as the commander-in-chief himself!" "The commander-in-chief!" echoed Elizabeth. "Sir Henry Clinton pays in gold." "I meant _our_ commander-in-chief," with a suavity most irritating. "Mr. Washington!" said Elizabeth, scornfully, with a slight emphasis on the "Mr." "His Excellency, General Washington." Peyton spoke as one would in gently correcting a child who was impolite. Then he added, "I think the horse is now ready; so I bid you good evening!" And he strode towards the door. Elizabeth was now fully awake to the certainty that one of the horses would indeed be taken. At Peyton's movement she ran to the door, reaching it before he did, and looked out. What she saw, transformed her into a very fury. "Oh, this outrage!" she cried, facing about and addressing those in the hall. "It is my Cato they are leading out! My Cato! Under my very eyes! I forbid it! He shall not go! Where are Cuff and the servants? Why don't they prevent? And you, Jack?" She turned to Colden for the first time since Peyton's arrival. "My troop would make short work of any who interfered, madam," said Peyton, warningly, still looking at Elizabeth only. "Oh, that I should have to endure this!" she said. "Oh, if I had but a company of soldiers at my back, you dog of a rebel!" And she paced the hall in a great passion. Passing the newel post, she noticed the Continental bills. She took these up, violently tore them across, and threw the pieces about the hall, as one tosses corn about a chicken-yard. Major Colden had been having a most uncomfortable five minutes. As a Tory officer, he was in close peril of being made prisoner by this Continental captain and the latter's troop outside, and this peril was none the less since he had so adversely criticised Peyton in the talk which had led to the duel in Bayard's woods. He had not put himself on friendly terms with Peyton after that affair. There was still no reason for any other feeling towards him, on Peyton's part, than resentment. Now Jack Colden had no relish for imprisonment at the hands of the despised rebels. Moreover, he had no wish that Elizabeth should learn of his former defeat by Peyton. He had kept the meeting in Bayard's woods a secret, thanks to Peyton's having quitted New York immediately after it, and to the relation of dependence in which the two only witnesses stood to him. Thus it was that he had remained well out of view during Elizabeth's sharp interview with Peyton, being unwilling alike to be known as a Tory officer, and to be recognized by Peyton. His civilian's cloak hid his uniform and weapons; the dimness of the candle-light screened his face. But matters had reached a point where he could not, without appearing a coward, refrain longer from taking a hand. He stepped forward from the dark remoteness.