When the wound was dressed, Williams put the patient's disturbed attire to rights, and adjusted his hair. Peyton, with a feeling of some relief, made to stretch the wounded leg, but a sharp twinge cut the movement short. "You should make a good surgeon," Peyton said at last, "you tie so damnably tight a bandage." "I've bound up many a wound, sir," said Williams; "and some far worse than yours. 'Tis not a dangerous cut, yours, though 'twill be irritating while it lasts. You won't walk for a day or two." "It's remarkable your mistress has so much trouble taken with me, when she intends to deliver me to the British." Peyton had inferred the steward's place in the house, from his appearance and manner. "Why, sir," said Williams, "we couldn't have you bleeding over the floor and furniture. Besides, I suppose she wants to hand you over in good condition." "I see! No bedraggled remnant of a man, but a complete, clean, and comfortable candidate for Cunningham's gallows!" Peyton here forgot his wound and attempted to sit upright, but quickly fell back with a grimace and a groan. "Better lie still, sir," counselled Williams, sagely. "If you need any one, you are to call Cuff. He will be in waiting in that hall, sir." And the steward pointed towards the east hall. "There will be no use trying to get away. I doubt if you could walk half across the room without fainting. And if you could get out of the house, you'd find black Sam on guard, with his duck-gun,--and Sam doesn't miss once in a hundred times with that duck-gun. Bring those things, Cuff." Williams indicated Peyton's hat, remnant of sword, and scabbard, which had been placed on the armchair by the fireside. "Leave my sword!" commanded Peyton. "Can't, sir!" said Williams, affably. "Miss Elizabeth's orders were to take it away." Williams thereupon went from the room, crossed the east hall, and entered the dining-room, to report to Elizabeth, who now sat at supper with Miss Sally and Mr. Valentine. Cuff, with basin of water in one hand, took up the hat, sword, and scabbard, with the other. "Miss Elizabeth!" mused Peyton. "Queen Elizabeth, I should say, in this house. Gad, to be a girl's prisoner, tied down to a sofa by so small a cut!" Hereupon he addressed Cuff, who was about to depart: "Where is your mistress?" "In the dining-room, eating supper." "And Mr. Colden, whom I saw in that hall about an hour ago, when I bought the horse?" "Major Colden rode back to New York." "_Major_ Colden! Major of what?" "New Juzzey Vollingteers, sir." "What? Then he is in the King's service, after all? And when I was here with my troops he said he was neutral. I'll never take a Tory's word again." "Am you like to hab de chance, sir?" queried Cuff, with a grin. "What! You taunt me with my situation?" And Harry's head shot up from the sofa as he made to rise and chastise the boy; but he could not stand on his leg, and so remained sitting, propped on his right arm, panting and glaring at the negro.