"Oh, no," said she. "He'd die before he'd disobey Miss Elizabeth. We all would, sir. I'm very sorry, indeed, sir." Whereupon, taking up the empty bowl and teacup, she hastened from the room. Peyton sat listening to the clock-ticks. He moved his right leg so that the foot rested on the floor, then tried to move the left one after it, using his hand to guide it. With great pains and greater pain, he finally got the left foot beside the right. He then undertook to stand, but the effort cost him such physical agony as could not be borne for any length of time. He fell back with a groan to the sofa, convinced that the wounded leg was not only, for the time, useless itself, but also an impediment to whatever service the other leg might have rendered alone. But he remained sitting up, his right foot on the floor. Suddenly there was a raucous sound from old Mr. Valentine. He had at last begun to snore. But this infliction brought its own remedy, for when his jaws opened wider his tobacco pipe fell from his mouth and struck his folded hands. He awoke with a start, and blinked wonderingly at Peyton, whose face, turned towards the old man, still wore the look of disapproval evoked by the momentary snoring. "Still here, eh?" piped Mr. Valentine. "I dreamt you were being hanged to the fireplace, like a pig to be smoked. I was quite upset over it! Such a fine young gentleman, and one of Harry Lee's officers, too!" And the old man shook his head deploringly. "Then why don't you help me out of this?" demanded Peyton, whose impulse was for grasping at straws, for he thought of black Sam urging Cato through the wind towards King's Bridge at a gallop. "It ain't possible," said Valentine, phlegmatically. "If it were, would you?" asked Harry, a spark of hope igniting from the appearance that the old man was, at least, not antagonistic to him. "Why, yes," began the octogenarian, placidly. Harry's heart bounded. "If," the old man went on, "I could without lending aid to the King's enemies. But you see I couldn't. I won't lend aid to neither side's enemies.[7] I don't want to die afore my time." And he gazed complacently at the fire. Peyton knew the hopeless immovability of selfish old age. "God!" he muttered, in despair. "Is there no one I can turn to?" "There's none within hearing would dare go against the orders of Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Valentine. "Miss Elizabeth evidently rules with a firm hand," said Peyton, bitterly. "Her word--" He stopped suddenly, as if struck by a new thought. "If I could but move _her_! If I could make her change her mind!" "You couldn't. No one ever could, and as for a rebel soldier--" "She has a heart of iron, that girl!" broke in Peyton. "The cruelty of a savage!" Mr. Valentine took on a sincerely deprecating look. "Oh, you mustn't abuse Miss Elizabeth," said he. "It ain't cruelty, it's only proper pride. And she isn't hard. She has the kindest heart,--to those she's fond of."