With that, turning her back upon her terrified mistress, with the air of a queen refusing a petition, she patronizingly assured Desire that she had met with more favor in her eyes than her mother, and she would accordingly protect her. “Though,” she added, “I guess ye won't need my helpin for Cap'n Hamlin 'll see nobuddy teches ye cept hisself.” “Is he here?” gasped Desire, her dismay suddenly magnified into utter panic. “Fer sartain, my sweetheart ez sent me word 's under him,” replied Keziah. A noise of voices and tramp of feet at the outside door interrupted her. The marauders had come. The door was barred and this having been tested, there was a hail of gunstock blows upon it with orders to open and blasphemous threats as to the consequences of refusal. There was a dead silence within, but for Mrs. Edwards' hollow whisper, “Don't open.” With staring eyes and mouths apart the terrified women and children looked at one another motionless, barely daring to breathe. But as the volley of blows and threats was renewed with access of violence, Keziah exclaimed: “Ef they hain't yeur frens they be mine, an I hain't gonter see em kep aout in the cold no longer fer nobuddy,” and she went to the door and took hold of the bar. “Don't you do it,” gasped Mrs. Edwards springing forward to arrest her. But she had done it, and instantly Meshech Little with three or four followers burst into the room, wearing the green insignia of rebellion in their caps and carrying muskets with bayonets fixed. “Why didn' ye open that ar door, afore?” demanded Meshech, angrily. “What do you want?” asked Mrs. Edwards tremblingly confronting him. “Wat dew we want ole woman?” replied Meshech. “Wal, we want most evrything, but I guess we kin help oursels. Hey boys?” “Callate we kin make aout tew,” echoed one of his followers, not a Stockbridge man, and then as his eye caught Desire, as she stood pale and beautiful, with wild eyes and disheveled hair, by her mother, he made a dive at her saying: “Guess I'll take a kiss tew begin with.” “Let the gal 'lone,” said Meshech, catching him by the shoulder. “Hands orfen her. She's the Duke's doxy, an he'll run ye through the body ef ye tech her.” “Gosh, she hain't, though, is she?” said the fellow, refraining from further demonstration but regarding her admiringly. “I hearn baout she. Likely lookin gal, tew, hain't she? On'y leetle tew black, mebbe.”