"What does this mean?" said she, her lip trembling with increasing passion. "Have you come here to arrest me?" And, as nobody replied, she stamped her bare foot in its silken chamber-shoe, like any angry child in petty fury when disobliged. "Is it not enough," she continued, "that you drive my unhappy husband out of his own house, but you must presently follow me here to mock and insult me? What has our family done to merit this outrage?" Our Major, astonished and out o' countenance, attempted a civil word to calm her, but she swept us all with scornful eyes and stamped her foot again in such anger that her shoe fell off and landed on the grass. "Our only crime is loyalty to a merciful and Christian King!" she cried, paying no heed to the shoe. "Our punishment is that we are like to be hunted as they hunt wild beasts! By a pack of rebels, too! Shame, gentlemen! Is this worthy even of embattled shop-keepers?" "Madame, I beg you----" But she had no patience to listen. "You have forced me out of my home in Johnstown," she said bitterly, "and I thought to find refuge under this poor roof. But now you come hunting me here! Very well, gentlemen, I leave you in possession and go to Fish House. And if you hunt me out o' Fish House, I shall go on, God knows where!--for I do not choose to endure the insult with which your mere presence here affronts me!" I had picked up her silk shoe and now went to her with it, where she stood on the veranda, biting at her lip, and her eyes all a-glitter with angry tears. "For God's sake, madam," said I, "do not use us so harshly. We mean no insult and no harm----" "John Drogue," she said with a great sob, "I have loved you as a brother, but I had rather see you dead there on this violated threshold than know that the Laird of Northesk is become a rebel to his King!" I knelt down and drew the shoe over her bare foot. Then I stood up and took her hand, laying it very gently upon my arm. She suffered me to lead her into the house--to the door of her bedroom, where Claudia, already dressed, took her from me. "Oh, John, John," she sobbed, "what is this pack o' riff-raff doing here with their cobbler majors and carpenter colonels--all these petty shop-keepers in uniform who come from filthy Boston to ride over us?" Claudia's eyes were very bright, but without any trace of fear or anger. "What troops are these, Jack?" she inquired coolly. "And do they really come here to make prisoners of two poor women?" I told her that these soldiers formed a mixed battalion from the commands of Colonels Dayton and Livingston, and that they would encamp for the present within sight of the Summer House. "Do you mean that Polly and I are prisoners?" she repeated incredulously. "I'm afraid I do mean that, Claudia," said I. At the word "prisoner" Lady Johnson flamed: