“I _have_ a secret from you, my darling,” he said, returning her embrace. “But, take this to your heart—whatever your station, whatever mine, I love you entirely. Now, go.” She opened the door which led into the room of Theresa. She found her awake, with her head bowed upon a table. Katrine was not so much a servant as a dear friend to Theresa, and she passed her arm about her kindly, as she asked why she was sad. “He is here,” was the answer. “Who?” “Van Zandt.” “I know that; but why should you fear him? Your lover will never see you forced to be his wife. I will not. My lover will not.” “Alas, what can they do? Willie is far away.” “Not so far as you may imagine. I heard a tapping at my window just now. I opened it, and who do you suppose was there?” “Hans Drinker,” said Theresa, with a smile, for she knew that the worthy Dutchman persecuted poor Katrine to the verge of distraction. “If I served you rightly,” said Katrine,“I should go back to my room, and not tell you a single word.” “But you won’t. Who was it? Carl Anselm?” “Be careful! It was Bainbridge.” “I knew he was here. Did he say any thing about Willie?” “He told me to bid you rise, and be at your lattice in half an hour, for Willie Barlow would then be there.” Theresa clasped her hands in fervent thanksgiving. “You have brought glad tidings, dear Katrine,” she said. “Sit with me until he comes. Ah, what is he doing in this frightful storm?” “It is enough that he is here. You should have seen poor Boston. Wet—oh, so wet! Like one drownded cat.” The two sat with clasped hands until a tap came at the lattice. Theresa rose and opened it softly. “Who is it?” she whispered. “Willie,” he replied. Hands and lips met. That hour could not be forgotten, in any after pain. CHAPTER VI. THE HUMAN COLLISION AND HORSE COLLAPSE. The meeting between the lovers was long, and it was only the wise council of Boston which induced them at length to separate. He had moved away a little from the window, and was calling in a low tone upon Willie to make haste, when a chamber lattice was thrown rudely back, and a gun protruded. It was Captain Van Zandt who had heard voices. “Come away,” cried Boston, now careless. “You will spoil all. Obey me, Sir Lieutenant!” “How dare he speak in that way?” thought Katrine. Willie, imprinting a farewell kiss upon the willing lips of Theresa, bounded away. A stream of fire leaped from the muzzle of the musket of Van Zandt. A mocking laugh came back in response. Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaped from the window, sword in hand, calling upon Van Curter, who was up and armed by this time, to follow. It is a maxim which all woodsmen should heed, not to follow an enemy _too_ closely in the dark. But, an angry man is not apt to take maxims to heart. Van Zandt had recognized the voice of the peddler, and heard him call “Willie,” and knew full well who were the intruders and their business.