She turned, looking for a corner—anywhere to be rid of Trevellian’s eyes. She saw him coming towards her, led by General Jackson. Seizing her by the arm as if to prevent escape and holding Trevellian also for the same purpose: “I wish you to greet and congratulate Colonel Trevellian, my dear,” said the general, his eyes flashing proudly. “I am happy to congratulate you, sir,” she said, her face paling, her knees trembling. He took her hand, pressed it and turned away. But in that pressure she knew he loved her yet and she—never had hated herself more, for she loved him. The evening was nearly over. It had been a memorable one for all, for Jackson’s assurance had made them all assured. “Oh, he will whip them,” said Mrs. Livingston to Juliette; “he can do anything. Backwoodsman?—he is a prince. What reserve power, what force—what natural leadership! And do you know,” she pouted, “he has not touched any of my fine dishes—he is sick—he eats only a little rice and milk. Oh, I wish I could keep him here and nurse him! But I know, dear, I feel the city is safe.” Trevellian had talked to each of his hostess’ guests; he had spent the evening seemingly satisfied with the chattering, jolly beauties around him, but his thoughts were continually with Juliette. For it had been many months since he had seen her, and he, too, had yearned. And then when she shook his hand—that pressure, ever so slight, but it meant, and he knew it—that she loved him. Could he seek her and speak to her again? Had she not said and done enough to cause a renewal of his advances? While she was thinking he walked over mechanically, but his heart beating as it never had before. She was alone, near the window on the vine-covered veranda looking over the cooling, dew-gathering landscape of the mild December night. “I hope you have found it pleasant living here,” he said, “and that you will suffer no fright from the fear of the British.” “I am not in the least afraid,” she said, smiling toward General Jackson, who, fatigued, was stretched out on a sofa before a small fire, while a number of young people listened to his talk. Trevellian shook his head. “It is a terribly serious thing. Half our troops are still in the woods marching here. The Kentuckians have not yet arrived. We have only 2,000 troops of all kinds yet in the city, and Lafitte places the English he met on the sea at 10,000 alone, to say nothing of their sailors and marines and ships of war. But the General,” he went on proudly, “I believe he thinks he could whip them himself, and he would try it. I do not say this to frighten you, but I wish you to be prepared. If the British were to land before our other troops come, God only knows how we could stop them. I think we should all have to die here.” She looked up at him quickly and in that look he saw all the sorrow of love in her eyes.