“I sincerely wish they had made an attack; as the issue in all probability, from the disposition of our troops and the strong situation of our camp, must have been fortunate and happy. At the same time _I_ must add, that reason, prudence and every principle of policy forbade us from quitting our post to attack them. Nothing but success would have justified the measure; and this could not have been expected from their position.” It was a sorry procession of Englishmen that filed through the streets of Philadelphia after this historic retreat—because it can only be called a retreat. They had gone out with high hopes; they had returned—figuratively speaking—with their tails between their legs. They had expected to throw themselves upon a camp of sleeping and unprepared men; they had encountered a spirited and fully prepared foe. The Tory ladies who lined the sidewalks of the city felt sorry for the non-conquering heroes. But one woman watched that mournful march with pleasure, the woman who was chiefly responsible for it—Lydia Darrah. On the night after the return of the British troops the Adjutant-General of the army sent for Lydia Darrah. He requested her to come to his room as he wished to put to her some important questions. She followed, quaking in her shoes. She felt that some one had betrayed her, and prepared to suffer the consequences. “What I wish to know,” he said, after she had been seated, “is whether any of your family was up after eight o’clock on the night that I conferred with the other officers in your sitting-room.” She shook her poke-bonneted head. “Thee knows that we all went to bed at eight o’clock,” she answered. “I know that _you_ were asleep,” he said with emphasis, “because I had to knock at your chamber door three times before you were aroused. But I wondered if any one else was about.” “Why?” “Because some one must have given Washington information concerning our march. I know you were in bed; you say the others were also. I can’t imagine who gave us away unless the walls had ears. When we reached Whitemarsh we found all their cannon mounted and the soldiers ready to receive us. Consequently, after wasting days in marching and counter-marching, we were compelled to come back here like a pack of fools.” “I sympathize with thee,” she said, but if one could have peeped beneath the folds of that poke bonnet one would have sworn there was a twinkle in those demure eyes and a smile of satisfaction upon that placid face. And who will have the heart to find fault with the brave Quakeress for the twinkle, the smile and the white lie? IX DOCTOR STEIBER AND THE MYSTERY OF THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR