The road was well trodden and the snow light as the pair pursued it in
silence. The famous hostelry known as King's Bridge Inn was upon the
highway going up the Hudson, where Spuyten Duyvil Creek ran down to
Harlem River, and many a rendezvous and intrigue had been carried on
within its low, wide rooms since the Colonies had declared their
independence of British rule. As Yorke approached the door, inside which
Mrs. Seymour had already disappeared, a tall, dark man in riding-boots
and long coat came hastily forth, and as Betty dropped the reins of her
horse he was at her side. "Oh, Gulian," cried she, stretching out both
hands, "don't you know me? 'Tis I, Betty Wolcott; have I outgrown your
recollection?"

"Betty, indeed," replied Gulian Verplanck, lifting her off the horse,
"and right glad am I to welcome you. What good fortune brought you in
contact with Captain Yorke's patrol? Had I known of your near approach,
I should myself have ridden forth with him, but the air was chilly and I
deemed it more prudent to stop at the Inn until to-morrow."

"Since I see you safe"--began Geoffrey, as Betty half turned toward him.

"You do not know whom you have so kindly assisted," broke in Verplanck;
"this is Mistress Betty Wolcott, sister to my wife. Betty, I present to
you Captain Geoffrey Yorke, aide to Sir Henry Clinton, and my friend."

Betty executed her most stately and deepest courtesy, and Yorke swept
his hat gracefully to the very ground; but as she raised her eyes she
said, with a mischievous glance, "I am pleased to learn the name of this
gentleman. Sir, I thank you," and giving him a little gracious nod,
Betty vanished inside the open door of the Inn.