"Mistress Betty," spoke Yorke, and his voice was low and very tender,
"may I offer you my arm? A glass of mulled wine would, I think, be of
service to you." Stumbling a little in her agitation, Betty slipped
through the door with him, on into the dining-room, where he placed her
in a corner of the wide sofa and fetched the wine.

"Drink it, every drop," he said, smiling down at her with a masterful
look in his dark eyes that Betty had never seen before. "Sweetheart,
trust me, and sit here till I return."

Betty sipped her wine and the truant color came back to her cheeks, as
she saw him vanish through the door.

"Have I grown a coward?" she thought indignantly. "I was brave up in the
Litchfield hills--how dare I fail now! Captain Yorke must have seen--and
yet, how could he know Oliver's face sufficiently well? Ah,"--and Betty
almost cried out,--"it is I, miserable I, who have betrayed my brother.
We are so strongly alike that"--

"Mistress Betty,"--Yorke was at her side again,--"I left you to bestow
a few shillings on yonder fellow who danced so well, but I could not
find him, and Mistress Kitty Cruger tells me he left at once for
Breucklen Heights, whence he came, as there is a party crossing before
daybreak. I trust you are better; the air was close in your kitchen."

Betty's two small hands clasped each other mutely; her large eloquent
eyes were raised to his in the sweetest glance that ever maiden gave.

"God bless you!" she cried impulsively, and, turning, fled through the
open door.