As they came into the hall they were joined by Miss Euphemia, who had
also heard the sounds of approach; and as they emerged from the house
two tall figures, dusty and travel-worn, confronted them, with Reuben
following in their rear.

"Oliver!" exclaimed Miss Euphemia, as she recognized her youngest nephew
in one of the wayfarers, "whence come you, and what news? Where is your
honored father?"

[Illustration: MISS EUPHEMIA MEETS OLIVER AND HIS PRISONER]

"My father, madam," said Oliver Wolcott, uncovering his head as he
motioned to Reuben to take his place near his companion, "my father is
some thirty miles behind me, but hastening in this direction. What
news?--Fairfield burnt, half its inhabitants homeless, but Tryon's
marauders put to flight and our men in pursuit."

"And who is this gentleman?" said Miss Euphemia, as Oliver kissed her
cheek and stepped back.

"'Tis more than I can answer," said Oliver, "for not one word concerning
himself can I obtain from him. He is my prisoner, Aunt Euphemia; I found
him lurking in the woods ten miles away this morning, and should perhaps
have let him pass had not a low-lying branch of a tree knocked off his
hat, when I recognized him for one of Tryon's crew."

"Speak more respectfully, sir," said the stranger suddenly, "to me, if
not to those whom you term 'Tryon's crew.'"

"I grant the respect due your arm and strength," said Oliver, "for you