But stranger than this, or than my lady's continued avoidance of me, was
the lack of a visit from Richard Jennifer. Knowing well my dear lad's
loyalty to the patriot cause, I could only conjecture that he had
finally broken Margery's enforced truce to go and join Mr. Rutherford's
militia, which, as Darius told me, was rallying to attack a Tory
stronghold at Ramsour's Mill.

With this surmise I was striving to content myself on that evening of
the third day, when Mistress Margery burst in upon me, bright-eyed and
with her cheeks aflame.

"Captain Ireton, I will know the true cause of this quarrel which,
failing in yourself, you pass on to Richard Jennifer!" she cried. "Was
it not enough that you should get yourself half slain, without sending
this headstrong boy to his death?"

Now in all my surmisings I had not thought of this, and truly if she had
sought far and wide for a whip to scourge me with she could have found
no thong to cut so deep.

"God help me!" I groaned. "Has this fiend incarnate killed my poor lad?"

"No, he is not dead," she confessed, relenting a little. "But he has the
baronet's bullet through his sword-arm for the sake of your over-seas
disagreement with Sir Francis."

I could not tell her that though my quarrel with this villain was but
the avenging of poor Dick Coverdale's wrongs, Richard Jennifer's was for
the baronet's affront to her. So I bore the blame in silence, glad
enough to be assured that my dear lad was only wounded.