ruffles, and tarnished buckles for their shoes! _They_ defy _us_?
You're jesting! No, no, my dear Sidney! In spite of all their protests
and town meetings they'll be glad enough to give in at the end, and to
pay the tax right speedily. For, mark you, in spite of all the rumors
of defiance that we've heard, the town to-night lies as quiet as a
church.

MARSH.
Aye, so it does.

PENROSE
(rising).
Too quiet for my spirits. Let's seek another tavern where there's more
revelry than there is here.

MARSH
(draining his glass).
We'll not find shrewder lemon punch at any. On my way back I'll have
another glass.

[Tosses money at Rigby, who lets it lie where it falls. He shakes a
clenched hand after the retreating figures of the two lieutenants, and
then goes back to lighting his candles on the mantelshelf. Marsh and
Penrose exeunt. After a moment there comes from without the sound of a
halting step, the door is opened, and Richard Stockton enters, a lad
with the eyes of a dreamer, and the bearing of a doer of deeds. Thomas
Rigby, at sound of the entering step, turns, taper in hand.

RICHARD
(coming forward).