had deceived me. There was no reason why she should, and it was easy to
conceive how she had naturally become part of the gay pageant, herself an
exile, and with both father and lover in the King's service. Her very
fun-loving disposition would lead her to take interest in the affair,
while beyond doubt her friendships would all influence her in that
direction. Yet down deep in her heart, I still believed, there was
loyalty to the Colonies, a desire to aid them in their struggle, and, I
sincerely hoped, a distrust and growing aversion to the man, Grant.
Certainly she could not love the fellow; that thought was inconceivable.
Whatever prearranged ties might still bind, she was already in almost
open rebellion against them. 'T was not in woman's nature to love one
man, and then aid another to outwit him. And she had done all this, and
of her own free will; done it with her eyes looking frankly into mine,
knowing who I was, and my real purpose in Philadelphia. No statement of
another could shake my confidence, or make me feel she had deliberately
deceived. Only through some action, or some direct word of her own, would
I permit my faith to be shattered.

Plunged deeply in these thoughts, I had almost forgotten where I was, as
well as the presence of my companion, when he suddenly arose to his feet,
and, pushing aside the wooden window shutter, looked out. A glance of his
keen eyes was sufficient.

"Get back into your box, Major," he exclaimed quickly. "Pull the papers
over you."

I was upon my feet, conscious of the distant sound of horses' hoofs.

"What is it? The enemy?"