"And how long does it take to shoe a horse?"

"How many shoes, madam?"

Again the glint in her eyes, and this time I saw some of the blue in
them. "One, sir," she said shortly.

"Ten to fifteen minutes, madam."

"He's a very long time," she said under her breath.

"The smith is probably very busy to-day."

"Busy! Why so?"

"The dragoons may have found him much work," said I, merely my way of
explaining the delay. But the words stabbed her. She laid a hand on my arm
and cried gaspingly, "Dragoons! What do you mean? Quick!"

"The Duke of Cumberland is marching north from Lichfield against the
Stuart, and Lord Brocton's dragoons are in the village."

"Brocton! O God! Brocton! My father is taken! And by Brocton!" She spoke
aloud in her agitation, and I saw that she was cut to the quick. And I
rejoiced, so strange is the human heart, that it was Lord Brocton's name
that came in anguish off her tongue. Oh for one blow at the man whose
father had harried mine into an untimely grave!

In sharp, frosty air sound travels far across the meadows of the