“To leave my room so occupied is dreadful,” said Lettice; “yet better that than to be dragged from it myself. Good-by old home,” she cried, waving her hand. “We may never see you again.”
“Don’t say so,” Betty entreated. “I want to think I am coming back soon.” But she, too, gazed out as long as she could, and until the trees hid the last bit of the white house.
True enough, it was a last look, for an hour later a band of angry men appeared, who, after having rescued their fallen comrade, plundered the house and set fire to it, and by night only a mass of smouldering ruins remained.
The carriage was driven along at a lively pace, Pat proving himself as good a driver as a fighter. He had fully recovered from his wounds and was eager to get back to Baltimore, to see service, and to find Mr. Joe. Young Tom Hopkins had started for the North to join his father. “To show him that I mean to do something to wipe out my past record,” he said.
Pat would not give any credence to the belief that Joe was lost. “He’s gone off to some av thim furrin countries, an’ is lookin’ out fur prizes. He’s not lost at all, to my thinkin’,” he said. This Lettice wrote to Patsey, who was much comforted thereby.
Patsey, too, had retreated from her home to a safe distance, and was with friends in Washington. She had begged Lettice to go with her, but Lettice had refused, saying that she would be better content in a quiet place, where the merry ways of her little nephew would bring her more solace than could anything else. She devoted much time to the little fellow, who grew more and more winsome every day, and was so adored by Betty’s parents that he was in danger of being spoiled.
During the remainder of the year Lettice passed in a quiet village in the county of Kent. Betty, glad enough to be with her own family, soon regained her spirits; and Lettice herself, deeply as she grieved over the loss of her brother, was not uncomforted by the return of her eldest brother, and by the assurance of being in as safe a place as was afforded. Tom, be it said, had thrown himself heart and soul into the war. He had too many scores to settle, not to deal such blows as opportunity allowed him. For a month or so life was very peaceful for Lettice, and then came a new trouble: Lutie disappeared. Whether she had stolen off of her own accord, or whether she had been captured, could not be discovered. Lettice firmly believed the latter to be the truth, and mourned her little maid with real sorrow.
CHAPTER XVI.
A Time of Rest.
The winter passed without special incident to Lettice and the household where she was sheltered, but the spring brought a renewal of depredations along the shores of the Chesapeake, and again Cockburn and his men were dreaded and feared. It was one day in the summer of this year of 1814, that Betty and Lettice, sitting out on the porch, discussed soberly their year’s experience.