“It is,” replied Miles in troubled tones. “There is a company of redcoats who have slipped out of Boston and have so far eluded us who were sent out to capture them. They have never before ventured so far as this, but they are growing desperate in the city and they know that the whole countryside, up this way, is full of well-stored barns from the abundant harvest. This raid is made by a troop of soldiers greater in number than we had at first thought, so we have sent for reinforcements and are to make a stand near Hopewell and hold them until help comes.”
“Yes, yes,” said Stephen quickly and a little impatiently, for this amount of information from Miles came very slowly. “I understand. And where is the fight to be?”
“Why,” Miles went on, his voice becoming more anxious and worried, “we could make our stand to the south of your grounds here, but the situation is not good and we would run the risk of losing all, since we are greatly outnumbered. Master Sheffield, you must order out your coach and come with us.”
“But why?” questioned Stephen in surprise, and “Why, why?” gasped Clotilde.
“Because there is great danger,” cried Miles, “great danger to you all in biding here. We fear that one purpose of this raid is to accomplish Master Sheffield’s arrest. You are spoken of among the English as one of the leaders of the rebellion, and therefore we are certain that it is the order for your capture that has brought the redcoats so far. Could we make a stand here and protect you, most surely we would, but the country is too open and the way too clear. We would, every one of us, willingly give our lives to save you, but common sense tells plainly that a battle here would be to no purpose and you would be taken in the end. So do make haste, the men are hot upon our heels.”
“Nonsense,” exclaimed Stephen. “There is no ghost of danger. I have, indeed, had letters from the British authorities that lead me to believe that they love me not, but I am not so great a man for them to take such trouble to accomplish my capture. Come, Clotilde, tell this foolish lad that his friendship for us has made him over anxious.”
But Clotilde, for once, forsook his side and joined her voice to Miles’ arguments. That stout soldier, after laying forth his plan to march through Hopewell and the next village and make a stand on North Hill, a spot so favourable that they could be certain of holding fast until help arrived, firmly maintained that he would not stir one step without Master Sheffield and neither would his men.
“Well, well,” sighed Stephen at last, “an old man must give in to importunate children. To give battle here would, as I see, merely waste lives that the country needs and might also lead to the slaying of innocent towns-folk and the burning of houses. So, if you will not go on without me, I must needs come too. Clotilde, go tell Jason to order out the coach.”
Preparations were so hurried that there was no time for useless bewailing. Some of the silver was hidden, some of the linen locked away, but nothing of real service could be accomplished. As Clotilde ran through the hall, pulling her cloak about her, she saw that the great Bible had been brought out of the study and was lying on the table. Mère Jeanne had felt that it would be wicked to leave it behind, but had been obliged in the end to put it down hastily, as it was too heavy a burden to carry far. The breeze from the open door had fluttered over the pages so that, as Clotilde stopped to blow out the last of the candles burning upon the table, she saw staring up from the open page the dark terrifying face that stood to her for Jeremiah Macrae.
“Oh, no,” she cried aloud in terror, as though his words had actually sounded in her ears. “Not that! Not that!” And she ran out swiftly, leaving the book still open on the table.