“A man asking for me?” said Lord Howe. “What sort of man?”
“Well, sir, he’s rather rough-looking: a border man, I should say,” answered the servant.
“Better show him up here,” said Colonel Schuyler. “In these times one has to deal with such a queer lot.”
Howe nodded assent, and the servant disappeared. The General rose and went over to where his hostess, Madame Schuyler, sat in a low rocking-chair, somewhat apart from the men, gazing sadly over the town and country. She and Lord Howe were great friends. He had been a guest in this hospitable home for several weeks, and both husband and wife had become deeply attached to him.
“What are you thinking of, Madame?” said Howe.
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
“I was thinking,” she answered, in a low voice, “that soon you will be leaving us. Will you ever come back again?”
“That is as God wills,” said Howe reverently. “Why trouble? Life and death are in His hands, not in ours. The great call may come to me here in your happy home as quickly as on the battle-field. I never feel nearer death there than elsewhere.”
Before she could answer him, a quick step was heard on the verandah. Howe turned round.
“Roger!” he exclaimed, holding out both his hands.