Janice, who had followed her father into the kitchen, sprang forward with a cry of sympathy and fright, just as the mounted officer, who had heard the squire’s yell, came trotting round the corner.
“No violence, sergeant!” he called sternly.
“Not a bit, sir,” replied the aggressor. “One of the boys happened ter drop his muskit on the old gentleman’s corns, an’ I was apologisin’ fer his carelessness.”
“You dreadful liar!” cried Janice, hotly, turning from her attempted comforting of the squire. “He did it on—oh!” She abruptly ended her speech as the mounted officer uncovered and bowed to her, and the “Oh!” was spoken as she recognised him. “Charles—Colonel Brereton!” the girl exclaimed.
“Charles!” exclaimed Mrs. Meredith, coming to the door. “Hoighty toighty, if it is n’t!”
“I am very sorry that we are compelled to impress food, Mrs. Meredith,” said the aide; “but as it is useless to resist I trust you will not make the necessity needlessly unpleasant.”
“Ye ’re a pack of ruffians and thieves!” cried the squire.
“Nay, Mr. Meredith,” answered the aide, quietly; “we pay for it.”
“In paper money that won’t be worth a penny in the pound, come a month.”
“That remains to be seen,” responded the officer.