“Say that you forgive me,” pleaded the officer, catching her hands.
“Yes, yes, anything; only go!” besought Janice, as a second laugh from the dining-room warned her anew of the peril.
Jack stooped and kissed each hand in turn, but even as he did so one of the officers in the next room bawled:—
“Here ’s a toast to Leftenant Hennion and his bride,— hip, hip, hip, bumpers!”
Janice felt herself caught by both shoulders, with all the tenderness gone from the touch.
“What does that mean?” the aide demanded, his face very close to her own.
The girl, with bowed head, partly in shame, and partly to escape the blazing eyes which fairly burned her own, replied: “I am to marry Mr. Hennion next Thursday.”
“Willingly?” burst from her questioner, as if the word were shot from a bomb.
”No.”
“Then you’ll do nothing of the kind,” denied Brereton, with a sudden gaiety of voice. “My horse is hid in the woods by the river; but say the word, and you shall be under Lady Washington’s protection at Morristown before daylight.”