Janice silently curtseyed her thanks, and darted past the young officers, alike anxious to escape explanation to them, or further colloquy with her persecutor.
In this latter desire the girl secured but a brief postponement, for she was not long returned when the knocker summoned her to the front door, and on the steps stood the commissary and two soldiers laden with a basket apiece.
“Ye see I’m true to my word, Miss Meredith,” said Lord Clowes. “Give me the whiskets, and be off with ye,” he ordered to the men; and then to the girl continued: “Where will ye have them bestowed?”
“Oh, I’ll not trouble thee,” protested Janice, blocking the entrance, “just hand them to me.”
“Nay, ’t is no trouble,” the officer assured her, setting one foot over the sill. “And, besides, I have word of your father to tell ye.”
Reluctantly the maiden gave him passage, and pointed out a place of deposit in the entry for his burden. Then she fell back to the staircase, and went up a few steps. Yet she eagerly questioned: “What of my father?”
Clowes came to the foot of the ascent. “He is on one of the transports in the lower Delaware, and as soon as we can reduce the rebel works, and break through their cursed chevaux-de-frise, he will come up to Philadelphia.”
“Oh,” almost carolled Janice, “what joyous news!”
“And does the bringer deserve no reward?”
“For that, and for the food, I thank you deeply, Lord Clowes,” said the girl, warmly.