“Remember that I run the risk of capture, wife.”
“Thou canst be kept concealed from all but Peg and Sukey, who are as faithful as we.”
“And I am sure if by chance you were discovered,” suggested Janice, haltingly, “that Colonel Brereton would—would —save you from ill treatment.”
“Colonel Brereton?”
“Ay, Lambert,” spoke up Mrs. Meredith, as her daughter looked appealingly to her. “There is something yet to be told, which has won us a strong friend who would never permit thee to suffer. Colonel Brereton, to whom we owe all our present safety, has declared his attachment to Janice, and seeks her—”
“Small doubt he has,” derisively interjected the squire. “I make certain that every rebel, seeing the game drawing to a close, is seeking to feather his nest.”
“Nay, Lambert. ’T is obvious he truly loves our—”
“He may, but it shall not help him to her or her acres,” again interrupted the father. “The impudence of these Whigs passes belief. I hope ye sent him off with a bee in his breeches, Matilda.”
“That we did not,” denied Mrs. Meredith. “Nor wouldst thou, hadst thee been with us to realise all his goodness to us.”
“Well, well,” grumbled the father, resignedly, “I suppose if the times are such that we must accept favours of the rebels, we must not resent their insults. But ’t is bitter to think of our good land come to such a pass that rogues like this Brereton and Bagby should dare obtrude their suits upon us.”