“I wish you a very good evening, Major Colden!”
Peyton said this in a voice as hard and ironical as might have come from a brass statue.
For the next few seconds the two men stood 244 gazing at each other, the women gazing at the men. At last the Tory major found speech:
“Elizabeth,—what does it mean? Why is this man here,—again?”
“’Tis rather a long story, Jack, and you shall hear it all in time,” said Elizabeth, determined he should never hear the true story.
Before she could continue, Colden suffered a start of alarm to possess him, and asked, quickly:
“Are any of his troops here?”
“No; he is quite alone,” she answered.
Colden at once took on height, arrogance, and formidableness.
“Then why have not your servants made him a prisoner?” he asked.