Meanwhile Miss Sally remained in the parlor, thinking it best not to go to Elizabeth unless sent for; while Colden continued to stand at the window, showing his impatience for the arrival of his two soldiers in a tense contracting of the brow, in a restless shifting from foot to foot, and in intermittent stifled curses.
As he kept his eyes on the place where the branch road left the highway, he did not see that part of the lawn walk which led from the garden. But suddenly a slight noise drew his look towards the portico before the east hall.
“Who are these coming?” he cried, startling Miss Sally out of her musings and her chair.
“Are they your men?” she asked, hastening to join him at the window.
“No, mine are mounted,” said he. “Why,—these 260 are Williams and Sam,—and they are bringing,—yes, it is he! They’re bringing him back a prisoner! She has done it, after all, without consulting me!” And he strode to the centre of the room, in the utmost elation.
Miss Sally weakened at the imminent prospect of a meeting between the two enemies in the changed circumstances, and felt the need of her niece’s support.
“I must tell Elizabeth they have him,” she said, and ran out to the east hall, and thence to the dining-room, just in time to avoid seeing Peyton led in through the outer door, which Cuff had opened at Williams’s call.
The steward and Sam conducted their prisoner immediately into the parlor. There Colden stood, with a rancorously jubilant smile, to receive him.
Peyton’s wrists were as Williams had tied them. He was without his hat, which had been knocked off in a brief struggle he had essayed against his captors in a moment when Sam had lowered the pistol. There was a little fresh snow on his hair, and more on his shoulders. The feet of his boots were cased with it. His left arm was held by Williams, who carried the broken sword, having taken it from the scabbard at the first opportunity. Peyton’s other arm was grasped by the huge, bony left hand of Sam, who held the cocked pistol in his right. The 261 two men walked with him to the centre of the parlor, and stopped.
“By George,” said he, turning his face towards Sam, with fire in his eyes, “had the snow not killed the sound of your sneaking footsteps till you’d caught my arms behind, I’d have done for the two of you!”