“You love too late!” he cried, to Elizabeth. “My men are there! They shall take him to New York a prisoner, at last!”
“But not delivered up by me, thank God!” replied Elizabeth, while Peyton rose quickly from his chair, and Colden reeled like a drunken man to the window.
She went behind Peyton, and, with the edge of the broken sword, hacked rather than cut through one of the outer windings that bound his wrists together, whereupon she speedily uncoiled the rope.
“You were my prisoner. I set you free!” she said, dropped the rope to the floor, and handed him the broken sword.
He took the weapon in his right hand, and imprisoned Elizabeth with his left arm.
“I’m more your prisoner now than ever!” he said. “You’ve cut these bonds. Will you put others on me?”
“Sometime,—if we can save your life!” she answered.
Both turned their eyes towards Colden.
The Tory officer had drawn his sword, and was motioning, in great excitement, to his soldiers outside.