“What?” ejaculated Colden.
“Certainly,” said Elizabeth, turning on the stairway, so as to face the door; “to show we’re not afraid.”
Jack Colden looked at her a moment demurringly, then went to the door, undid the fastenings, and threw it open, keeping his cloak close about him and immediately stepping back into the shadow.
A handsome young officer strode in, as if ’twere a mighty gust of wind that sent him. He wore a uniform of blue with red facings,—a uniform that had seen service,—was booted and spurred, without greatcoat or cloak. A large pistol was in his belt, and his left hand rested on the hilt of a sword. He swept past Colden, not seeing him; came to a stop in the centre of the hall, and looked rapidly around from face to face.
“Your servant, ladies and gentlemen!” he said, with a swift bow and a flourish of his dragoon’s hat. His eye rested on Elizabeth.
“Who are you?” she demanded, coldly and imperiously, from the fourth step.
“I’m Captain Peyton, of Lee’s Light Horse,” said he.