Thanks to the dimness, to his uniform, and to his swift entrance, Peyton had not been recognized by Major Colden until he had given his name. That name had on the major the effect of an apparition, and he stepped back into the dark corner of the hall, drawing his cloak yet closer about him. This alarm and movement were not noticed by the others, as Peyton was the object of every gaze but his own, which was fixed on Elizabeth.
“What do you want?” her voice rang out, while she frowned from her place on the staircase, in cold resentment. Her aunt, meanwhile, made the newcomer a tremulous curtsey.
“I want to see the person in charge of this house, and I want a horse,” replied Peyton, with more promptitude than gentleness, yet with strict civility. Elizabeth’s manner would have nettled even a colder man.
Elizabeth did not keep him waiting for an answer.
“I am at present mistress of this house, and I am neither selling horses nor giving them!”
Peyton stared up at her in wonderment.
The candle-flame struggled against the wind, turning this way and that, and made the vague shadows of the people and of the slender balusters dance on floor and wall. From without came the sound of Peyton’s horses pawing, and of his men speaking to one another in low tones.
“Your pardon, madam,” said Peyton, “but a horse I must have. The service I am on permits no delay—”
“I doubt not!” broke in Elizabeth. “The Hessians are probably chasing you.”