“On the contrary, I am chasing the Hessians. At Boar Hill, yonder, my horse gave out. ’Tis important my troops lose no time. Passing here, we saw horses being led into your stable. I ordered one of my men to take the best of your beasts, and put my saddle on it,—and he is now doing so.”
“How dare you, sir!” and Elizabeth came quickly to the foot of the stairs, a picture of regal, flaming wrath.
“Why, madam,” said Peyton, “’tis for the service of the army. I require the horse, and I have come here to pay for it—”
“It is not for sale—”
“That makes no difference. You know the custom of war.”
“The custom of robbery!” cried Elizabeth.
Captain Peyton reddened.
“Robbery is not the custom of Harry Lee’s dragoons, madam,” said he, “whatever be the practice of the wretched ‘Skinners’ or of De Lancey’s Tory Cowboys. I shall pay you as you choose,—with a receipt to present at the quartermaster’s office, or with Continental bills.”
“Continental rubbish!”