And in an instant he was gone, having closed the door after him with a bang.
“His horse! The highwayman!” quoth Elizabeth.
“Give the gentleman his due,” said Miss Sally, in a way both mollified and mollifying. “He paid for it with those.” She indicated the strewn fragments of the Continental bills on the floor.
“Forward! Get up!”
It was the voice of Captain Peyton outside. The horses were heard riding away from the lawn.
Elizabeth opened the door and looked out. Her aunt accompanied her. Old Valentine gazed with a sagely deploring expression at the torn-up bills on the floor. Colden stood where he had been, lest by some chance the enemy might return and discover his relief from straint.
“Oh,” cried Elizabeth, at the door, as the light horsemen filed out the gate and up the branch road towards the highway, “to see the miserable rebel mounted on my Cato!”
“He looks well on him,” said her aunt.
It was a brief flow of light from the fresh-risen moon, between wind-driven clouds, that enabled Miss Sally to make this observation.