“Yes!” she cried. “It is! It’s Miss Elizabeth’s horse! It’s Cato!”
Cuff ran to the threshold in great joy, but suddenly stopped short.
“Dey’s a soldier on hees back,” he whispered.
So Molly had noticed,—but a soldier who made no demonstration, a soldier who leaned forward on the horse’s neck and clutched its mane, holding at the same time in one hand a broken sword, and who tried to sit up, but only emitted a groan of pain.
“He’s wounded, that’s it,” said Molly. “Go and help the poor soldier in, Cuff. Don’t you see he’s injured? He can’t hurt you.”
Molly enforced her commands with such physical persuasions that Cuff, ere he well knew what he was about, was helping Peyton from the horse. The captain, revived by a supreme effort, leaned on the boy’s shoulder and came limping and lurching across the porch into the hall. Molly then went to his assistance, and with this additional aid he reached the settle, on which he dropped, weak, pale, and panting. He took a sitting posture, gasped his thanks to Molly, and, noticing the blood from his leg wound, called damnation on the Hessian officer’s sword. Presently he asked for a drink of water.
At Molly’s bidding the negro boy hastened for 112 water, and also to inform his mistress of the arrival. Elizabeth, hearing the news, rose with an exclamation; but, taking thought, sat down again, and, with a pretence of composure, finished her cup of tea. Cuff returned with a glass of water to the hall, where Molly was listening to Peyton’s objurgations on his condition. The captain took the glass eagerly, and was about to drink, when a footstep was heard on the stairs. He turned his head and saw Elizabeth.
“Here’s my respects, madam,” quoth he, and drank off the water.
Elizabeth came down-stairs and took a position where she could look Peyton well over. He watched her with some wonderment. When she was quite ready she spoke:
“So, it is, indeed, the man who stole my horse.”