He tried to recall knowing her in his extreme youth, but made no definite connection.
"You wouldn't remember," she said gravely; "but I think I know you now. Who is your father?"
"My father?" he repeated, surprised and smiling. "My father is John Brown 3rd."
"And his father?"
"My grandfather?" he asked, very much amused. "Oh, he was John Brown 2nd. And his father was Captain John Brown of Westchester; but I don't want to talk D. A. R. talk to you about my great grandfather——"
"He fought at Pound Ridge," said the girl, slowly.
"Yes," said Brown, astonished.
"Tarleton's cavalry—the brutal hussars of the legion—killed him on the Stamford Road," she said; "and he lay there in the field all day with one dead arm over his face and his broken pistol in his hand, and the terrible galloping fight drove past down the stony New Canaan road—and the smoke from the meeting house afire rolled blacker and blacker and redder and redder——"
With a quickly drawn breath she covered her face with both hands and stood a moment silent; and Brown stared at her, astonished, doubting his eyes and ears.
The next moment she dropped her hands and looked at him with a tremulous smile.