Then I kissed her hand for the third time, and let it free. And, going:
"God be with you," she said with a slight smile; "you are my dear friend, John Drogue."
At the Hall porch she turned, the mischief glimmering in her eyes: "—And so is Billy Alexander," quoth she.
So she went into the darkened Hall.
It was many months before I saw our Sacharissa again—not until Major André had made many another verse for many another inamorata, and his soldier-actors had played more than one of his farces in besieged Boston to the loud orchestra of His Excellency's rebel cannon.
CHAPTER III
THE POT BOILS
Sir William died on the 24th of June in the year 1774; which was the twentieth year of my life.