The messenger turned away into the storm, and Major Lockwood called after him:

“Is there no news of Moylan’s regiment?”

“None, sir,” came the panting answer; there ensued a second’s silence, a clatter of slippery hoofs, then only the loud, dull roar of the rain filled the silence.

The Major, who still stood at the door, turned around and glanced at his wife.

“What is it, dear — if we may know?” asked she, quite calmly.

“Yes,” he said, “you should know, Hannah. And it may not be true, but — somehow, I think it is. Tarleton is out.”

“Is he headed this way, Ebenezer?”