said I.

“Not mine, Euan; Clarissa’s.”

“Where is that child?” I asked pityingly.

“Clarissa? Poor lamb — she’s in Albany still.”

I did not speak, but it was as though she divined my unasked question.

“Aye, she is in love with him yet. I never could understand how that could be after he married Polly Watts. But she has not changed� . And that beast, Sir John, installed her in the Albany house.”

I said: “He’s somewhere out yonder with the marauders against whom we are to march. They’re all awaiting us, it is said; the whole crew — Johnson’s Greens, Butler’s Rangers, McDonald’s