There seemed to be much tumult in the block when I awoke. Captain Carteret was writing at a small table, as I sat up, rubbing my eyes.

“Well, have you slept enough?” he asked.

“I could rest longer,” I said, “but it is not my habit to sleep much after the sun is first up in the morning.”

“Morning,” he laughed. “Why, man, ’tis long past noon now. I would not let them disturb you, though many were clamoring for a look at the hero of the occasion.”

“Enough,” I said. “I had much rather have a breakfast than pose as a hero, which I am not.”

“Breakfast in the afternoon?”

“Are you jesting?”

“Look at the sun,” was his reply.

I glanced from a window. It was half way down in the west. I had slept nearly eighteen hours.

“We will soon have supper,” went on the Captain. “Meanwhile I’ll let you know how matters stand.”

Scouts had been sent out, he said, and, for miles around had found no trace of Indians, save the dead ones. One wounded savage had been brought in. With what little 307English he had, he told how the war party had fled to the four winds. They had been given a severe lesson, he said, and one that would put an end to Indian uprisings in New Jersey for many years.

Men had been set at work burying the bodies. Others were rebuilding the stockade, and some were detailed to lay to rest our dead.

Many families, who lived near by, had gone back to their homes, to begin life where they had left off when the Indians came. Wagons laden with household goods were leaving the fort. Only a few farmhouses had been burned by the savages.

“I am writing to Governor Phips,” said Carteret, “to tell him you are here, and send him back the warrant for witchcraft, which is of no use, since he has pardoned you. That was a marvelous tale you told, of the days in Salem.”

“Do not recall them,” I begged. “They were days of sorrow and peril.”

“Lieutenant Jenkins is about to sail for Boston in a few days,” went on the Captain, “and he will take this missive to Sir William Phips. So that matter is ended.”

“What of Simon?”

“I have not seen him since that time we were all in the room together,” said Carteret, “but he is doubtless about somewhere. He will probably want to leave this place now. If you wish I will offer him passage to Boston with Master Jenkins. He can join his friends there.”

308“I think I should like that,” I replied. “For, somehow, I am not at ease while he is about, particularly as Mistress Lucille is here.”

“Then he goes to Boston, friend Amherst.”

The Captain and I fell to talking of the future. Supper was served ere we had finished, and we continued over the meal. He asked me if I would not like to settle in Elizabeth.

“Or there is a little town, called Newark, on the Passaic River,” he added, “not far from here. That is a pleasant place, I am told. The Indians, I hear, are most kind and trustworthy, as they were here before this uprising, trading with the settlers in land and furs, greatly to the advantage of the town folk. You might like it there.”

“I will make no plans until I have talked with Mistress Lucille,” I replied.

“That reminds me,” exclaimed Carteret. “She sent in three times, while you were asleep, to have me let her know the instant you were awake. I forgot all about it.”

I did not stay to eat more, when I heard that. I found Lucille sitting alone in the doorway of the women’s room, looking at the men repairing the stockade.

“It seemed as if you were never coming,” she said, when I had greeted her. “Captain Carteret would not let me see you. But never mind, you are with me now,” and she blushed at her boldness.

“I wanted to talk to you, Edward, and see if you had 309made any plans for the future,” went on Lucille, after a pause. “Have you thought that our coming here was an accident, and that I can scarce go traveling about with you as if--as if----”

Her face crimsoned again.

“Aye, we are like strangers in a strange land,” I said bitterly, for now that the strain of battle was over, I saw the plight in which we were; myself penniless.

“I have the clothes I stand in,” I added.

“Nothing more?” asked Lucille, softly.

“My sword,” I answered, not looking up, for my mind was busy.

“No more?”

“My horse.”

“No more?”

Her voice went so strange that I looked at her. Her eyes were dim with tears.

“Forgive, me, sweetheart,” I cried, clasping her close to me. “I have you, and, with you, more than all the world.”

“You were near to forgetting your great wealth,” she said, mockingly, while she struggled to free herself. “Perchance ’tis of little value, after all.”

“Nay, sweet,” I replied. “’Tis so great that I wonder at myself for possessing it.”

“Yet you thought of your sword first.”

“Forgive me.”

“And then your horse.”

310“Will you not forgive?”

“And of me last,” she persisted, trying to escape from my arms.

“It was because with them I won you,” I whispered.

“I shall be jealous of your sword.”

“No more,” I cried, drawing it from the scabbard. “’Tis a pretty piece of steel, but, if it should come between us, see----”

I raised it high in the air, my hands on either end.

“I’ll snap it in twain.”

I brought the weapon half way down, as though I would break it across my knee.

“Nay! Nay! Edward!” she exclaimed, catching my arm. “I did but jest. Put it up. There is need of a sword in this land.”

I sheathed my blade, sitting down beside Lucille.

“Seriously, now, what is to become of me?” she asked.

“Why,” I answered, as gaily as I could, “since you are mine, you must follow my poor fortunes, it would seem; that is, if you are willing to follow one who has but----”

“But his sword,” she broke in, smiling at me.

“Nay, I had not finished. ............