She watched long the dancing firelight as it flickered back and forth on the low heavy-beamed ceiling. One of the candles sputtered and went out, but the other burned steady in its copper candlestick although its light seemed suddenly to have become very feeble and tiny in the midst of all those moving shadows. The ever rising wind roared down the chimney and made the faggots flare up, break apart and fall quickly into glowing coals. The white birch log, however, burned faithfully and cast a pleasant warmth over her as she sat in the big chair.
She was thinking of the soldiers marching away into the storm; she wondered if they would accomplish their errand safely; she hoped they would—she hoped they would not. She thought of the young Captain, of his bravery when he had escaped alone after all his comrades had surrendered, of his kindness to Miles, of the gentleness of his voice when he said, “I am so sorry, little Mademoiselle.” Her heart burned with anger when she thought of his leaving her in such a plight, it melted again at the remembrance of how like he was to Stephen and Master Simon. One moment she wished he might be attacked and taken by the American troops, the next she pictured him lying somewhere on the snowy road, wounded and helpless, and she shivered at the thought.
The fire burned low at last and the room grew very cold. She wrapped her cloak about her and tried walking up and down the room to keep warm, but found herself so weary that she was forced to sit in the chair again, half frozen as she was. The last candle dwindled down into its candlestick, flared high once, then glimmered and went out. The room was in darkness save for two vague grey blots that showed where the windows were. The wind that had proved the friend of the English soldiers and that had dealt so treacherously with her by burning out her fire, had now dropped and all was so still that she could hear the creaking of the branches of the trees outside and the soft pat-pat against the window of the still falling snow.
She must have dozed at last, stiff and uncomfortable as she was, for it was a long time later that she started suddenly wide awake. She saw then that daylight had come upon her unawares, that the windows showed now the wide, white fields outside, and that all the strange shadowy shapes about the dusky room were beginning to show familiar forms of table, spinning-wheel and loom. It must have been the sound of footsteps on the doorstone that aroused her, for even as she opened her eyes she saw that the door was opening and some one was coming in. Dazed, bewildered by her sudden waking, scarcely knowing where she was, she sat staring at the dark figure that strode across to her and leaned over the great chair.