“I cannot leave until my mission is completed; we have almost certain news of an incursion by the British across the Kill von Kull, which will do much injury to the peaceful country folk of Elizabethtown and Newark.  The man they call ‘Billy the fiddler’ will have a message for me to-night of the greatest importance, and he plays with others at the De Lancey ball; are you to be there, and at what hour?”

“I, Oliver?” said Kitty, and turned rosy red as the incautious word escaped her; “all New York is going at eight o’clock, but what has that to do with”—­

“This,” whispered Oliver Wolcott, pulling his hat further down over his eyes, and motioning Kitty to walk a few steps away from the door:  “I must be there.”

“You are mad!” and Kitty turned pale at the idea.

“Oh, no, I am coming as one Diedrich Gansevoort, from Albany.  Do not fear for me; my disguise will be very perfect, and I go introduced by Abram Lansing, from whom I bring a letter to Madam De Lancey.  They are old friends, though he is as stanch a Whig as she a Tory.  I tell you, Kitty, ’t is of vital importance that I ascertain the facts of this rumored raid upon the patriots, and I must risk all to gain it.  Warn Betty, lest she give way to alarm; be brave and fear nothing.”

“A Happy New Year, Mistress Kitty,” said a gentleman who approached her, followed by his negro servant.  “I shall do myself the honor to pay my respects to your mother a little later;” and Mr. Van Brugh raised his three-cornered hat in courtly salute, staring hard at Kitty and the fisherman as he passed them.

“We are noticed,” said Oliver calmly; “go on and do your errand.”

“But I am so fearful for you,” gasped poor Kitty, whose usual composure seemed to be deserting her.  “You try me too far, unless I may do something to aid your escape, for a horrible sinking of my heart seems to bode no good to you.”

“Put no faith in omens,” answered Oliver, with a smile.  “I shall be off at daybreak.  Farewell, Kitty, and have no fear; I am well protected,” and mingling in the crowd, he passed out of the market door and was gone.

With what courage she could summon, Kitty sped on to Fran Hansel’s stand.  The seedcakes had been weighed, decked with a handful of Christmas greens, and placed in the basket, and Kitty, after a few kind words to the old Dutch market-woman, made her way swiftly through the crowd and gained the street.

“I must warn Betty,” she thought an she proceeded up Maiden Lane, and as she came to Queen Street she paused.  “Go directly home,” she said to her servant; “tell my mother I have stopped to see Grandma Effingham and wish her a Happy New Year.  I will be back in time to dress,” and off she sped in the direction of Wall Street.

Betty, who like Kitty, had been spending her morning assisting in preparations for the New Year callers who would present themselves later in the day, was dusting the quaint Dresden Shepherdess who presided over a corner of the drawing-room mantel, when a sharp knock at the front door announced a visitor; and she fled out of the drawing-room only to encounter Kitty in the hall.