knee with vigor, put both feet to the ground and, rising, took up from his improvised table—­a log turned endwise,—­a paper upon which he made a note with a worn pencil from his pocket.  “Yes,” he cried, “I can do that.  It’s the only thing I can do.  And I need it so much they will not mind.”  He finished by a smile.  “Strange I hadn’t thought of it before,” he said.

Then he threw himself down upon his bed of boughs and moss, and with the terrific din about him slept the sleep of weariness.  At sunrise, according to his directions, an orderly roused him.

Archdale had already gone with his reconnoitering party.  His heart was bitter against the conditions of his life, and he felt that it would be no misfortune, perhaps quite the contrary, if Edmonson’s plan were not interfered with.  “It’s beyond her comprehension,” he said to himself.  “How confident she was.  What will she say when she knows?”

In the morning, Elizabeth standing beside her father turned a tired face toward the shore as she watched General Pepperell’s approach.  Sleep had been impossible to her in the strangeness and terror of her surroundings.

“You are very thoughtful to come to bid us good-bye,” she said, giving him her hand as he stepped on board.

He smiled, and still holding it, asked after a moment’s hesitation, “Should you be very much disappointed if I begged you not to return this morning?”

She certainly looked so for a moment, before she answered:  “If it will help, if I can be of any use, I am ready to stay.  Are there soldiers in the hospitals?  Can we do anything for them, Nancy and I?”

He caught at the diversion readily.  “The hospitals?  Yes, I should be very glad, infinitely obliged to you, if you would pay them a visit.  I’ve not a doubt that your suggestions would make the poor fellows more comfortable, and there are a number of new ones there this morning.  I’m sorry to say our health record is discouraging.  Not that I’m discouraged, but I want to put this business through as quickly as possible.”  Then he turned to Mr. Royal.  “I must tell you both,” he said, “that I came to you this morning bent upon purposes of destruction, (though, happily, not to yourselves,) and not purposes of health, except of saving lives by making the work as short as possible.  I should like this schooner.  I have an immediate use for it, and in two days, or, at the outside, three, I’m going to send to Boston.  Will you permit me to take this as a fire-ship, and will you remain under my especial care until this other vessel sails?” He turned to Elizabeth as he spoke.  “If you consent,” he said to her, “I am quite sure your father will.  It will be a great favor to me, and I hope to the cause, if you do.  But I won’t insist upon it.  If you say so you shall go this morning.”

Elizabeth glanced at her father, “But I don’t say so,” she answered.  “I am compelled to stay if my father consents.  It’s not you that make me but a stronger power.  You won’t be offended if I call patriotism a stronger power?” And she smiled at him.