“Oh, Lady Washington,” cried Janice, “not a one of these did I know of; and if you but knew what gladness it brings me to learn that, once he knew we had insulted him unwittingly, he forgave us, and put his resentment away.”

“Then you’ll reward him as he deserves?” delightedly exclaimed the match-maker.

“I am promised, Lady Washington,” replied the girl, gravely, “and were I not, I could never forget his once cruelty

“What did he?”

“I cannot bear to tell, now he has, by his kindness, endeavoured to atone for it.”

“I make no doubt ’t is more of his masked generosity.  Never will I believe that loving you as I know he does, he could be hard-hearted or cruel to you.”

“’T was not—­’t was worse than if his anger had fallen on me, Lady Washington.  He refused to aid my father, and but for his Excellency’s untellable generosity and—­”

Washington, who had been rereading the report, looked up, and interrupted:  “Did General Brereton tell you that it was my act, Miss Janice?”

“No, your Excellency, ’t was from Governor Livingston that we learned of the debt we owed to you, for which no thanks can ever—­”

Once again Washington interrupted.  “There are no thanks due to me, Miss Janice,” he said, “for, much as I may have wished to service you, my public duties made it unwise.  Your gratitude is wholly due to Brereton.”

“I do not understand—­What do you mean?” exclaimed the girl.  “He—­’t was your letter, so the governor said—­”

“’T was my letter, but his act,” replied Washington; and in a few words explained.  “General Brereton expected, and should have been court-martialled and shot for what he did,” he ended; “but he had served me faithfully, and so I refrained from making his misconduct public, and punished him no further than by demanding his resignation from my staff.  You lost me a good friend and servant, Miss Janice, but now, with the war in effect ended, I scarce feel regret that his action, however blamable, spared you the loss of your father.”

“Now, what do you say, miss?” inquired Mrs. Washington, triumphantly.

All the reply Janice made was to let her head fall forward on the table, as she burst into tears.

“There, there, my child!” cried the matron, putting her arms about and raising the girl, so that the down bent head might find a resting-place on her bosom.  “I did not mean to pain thee.”

“Oh, Lady Washington,” sobbed Janice, as she threw her arms about the dame’s neck, “I—­I am so miserable, an—­ an—­and so happy!”

Ten minutes later, Janice, with pale cheeks, but determined air, sought her father in the parlour, and going on her knees at his feet, said,—­

“I have that to tell, dadda, which I fear will anger and pain you greatly.”  Then in a few words she repeated to him what Washington had told her.

“And why should that hurt me, lass?  I own I treated the general somewhat scurvily, and that he has repaid it in different kind, but ’t will be no grief to apologise and thank him for what he did.”