'But still, I think--' 'Do not press your question,' the stranger urged.

'I am in a strait, and can refuse a helper nothing; such inquiry is, therefore, unfair.' 'True again,' said Swetman, and held his tongue.
The daughters of the house returned from church, where the service had been hurried by reason of the excitement.

To their father's questioning if they had spoken of him who sojourned there they replied that they had said never a word; which, indeed, was true, as events proved.
He bade them serve the dinner; and, as the visitor had withdrawn since the news of the battle, prepared to take a platter to him upstairs.

But he preferred to come down and dine with the family.
During the afternoon more fugitives passed through the village, but Christopher Swetman, his visitor, and his family kept indoors.

In the evening, however, Swetman came out from his gate, and, harkening in silence to these tidings and more, wondered what might be in store for him for his last night's work.
He returned homeward by a path across the mead that skirted his own orchard.