I never could understand how that could be after he married Polly Watts.

But she has not changed....

And that beast, Sir John, installed her in the Albany house." I said: "He's somewhere out yonder with the marauders against whom we are to march.

They're all awaiting us, it is said; the whole crew--Johnson's Greens, Butler's Rangers, McDonald's painted Tories, Brant's Mohawks--and the Senecas with their war-chiefs and their sorcerer, Amochol--truly a motley devil's brood, Lana; and I pray only that one of Morgan's men may sight Walter Butler or Sir John over his rifle's end." "To think," she murmured, "that you and I have dined and wined with these same gentlemen you now so ardently desire to slay....

And young Walter Butler, too! I saw his mother and his sister in Albany a week ago--two sad and pitiable women, Euan, for every furtive glance cast after them seemed to shout aloud the infamy of their son and brother, the Murderer of Cherry Valley." "To my mind," said I, "he is not sane at all, but gone stark blood-mad.
Heaven! How impossible it seems that this young man with his handsome face and figure, his dreamy melancholy, his charming voice and manners, his skill in verse and music, can be this same Walter Butler whose name is cursed wherever righteousness and honour exist in human breasts.
Why, even Joseph Brant has spurned him, they say, since Cherry Valley! Even his own father stood aghast before such infamy.