CHAPTER VIII.
AFTER THE BATTLE.
Hiram was summoned to the door by a violent ringing of the bell.

Visions of apoplexy--of--in fact, of any thing that might befall a testy gentleman of seventy-three, inclined to make incessant trips to the West Indies--rushed to his mind as he rushed to the door.

He opened it in hot haste.
There stood Hope Wayne, pale, her eyes flashing, her hand ungloved.

At the foot of the steps was the carriage, and in the carriage sat Mrs.
Simcoe, with a bleeding boy's head resting upon her shoulder.

The coachman stood at the carriage door.
"Here, Hiram, help James to bring in this poor boy." "Yes, miss," replied the man, as he ran down the steps.
The door was opened, and the coachman and Hiram lifted out Gabriel.
They carried him, still unconscious, up stairs and laid him on a couch.
Old Burt could not refuse an act of mere humanity, but he said in a loud voice, "It's all a conspiracy to get into the house, Mrs.Simcoe, ma'am.