"And what might be his name, young mistress?"
"Jacob Dean, the silversmith, an' it please you, sir."
"Then indeed I have sought a sorry shelter, and it behooves me to make further flight."
"Why should you run away from my father, sir?" Dorothy asked in surprise. "Surely never a kinder gentleman can be found in all this city."
"I can well believe that, after seeing his daughter; but I am Lieutenant Fitzroy Oakman, of his majesty's Forty-fourth foot, and because of my commission, may not be pleasing even to so kindly a gentleman as your father."
"Surely he would be courteous, even to one of the king's officers, sir."
"Ay, Mistress Dean; but I am he whom the townspeople have been hunting down as a spy, to hang me, an' by my faith, it begins to look as if they would succeed."
"A spy!" Dorothy gasped, falling back toward the fireplace as, with a fresh outburst of tears, Sarah clung to her franctically.
