The De Lancey mansion, then one of the most famous houses in New York, was on the Bloomingdale Road, and the drive out Bowery Lane ran through meadow-land and green trees in summer, but over hard-packed snow and ice in winter, for it was part of the highroad to Albany. So both Grandma Effingham and Clarissa ordered the fur muffs and hot-water bottles for the feet placed carefully in the sleigh, which Pompey brought to the door just as the night watch went down the street, crying in his slow, bell-like tones, "Eight o'clock, and all's w-e-ll!" Betty, standing muffled in long cloak and fur hood, on the steps of the house, said to herself, with a thrill of excitement, "All's well; please God I may say as much when midnight sounds to-night."

The sleigh was a large, roomy one, with back and front seats, and its big hood was drawn up and extended like a roof over the top, covering the heads of its occupants, but open at the sides. Clarissa was seated first, and well wrapped in the bearskin robes which adorned the sleigh, and then Betty tripped lightly down to have her little feet bestowed in a capacious foot-muff, as she carefully tucked her new gown around her and sat beside Clarissa. Gulian, in full evening dress, with small clothes, plum-colored satin coat and cocked hat, took possession of the front seat. Pompey cracked his whip, and the spirited horses were off with a plunge and bound, as Peter, the irrepressible, shouted from the doorway, where with grandma he had been an interested spectator of proceedings, "A Happy New Year to us all, and mind, Betty, you only take the handsomest gallants for partners." De Lancey Place had been the scene of many festivities, and was famed far and wide for its hospitality, but (it was whispered) this New Year ball was to excel all others. The mansion stood in the centre of beautiful meadow-land, with a background of dark pines, and these showed forth finely against the snow which covered the lawns and feathered the branches of the tall oak-trees in front of the door. Lanterns gleamed here and there, up the drive and across the wide piazza; at the door were the colored servants, in livery imported direct from England, and from within came sounds of music. As Pompey swept his horses up to the step with an extra flourish of his whip, a group of British officers, who had just alighted from another sleigh, hastened to meet Clarissa and assist her descent.

"On my word, Clarissa," said Gulian, a few minutes later, as he offered her his hand to conduct her to the ballroom, "I never saw Betty look so lovely. Your pink brocade becomes her mightily, and her slender shape shows forth charmingly. Where did you procure those knots of rose-colored ribbon which adorn the waist? I do not remember them."

"That is my secret—and Betty's; she vowed the gown would not be complete without them, so I indulged the child, and I find her taste in dress perfect. Captain Sir John Faulkner seems greatly taken with her, does be not?"

"Aye, but let us hasten to find our hostess. They will be forming for the minuet directly, and you must dance it with me, sweet wife,—unless you prefer another partner."

Clarissa's response to this lover-like speech was evidently satisfactory, for presently Betty beheld her sister and Gulian take places at the head of the room, next Madam De Lancey, who opened her ball with Sir Henry Clinton. Betty, since her arrival in New York, had been trained and tutored for the minuet by both Clarissa and Kitty, and here was Captain Sir John Faulkner, an elderly but gallant beau, supplicating for the honor of her hand in the opening dance.

"I am loth to decline," began Betty, a little overpowered by the compliment, "but I have already promised this dance."

"To me," said Geoffrey Yorke, at her side, and looking up, Betty, for the first time, saw her lover in all the bravery of full uniform, powdered hair, and costly laces. If he had been strikingly handsome in the old homespun clothes in which he first appeared before her on the shores of Great Pond, he was ten times more so now. Betty forgot that his coat was scarlet, that he represented an odious king and all she had been taught to despise; she only saw the gallant manly form and loving eyes which met hers so frankly, and the hand she gave him trembled as he led her out upon the floor. For Betty did not know—though the realization came to her later, with bitter tears—- that all unconsciously she had entered that fabled kingdom, the knowledge of which makes life a mystery, death a glory!

The music swelled on in slow and stately measure; jewels flashed in the blaze of wax candles, silken brocades rustled a soft accompaniment to the steps and courtesies of their fair wearers, as Betty dreamed her dream of happiness, only half aware that she was dreaming. And when, at the close of the minuet, Geoffrey led her to Clarissa, there was no lack of gallants nor partners, and Peter would have chuckled with delight could he have seen that no one was so eagerly sought for as the lovely, roguish maid, who wore the knots of rose-colored ribbon.

It was time for supper, and instruments were being tuned into order for a grand march, to be led by Madam De Lancey, when Betty, standing near a large Indian screen, talking with Mr. Van Brugh, who was a dear friend of her father's, became aware of subdued voices at her elbow, on the other side of the screen.

"I tell you I am right," said one of these testily; "I would stake my sword that he is not what he seems. I saw him exchange a bit of paper with yonder manikin fiddler, who has been under suspicion for some weeks, and cleverly they did it, too. It's not the first time, I'll warrant, that Mynheer von Gam—"

"No, no, not Von at all; you are safe to be mistaken, Colonel Tarleton; the gentleman is one Diedrich Gansevoort from the Albany beverwyck. Madam De Lancey herself made us acquainted; he is no spy."

Betty's heart sank. She murmured something in reply as Mr. Van Brugh paused. This was the famous and cruel Colonel Tarleton. If he had traced Oliver, then all was lost. She strained her ears for further information, smiling up at Mr. Van Brugh as she waved her fan gently to and fro.

"If you are so sure of it, why did he, an apparent stranger, have aught to communicate to that fiddler yonder? Go quietly through the crowd and watch the gentleman as he appears at supper; I'll have a word with Yorke on the subject," and they moved off in the direction of the ballroom.

"Will he, indeed?" thought Betty, as she saw Geoffrey coming toward her from the hall; "not while I can hold him at my side," and with somewhat paler face, but with calm demeanor she moved away, obedient to Geoffrey's request that she should go to supper.

Kitty Cruger's evening, unlike Betty's, had been full of dangerous excitement. Arriving at the ball with her mother, she had been dancing with her usual spirit, keeping, however, anxious watch for Oliver. But she perceived no one whom she could possibly imagine was he, even in disguise, and therefore it was with almost a shock of dismay that she found herself stopped, as she was passing the supper-room door, by her hostess, who "craved the favor of presenting a gentleman just arrived from Albany, who knew her family there." Kitty dropped her most formal courtesy and raised her eyes to the face of the stranger. Verily, Oliver possessed positive genius for disguises, and troubled as she was Kitty could not restrain a smile as she recognized in the rubicund countenance and somewhat portly form of the gentleman bowing before her an admirable caricature of no less a person than her respected uncle, Cornelius Lansing, an antiquated Albany beau.

Yorke, with Betty, was just inside the door as the pair entered, and as Kitty perceived them she paused for a moment to say good-evening.

"Where have you been? I was looking for you. Permit me to present Mynheer Gansevoort, of Albany. Mistress Betty Wolcott and Captain Yorke. As for you, sir,"—to Yorke, with a playful tap of her fan to engage his attention,—"you have not yet claimed my hand for a dance. Pray, what excuse can you devise for such neglect?"

Betty seized her opportunity. She must warn Oliver at all hazards. "Have you lately arrived?" she said, fixing her eyes on him; then, in so low a whisper that it barely reached him by motion of her lips, "You are watched; be careful!"

"I am somewhat deaf," returned Oliver, with great readiness, bending his ear toward her. "By whom?"—with equal caution.

"Colonel Tarleton. Escape as speedily as you can."

"Did you speak?" said Geoffrey, turning suddenly, to Betty's dismay, and casting a penetrating glance at Oliver, which he returned with the utmost calmness.

"This gentleman is somewhat deaf, I find," answered Betty. "It is a sad affliction, sir; has it troubled you long?"

"Some years. May I offer Captain Yorke a pinch of snuff?" and the pretended Mynheer Gansevoort produced a gold snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket, which he courteously extended to the English officer.

"You must excuse me; I have not yet acquired the habit," replied Geoffrey. "A glass of wine with you, sir, instead, if you will do me the honor."

"With great pleasure." And as they moved a step onward, Kitty passed first with Yorke, thereby giving Betty time to whisper to Oliver what she had overheard behind the screen.

"Your very good health, sir," said Geoffrey, as he took the glasses of port wine from a servant standing near the lavishly filled table; "and if you will not consider me intrusive, do you purpose stopping in New York?"

"That is as may be," replied the other. "I am not, however, returning to Albany immediately. Will you name a toast?"

"Aye," said Yorke quickly, raising his glass, with a searching look into Oliver's eyes,—"To your safe return to the Albany beverwyck; the climate of New York is somewhat unhealthy at present."

"Yorke," said a young officer, coming hastily up behind the group, "Colonel Tarleton desires speech with you for a moment; you will find him and Sir Henry by the screen in the ballroom."

"You heard?" whispered Betty, as Geoffrey left them; "Captain Yorke has recognized you—fly, fly, at once!"

"Is there another exit from this room, Kitty?" asked Oliver, finishing his glass of wine as he spoke, and handing the empty glass to the waiting servant.

"Only the window behind us," gasped Kitty; "quick! they are all too busy eating and drinking to notice if you slip through the curtains, and the balcony is but a few feet from the ground."

"Then I must run for it. Farewell," murmured Oliver, as the heavy damask curtains dropped back over his vanishing figure. The two girls gazed into each other's faces with dilated eyes and quivering lips. Would the alarm be speedily given, and would they see him captured and carried to certain death? For one breathless moment they listened, and then Kitty turned sick and faint; her eyes closed as Betty flung an arm around her waist.

"Some wine at once," she said aloud, and two gentlemen sprang forward to assist her to place Kitty in a chair. "She is affected by the heat of the room; it will pass in a moment," and she gave the reviving girl a good hard pinch, which made her start in her chair. "Oh, Gulian, I am glad you are here. Had you not better seek Madam Cruger?"

"No, no," cried Kitty, struggling to rise, and most heartily ashamed of herself for her lack of self-control. "My mother is not strong and must not be alarmed. I am better; will you come into the hall with me, Betty? It is cooler there."

"Of course, and you can rest awhile; Gulian will bring us supper."

But supper and everything connected with it was far from Betty's thoughts; all she wished was a few words with Kitty alone, which she knew Gulian's absence would give her.

"Betty," said Kitty the instant he left them, "you do not know half the danger. If he has not the means of escape close at hand—if the British officers arrest the fiddler—Oliver is totally lost. Can you see through yonder door if the man be there still with the others?" Betty rose from her chair and stepped inside the ballroom, now nearly deserted, for the guests were all at supper. She glanced eagerly toward the upper end of the room; no, the manikin fiddler had disappeared. Then an idea darted into her quick brain; inaction under the circumstances was maddening; back she darted to Kitty's side.

"Kitty, come with me instantly. We will muffle ourselves in our cloaks and hoods and steal forth for a moment. I'll find Pompey and our sleigh, and if worst comes, let Oliver fly in that fashion; Gulian's horses are fleet enough to distance pursuers."

Without another word both girls flew into the room near the front door where they had left their wraps. Not a soul was there; the servants had gone elsewhere, knowing that their services would not be required until the early morning hours, when the ball broke up. It took but a moment pounce on their cloaks, and Betty also seized a long dark wrap, which lay conveniently at her hand, thinking it might be useful. Out into the hall they dashed swiftly and silently, past the lanterns on the broad piazza; and as luck had it, Pompey himself, who had come up to witness the festivities from the outside, popped up at the steps.

"What you 'so doin' hyar, little missy?" he began wonderingly, but Betty cut him short.

"Fetch the sleigh at once, Pompey. Mistress Kitty is ill, and I want to take her home."

Pompey, somewhat alarmed at the tone and catching sight of Betty's white face and burning eyes, vanished on the instant. The girls drew into the shadow as far as they were able, and holding their breath peered into the darkness.

"What is that?" whispered Kitty, as a swift footstep crossed the piazza. "Oh, 'tis Yorke! Have a care, Betty, or we are discovered," and she endeavored to drag her farther back against the wall. As she did so, the crouching figure of a man rose up against the trunk of one of the oak-trees on the lawn; it was Oliver. His padded coat cast off, they could dimly distinguish his tall slender form. Some singular instinct for which he could never account made Yorke pause as he set his foot on the threshold of the front door; he wheeled just in time to see Betty's face, as one pale ray from a distant lantern fell across it.

"Betty, what are you doing here?" he cried, darting to her side. At that instant a sound of voices broke on the stillness of the night; it came from behind the mansion in the direction of the pine woods.

"Kitty is ill," faltered Betty. "I am taking her home—do not, I pray you, detain me—oh, there is Pompey"—as the welcome sound of sleigh-bells rang out on the frosty air. "Geoffrey, Geoffrey, let me go!"

Her tone of agonized supplication went to Geoffrey's heart. Kitty flew down the steps into the sleigh, unassisted, and Betty followed, her hand in Yorke's. There arose a hoarse shout "The spy, the spy—he has escaped by the road!" and as Betty set her foot on the runner, a dark figure vaulted over Kitty and buried itself in the robes at the bottom of the sleigh.

"At last, sweetheart, I pay my debt," whispered Yorke in her ear, as he thrust Betty safely into the seat. "Pompey, drive for your life!" The startled negro needed no second bidding, down came the whip-lash on the horses' backs, and with a furious plunge, a mad rear, they were off, a quarter of a mile ahead before their pursuers turned the corner of the mansion.

Oh, that wild race through the snow! Even in after years, when long days of happiness had crowded out much of those stirring times from Betty's mind, a shudder would creep over her, and closing her eyes she could see again the tall gaunt trees, the frozen road, the snow that glittered so still and cold in the cruel starlight, and hear the distant shouts that she feared told of pursuit. On they flew, Oliver giving occasional directions to the trembling and excited Pompey. Now that he knew the danger, the faithful negro would have died sooner than fail to carry the fugitive into comparative safety. On, through the Lispenard meadows, on,—until they struck Broadway; no pursuers within sight, and at Crown Street Oliver bade him turn in the direction of the river, and drive down until he reached the slip which lay at the foot of the street. All was still. Save an occasional belated pedestrian, nothing seemed stirring, and as they neared the dingy old tavern at the Sign of the Sturdy Beggar, Pompey pulled up his smoking, panting horses.

"Don't want to got too near dose lights," he said, pointing to the swinging lantern which adorned the hostelry; "darsen't let nobody see my young mistress; Massa Gulian would flog Pompey for shuah if dis tale gets tole."

"You're right, Pompey," answered Oliver, springing up and flinging the long dark cloak with which Betty had provided herself around his shoulders; "take the ladies home slowly. Kitty, my beloved, farewell—farewell, Betty, brave little soul that you are; I'll tell my father how your quick wits came to my relief. Here I cross the river on the ice, and, God willing, reach the commander-in-chief with the tidings he desires by eight o'clock in the morning."

A sob from Kitty, a low "God guard you!" from Betty, and Oliver vanished as Pompey turned his horses and proceeded leisurely back to Broadway. The girls were literally too spent with emotion to do more than sink down breathless among the fur robes, and not one word did they exchange as they drove through Wall Street and finally drew up at the Verplancks' door. On the steps stood Gulian, a tall and silent figure, awaiting the truants.

"What does this mean?" he began sternly, as he lifted Kitty out. "Did the hue and cry for that wretched, miserable Whig spy frighten the horses? Clarissa is nearly distracted"—

"I will explain all to your satisfaction," interrupted Betty. "Meantime, listen, and be thankful;" and as she held up a warning hand, they heard through the stillness of the night the watchman's distant cry float down the frosty air:—

"Half past three o'clock—and all's—well!"