The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. “All right?” he asked. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. He had adroitly captured her and led her away from her other guests on the pretext of feigning an interest in her charitable attitude to the newly arrived French. On gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern. Their example was immediately imitated by the officers, constables, javelin men, and other attendants; and nothing was to be heard but shouts of laughter and jesting,—nothing seen but the passing of glasses, and the emptying of foaming jugs.
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