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All this time her husband sat on the porch enjoying a cigar, his busy brain dwelling on the latest scheme it had conjured up. It was unfortunate, he thought, Rose Alstine's coming at that inopportune moment. He could not understand how it was that she put in an appearance at his house. "She mistook me for her lover, that is evident," he mused.

Winter coming on, the family suffered severely from the want of bedding, woolen clothes, cooking utensils, and numerous other articles which had been taken from them. Mrs. Van Alstine's arduous and constant labors could do but little toward providing for so many destitute persons.

"Let's search the house." "I fear it's too late now." Nevertheless the two men went through the dwelling, even invading the sanctity of Rose Alstine's bedchamber. Nothing was found, however. The fugitive from justice had made good his escape. And thus pretty Rose Alstine had assisted in a criminal act without realizing it.

Intelligence at length came that the enemy, having ravaged the surrounding country, was about to fall upon the little settlement, and the inhabitants, for the most part women and children, were almost beside themselves with terror. Mrs. Van Alstine's coolness and intrepidity, in this critical hour, were quickly displayed.

Bordine stared at Rose in a sort of dazed way that proved that she did not fully understand. "I would not weep over poor Iris, Mrs. Bordine." "Iris?" "Yes. I feel, and so does August, that the girl is better off " "What are you talking about? Who is Iris?" It was Rose Alstine's turn to stare. "I am aware that you have tried faithfully to keep the secret, Mrs.

An hour after they had been all snugly bestowed in their bushy retreat, the war-whoop was heard and the Indians made their appearance. Gazing from their hiding place the unfortunate women and children soon saw their loved homes in flames, Van Alstine's house alone being spared, owing to the friendship borne the owner by Sir John Johnson.