“But you must pardon me,” I said. “I am done. I must lie down or I shall fall down. My shoulder is in Hades. For God’s sake, Wilmer, let me go to bed,” I continued peevishly—and indeed I was at the end of my strength. “You are worse than Levi and company!” They were puzzled I think. They could not make my story tally with the words that had escaped her. But, thus adjured, they had no choice except to drop the subject, and attend to me. I was helped to bed, Tom was summoned, my shoulder was eased, I was fed. And they no doubt had other and more important things to consider than how to reconcile two accounts of a matter which was at an end and had lost its importance. I heard them talking far into the night. Their voices, subdued to the note of caution, were my lullaby, soothed me to slumber, went murmuring with me into the land of dreams. While they talked of ferries and night attacks, of Greene replacing Gage, of this man’s defection or that man’s persistence, of our weakness here and strength there, of what might be looked for from the northern province and what might be feared in Georgia, I was far away by the Coquet, listening to the music of its waters, soothed by the hum of moorland bees. The vast and troubled ocean that rolled between my home and me was forgotten. Alas, of the many thousands who crossed that ocean with me, how few were ever to return! How few were destined to see the old country again! Late in the night I awoke and sat up, sweating and listening, my arm throbbing violently. And so it was with me until morning, fatigue imposing sleep, and jarred nerves again snatching me from it. At last I fell into a calmer state, and awoke to find the sun up and Marion standing beside me. His bearing was changed, he was again the leader, watchful, distant, a little punctilious. “I make no apology for rousing you,” he said. “I have to leave. I have discussed your position with Captain Wilmer and he will be guided by my advice. I could take you north to-day and see that you were conveyed safely to our Headquarters; but you are in no condition to travel. It would be barbarous to suggest it. I propose therefore to leave you here. In a month I or some of my people will be passing, and the opportunity may then serve. In the meantime I must ask you to give me your parole not to escape, while you remain here.” “Willingly,” I said. “From the present moment, Colonel Marion, until—it is well to be exact?” “Until I take you into my charge,” he replied rather grimly. “Once in my hands, Major, I will give you leave to escape if you can.” “Agreed,” I said laughing. “Have you the paper?” He handed it to me. While he brought the ink to the bedside, I read the form and found it on all fours with what he had said. I signed it as well as I could with my left hand—the exertion was not a slight one. Then, “One moment,” I said, my hand still on the paper, “How am I to be saved from a repetition of yesterday’s outrage?”