United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
As the lock clicked I sat down upon the bunk far from being disheartened.
Fate had been playing strange pranks, but I was not left without hope,
for I felt assured I had read correctly the swift message of those
uplifted blue eyes. She had not wished me to accept parole; then there
must be some plan of escape already formulated in her mind. It was
clearly enough to her own interest for me to get safely away; otherwise
she would necessarily have to appear before Clinton, and her testimony
would scarcely pass unchallenged in presence of MacHugh and those others.
To be sure she had told no direct falsehood; it amused me to recall how
carefully she had chosen expression. I had attended the ball for no other
purpose than to once again meet her, a fact of which she had taken the
utmost advantage. Yet why? For what end was this daughter of a loyalist
continually exposing herself in thus protecting me? Why was she
sufficiently interested for so grave a sacrifice? I was not altogether
devoid of conceit, but I could not persuade myself that affection
prompted this action. We had met so briefly, always with me in the role
of hunted fugitive, that it was impossible to conceive that love was the
motive power of control. The thought even was almost preposterous; much
as I should have rejoiced to believe it true the very ridiculousness of
it caused me to smile bitterly. Perhaps her action had some connection
with her brother--her protection of me might also protect him. There was
a thread of mystery running through everything in which Eric's name
continually figured. I had not seen him, was not even convinced he was in
the Jerseys, yet this was the most natural explanation of these peculiar
events; surely it was either Eric's safety she was battling for so
heroically, or else she was at heart a pronounced patriot.
However, these thoughts helped me little, nor did contemplation of the
surrounding stone walls inspire me to attempt escape. Already had I
tested each separate stone, the solid oaken door, and the iron-barred
windows. I could only wait quietly, striving to solve the meaning of
those suddenly uplifted blue eyes, and the promise they contained.
CHAPTER XXII
THE LADY'S PLAN
I must have remained there an hour undisturbed, listening to faint sounds
in the rooms above, and peering out between the iron bars at a little
square of blue sky, and some waving tree branches. Once, with ear pressed
against the door, I could distinguish the regular steps of a sentinel
pacing back and forth, and out of the window I caught the silhouette of a
cocked hat and brown gun barrel. Seldon was evidently guarding me with
the utmost care.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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