There had been a second heir born to his great-uncle, so there was little likelihood of his succeeding to the estate. Whether they were of the true Nevitt blood, considering the low ebb of morals and the many temptations of court life for a gay young wife, he sometimes doubted, but he had to accept the fact. His uncle had given him a handsome income at first, but he could see now that it was paid at longer intervals and with much pleading of hard times. Indeed, from these very complaints of exorbitant taxes, he gleaned that the war was becoming more unpopular at home.
And now had come this crushing defeat. What should he do? A return to England did not look inviting. The dearest tie on earth was in Philadelphia. And that was his home, his father's home. Sometimes he half desired to go there and begin a new life.
"I long for you greatly, little Primrose," he wrote. "I seem like a boat with no rudder, that is adrift on an ocean. Do you think good Madam Wetherill, who has been so much to you, would let you ask a guest for a few days? A Henry who has dared to lift his hand against the country of his birth, and regrets it now in his better understanding of events? For, if England had listened to her wisest counselors, the war had never been. I am ill and discouraged, and have a weak longing for a little love from my dear rebel sister, a rebel no longer, but a victor. Will she be generous? And then I will decide upon what I must do, for I cannot waste any more of life."
"Oh, dear aunt, read it, for I could not without crying. Dear Phil! What shall I do?" and she raised her tear-wet face.
"Why, ask him here, of course," smilingly. "I am not an ogre, and, being victors, we can afford to be generous. It will be a new amusement for thee, and keep thee from getting dull!"
"Dull?" Then she threw her arms about the elder's neck and kissed her many times.
"Child, thou wilt make me almost as silly as thyself. In my day a maiden stood with downcast eyes and made her simple courtesy for favors, and thou comest like a whirlwind. Sure, there is not a drop of Quaker blood in thy veins, thou art so fond of kissing. Thou art Bessy Wardour all over."
"See, madam—dost thou like me better this way?"
She stood before her in great timidity with clasped hands and eyes down to the ground. And she was so irresistible that Madam Wetherill caught her in her arms.
"I am quite as bad as thou," she declared. "We are a couple of silly children together. If thou should ever marry——"