“You saw her, and she saw you? Was she kind—was she gentle?”
“Oh, very kind—very gentle. If I dared, perhaps I might say more than kind, for she held me against her heart almost all the time we were talking, and once I am sure she kissed my hair.”
“Stay here; trust to her promise till I come again,” said the minister, laying Jane on the bed, and preparing to leave the room.
“I will stay,” answered Mary, bending over her sister, and kissing her lips, which were just beginning to crimson with new life.
As the missionary passed through the kitchen Aunt Polly ran after him.
“If you’re going over just set me across. Gineral Washington is on t’other side, and I can’t leave him among the Tories anyhow. We’ll set Mother Derwent and the gals afloat, and then every one for his self, says I. There, Miss Derwent, don’t patter round, looking for sun-bonnets any longer. I’ll risk the other rather than wait. Mary—Mary Derwent, I say!”
The missionary did not appear to understand her, but passed through the room as if she had not spoken. Mary left her sister for an instant, and entered the kitchen.
“Come, get ready and go with me,” cried the old maid. “Mrs. Derwent and Janey can pull down in the canoe, and I’ll take you behind me on the Gineral.”
“No,” replied Mary; “we are safe here—the Indians have always liked me. Be calm, grandmother; you are in no danger—we will stay here. I may be able to assist those on the shore if the battle goes against us.”
“I’m gone!” cried Aunt Polly, dashing forward after the missionary. “The Tories ain’t a-goin’ to scare me! I hope to goodness Captain Slocum’ll fight in the rear; I shall never git my pay for that ’ere rum if he don’t turn up safe.”