“Robert—a prisoner in the jail.”
She told the story; he was still breathing, but dying. Her father had been to get him, but no prisoner could be removed without an order from General Gage.
“We will go to the Province House,” said Ruth quietly, rising and putting on her bonnet.
Her calmness, the manifest quiet, the business-like procedure of Ruth, amazed Berinthia. They hastened to the governor’s home. General Gage received them courteously. He was pleased to welcome Miss Newville to the Province House, and recalled with pleasure the evening when he had the honor to escort her to her father’s hospitable table.
“I have a favor to ask,” said Ruth, “which I am sure your excellency will be pleased to grant. One of your prisoners, Lieutenant Robert Walden, in the jail, is a cousin of my friend Miss Brandon. I learn that he is far gone with fever and seemingly has not many hours to live, and I have come to ask if you will kindly permit his removal to her home?”
“Most certainly, my dear Miss Newville; it gives me pleasure to do this little office for you and your friend,” he replied.
General Gage touched a bell and a sergeant entered the apartment.
“Sergeant, take two men of the guard, with a bier, and accompany these ladies to the jail to remove one of the sick prisoners, as they shall direct. See to it that the man is gently handled. Here is the order of delivery for the officer in charge.”
“You are very kind, General, and I thank you not only for Miss Brandon, but for myself,” said Ruth.
Never before had the people living along Hanover Street seen such a spectacle as that a few minutes later,—a sergeant in advance, two soldiers bearing a rebel officer, worn and wasted by disease, his life ebbing away, and two ladies looking anxiously to see if the flickering life would last a little longer.