"And I too," added Philip, bravely.
"And I," whispered the wounded man.
"It's one more score that has got to be paid off by King George's men, one more outrage on this country, one more debt we owe the English," Bentley continued fiercely.
"No; these were Americans, Virginians,—more's the shame,—led by that blackguard Johnson. He has long hated the colonel," replied Talbot.
"Curses on the renegades!" said the old man. "Who is it that loves freedom and sees not that the blow must be struck to-day? How can any man born in this land hesitate to—" He stopped suddenly, as his eyes fell upon Talbot, whose previous irresolution and refusal had been no secret to him.
"Don't stop for me, Bentley," said that young man, gently; "I am with you now. I came over this evening to tell our friends here that I start north tomorrow as a volunteer to offer my services to General Washington."
"Oh, Hilary," exclaimed Philip, joyfully, "I am so glad. Would that
Katharine and father could hear you now!"
Seymour lifted his unwounded arm, and beckoned to Talbot. "God bless you, Talbot," he said; "to hear you say that is worth a dozen cracks like this, and I feel stronger every minute. If it were not for the old wound, I would n't mind this thing a bit. But there is something you must do. There is an armed cutter stationed up the river at Alexandria; send some one to notify the commander of the Virginia naval militia there. They will pursue and perhaps recapture the party. But the word must be carried quickly; I fear it will be too late as it is."
"I will go, Hilary, if you think best."
"Very well, Philip; take your best horse and do not delay a moment. Katharine's liberty, your father's life perhaps, depend upon your promptness. Better see Mr. West as you go through the town,—your father's agent, you know,—and ask him to call upon me to-morrow. Stop at the Hall as you come back."