“Why should she not? And why should she not ride with a gallant at sunrise for an early cup of coffee, egad?” said the older man.
Burr did not answer, and they rode on.
In the opposite direction there rode also the young man of whom they spoke. And at about the time that the two came to the old mill and saw Theodosia Alston sitting there—her face still cast down, her eyes gazing abstractedly into her untasted cup on the little table—Meriwether Lewis was pulling up at the iron gate which then closed the opening in the stone wall encircling the modest official residence of his chief and patron, President Jefferson.
CHAPTER IV
PRESIDENT AND SECRETARY
There stood waiting near the gate one of Mr. Jefferson’s private servants, Samson, who took the young man’s rein, grinning with his usual familiar words of welcome as the secretary dismounted from his horse.
“You-all suttinly did warm old Arcturum a li’l bit dis mawnin’, Mistah Mehywethah!”
Samson patted the neck of the spirited animal, which tossed its head and turned an eye to its late rider.