She had given me no hint of any intended desertion of Sevenoaks, and though she had many friends in Philadelphia, where her schooling had been, I thought it the height of improbability that she would get even that far on the way to New York in these troublous times. Weighing all these things in the mental balance, I saw how absurd it was to let a momentary sight of a beautiful face at a window run me so far aside from the beaten path of calm reasoning. In sober fact the fancied identification proved nothing but this: that Beatrix Leigh’s face was so constantly present in my mind and heart that I was ready to find and adore it under any suggestive guise.
Having now some little time to call my own, I first secured a lodging at the tavern where the ham had made me homesick for the smoke-houses of Virginia, and then set out to find Sergeant Champe. That I should chance upon him readily enough, I had no doubt; but with the town full of soldiers it proved a more difficult thing than I had foreseen, so difficult that the noon hour found me still groping for my accomplice. But one thing I did find, namely, the barracks of the “Loyal American Legion,” and, with due respect for any true Loyalists there may have been in this traitor-built corps, I never saw a more hang-dog shuffling of men than these who were shortly to call our Judas “General.” They were a curst lot, too, for in all my introductory foregathering with them, I could not find more than three or four who would join me in a soldierly pot of wine.
Castner joined me at the midday meal at my inn, this time as my guest; and now I began to regret my knowing of this fine young fellow, who was condoning in me what must have appeared to him as the most deplorable wickedness a soldier can be guilty of. I foresaw complications, if our acquaintance should go on ripening into friendship; I must use him, or any other man coming in my way, to forward the great end in view, and already the idea of making the young, fine-faced, upright lieutenant an innocent accessory was growing repugnant to me. So I thought it no more than right to give him his warning—which I did.
“You have rooms in the barracks, Mr. Castner?” I asked when we had come to the long-stemmed pipes after the meal in the inn common-room.
“No,” he replied. “Being on detached duty as one of Sir Henry’s aides, I live as I please.”
“And where does it please you to live, if I may ask?”
“In this house at the present time. It is not so good as the best, perhaps; but it is far better than the worst.”
Here was a promise of more complications. My necessary meetings with Champe, which I had thought this tavern so near the fort might shelter, could scarcely come under the same roof with Castner and not awaken suspicion. Yet I reflected that I was not tied to the tavern looking down Broad Way to Sir Henry Clinton’s headquarters with any string; I could break loose whenever I chose.
“It is very good, indeed,” I allowed, thinking still of the breakfast ham and eggs. Then quite abruptly: “You have taken a fancy to me, Mr. Castner, and it does you little credit. You will live longer and have more money and a better digestion, if you give me the cold shoulder.”
The young Briton’s smile was altogether good-natured.