"No; you reserved me for this."
He took a step nearer and seemed strangely agitated.
"You forced my hand, John Ireton," he said, speaking low that the others might not hear. "You had her ear from day to day and used your privilege against me. As an enemy who merely sought my life for vengeance's sake I could spare you; but as a rival—"
I laughed, and sanity began to come again. "Make an end of it," I said. "I'd rather hear the muskets speak than you."
For reply he took a folded paper from his pocket and spread and held it so that I might read. It was a letter from my Lord Cornwallis, directing Captain Falconnet to send his prisoner, Captain John Ireton, sometime lieutenant in the Royal Scots Blues, under guard to his Lordship's headquarters in South Carolina.
"Can you read it?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Well, this supersedes the colonel's sentence. If I say the word to Ensign Farquharson you will be remanded."
"To be shot or hanged a little later, I suppose?"
"No. Have you any notion why my Lord Charles is sending for you?"