“You shall have the best the tavern affords,” said the innkeeper.
The sun went down blazing on the hills, seeming like a far gate of heaven, as its semicircular splendors filled the sky. Then came the hour of shadows with the advent of the early stars, and then the grand procession of the night march of the hosts of heaven that looks bright indeed over the dark cedars.
The air was silent, as though the world were dead. The taverners listened long in front of the tavern for the sound of horses’ feet on the Lebanon road.
“Will the Governor come alone?” asked Dennis O’Hay of Israel Putnam, the rider.
“Yes, my sailor friend; who is there to harm him?”
“But there will be danger. There ought to be a guard on the Lebanon road. Did not the Governor save the powder, ammunition, and stores, in the northern war? So they said at Norwich. Some day General Gage will put a long eyes on him.”
“Silence!”
The taverners went into the tavern and sat down in the common room.
“I will wait until midnight before I go to my room. My message to the Governor must be delivered as soon as he returns.”