“There was an overcoat.”
“And you think it was to see you only that he came out?”
“Me and my daughters.”
“A boy of spirit,” whispered the president to his silent comrade. “I see but little harm in such a freak; ’twas imprudent, but then it was kind.”
“Do you know that your son was intrusted with no commission from Sir Henry Clinton, and that his visit to you was not merely a cloak to other designs?”
“How can I know it?” said Mr. Wharton, in alarm. “Would Sir Henry trust me with such business?”
“Know you anything of this pass?” exhibiting the paper that Dunwoodie had retained when Wharton was taken.
“Nothing—upon my honor, nothing,” cried the father, shrinking from the paper as from contagion.[105]
“On your oath?”
“Nothing.”