“What said he? what promised he?” at length Dunwoodie asked, with feverish impatience.
“He bid Henry apply to him when in danger, and promised to requite the son for the hospitality of the father.”
“Said he this, knowing him to be a British officer?”
“Most certainly; and with a view to this very danger.”
“Then,” cried the youth aloud, and yielding to his rapture, “then you are safe—then I will save him; yes, Harper will never forget his word.”
“But has he the power to?” said Frances. “Can he move the stubborn purpose of Washington?”
“Can he! If he cannot,” shouted the youth, “if he cannot, who can? Greene,[107] and Heath,[108] and the young Hamilton[109] are nothing compared to this Harper. But,” rushing to his mistress, and pressing her hands convulsively, “repeat to me—you say you have his promise?”
“Surely, surely, Peyton; his solemn, deliberate promise, knowing all the circumstances.”
“Rest easy,” cried Dunwoodie, holding her to his bosom for a moment, “rest easy, for Henry is safe.”