He looked up and saw me. He nodded. “Yes, it’s good!” he said. Then he nodded again. “Quite good, Major.”
I stared confounded, while she—for a moment her weight hung heavy on my arm. Then she sighed, stiffened herself, and drew away from me. I did not look at her. For one thing I dared not, and for another, what if the news were not true? Who was this man, and what did he know?
“Is she there?” he asked, looking up and tapping his neat boot with his switch.
“Yes,” I said, still doubting.
“Well, send her down, will you?” he replied. “There’s somebody waiting for her at the back of the mill.”
Then I knew the man. It was Marion—General Marion, for he had been raised to that rank since I had parted from him.
CHAPTER XIII
CONSTANTIA AT SARATOGA
“We don’t think much of Miss X— Y— my dear,
Quite too fond of the British Officers.”
Life of Eliza Pinkney.