“Indeed; and what is that?”
“Lieutenant Cheyne’s wedding; it is Christmas eve and he is to marry the ward of Jasper Harwood, a most excellent gentleman and a strong advocate of the king’s government.”
“I shall be most happy to have you come,” said Cheyne, bowing.
“I’ll be glad to,” said Tom, returning the bow, and struggling to hide his eagerness.
“There is to be a sort of Christmas fête at the same time,” remarked Lieutenant Cheyne. “A mask, you know; it’s a thing that the people here do about Christmas time, you see.”
“Ah, yes! A mask.” Tom looked thoughtful. “But, my dear sir, I think this will prevent my attending. I have no costume.”
“No costume,” broke in Tarleton, with a loud laugh. “What is the matter with the disguise you are wearing now?”
“Ah, true,” said the youth, coolly. “Quite so.”
“I’ve had my eye upon it for some time,” said Tarleton. “It’s much the same sort of thing as that scamp Marion and his fellows wear. But I suppose you adopted it because you had to pass through the region which that villain infests.”
“I did pass through Marion’s district—yes,” said the youth, evenly.