“It will do nicely,” said Cheyne. “Indeed I could imagine nothing better for such an occasion.”
“Very well, then,” said Tom. “It is settled.”
“I shall be glad to send for you,” remarked Cheyne.
Tom considered for a moment. His thoughts were working upon a plan that had just flashed into his mind; and then he replied:
“No; upon consideration it would be best that I go alone. Where is the wedding to take place, sir?”
“Here,” said Cornwallis. “You came to this plantation blindfolded; you could not find your way here again, alone.”
“I shall leave the place with my eyes open,” said Tom, “and shall note its location as I ride toward the town. And now,” after a short pause, “if we have quite finished, I shall be on my way.”
“We have said all that we can say, for the present,” said Cornwallis.
“Then,” said the young swamp-rider, as he bowed with dignity to the three British officers, “I will bid you good-night, gentlemen, and trust that we shall meet soon again.”
Sultan was at the door. Tom sprang upon his back and shook the rein. Then he waved his hand to the officers on the steps, for they had followed him with considerable ceremony through the hall; in a moment he was dashing along the well-remembered road leading from his father’s plantation. He followed the track toward the city for some time; then drew rein and listened. There was no sound on the road behind, no evidence that he was being followed. Assuring himself of this, he wheeled Sultan into a narrow road leading northwest, and went dashing light-heartedly to meet his comrades at the Indian’s Head.