“This young blade is a friend of yours, Mr. Harwood, I suppose,” spoke this officer, his voice thick and husky.
“He is from a neighboring plantation,” answered Harwood, scowling at Tom, darkly.
“Let’s have him in,” cried another. “He seems to be an excellent horseman; let’s see if he’s equally good at other things. Introduce us, I beg of you, to the youth who is good enough to fear that he startled us,” and once more they roared.
“That will, perhaps, follow in good time, gentlemen. Meanwhile, don’t let the table be idle; keep your knives and forks. I’ll join you in a few moments.”
At this hint the dragoons disappeared into the mansion, and Harwood was left alone with Tom.
“So,” said the planter, after a pause, during which his eyes had been searching Tom’s face, “you’ve come, have you?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the lad, wondering what the expression upon the man’s face meant. “I thought I’d ride over and see you all.”
“I had not thought,” sneered the Tory, “that you would have the courage to face me after what you have done.”
Tom drew himself up proudly.
“I have done nothing of which I am ashamed,” said he, quietly.