“There is a good reason for everything that Jasper Harwood does,” said the Tory who had before spoken.
“You are right in that,” said Mark. “You see, father is very anxious that the estate of our rebel relative, Deering, who was taken in arms against the king, shall not revert to the crown.”
“Very good of him,” said some one. “But it is the first time that I knew him to have any friendly feeling toward Deering.”
“He has none. It is not for Deering’s sake that my father is anxious, but for his own. You see, he wants the estate for himself.”
A gale of laughter went up at this confession. Lucy had been urging her father to go to his chamber, as his face was growing more drawn and haggard every moment, showing that the strain was greater than he cared to admit. At last he consented; she opened the door leading into the hall and he passed out, thinking that Lucy was following him. He paused at the tall clock to speak an encouraging word to the boy concealed therein, then looked surprisedly about for Lucy.
“She has gone on up to her room without waiting for me,” said he, to himself. Then with another “courage, my lad,” to Tom, he ascended the staircase.
In the meantime Mark Harwood was explaining, with evident delight, his father’s reasons for marrying Laura to the British dragoon.
“Cheyne,” said he, “has some very high-class connections across the water; an uncle is the Duke of Shropshire, you know, and the Marquis of Dorking is a cousin. Both of these gentlemen are very friendly with the king and Lord North; so, you see, with the lieutenant in the family, there is no great danger of our losing the Deering estate.”
Another shout of laughter greeted this; the crafty methods of Jasper Harwood seemed to please the Tories greatly. Suddenly there came a loud bellowing from Clarage, and the laughter ceased.
“Where has Foster gone?” demanded the Tory. “What has become of him? He was here a moment ago.”