“It will require a great deal to convince me of that,” remarked Royce, with doubt plain in his voice.
“First,” said Dimisdale, impressively, “there will be Edward Pendleton, one of the Virginia aristocrats, a man of fine distinction and attainments, of many friendships and vast influence in his own colony and far beyond to the southward.”
“I know that,” said the big man.
“Then there will be Patrick Henry, whose name has already gone across the sea and whose tongue is as a flame in arousing rebellion among the discontented. And last—but in my private opinion—standing head and shoulders above them all—is one whom I consider to be the most dangerous man of the period. His very silence up to this time makes him all the more to be feared. His resolution is like granite, his talent beyond dispute. I mean Colonel Washington, of Mount Vernon.”
What Royce thought of this estimate Nat never knew; for at that moment there came the ring of hoofs in the darkness. Then a horseman dashed up to the Chew House and threw himself from the saddle.
“Young Prentiss at last!” cried Royce.
“And come with news of importance, I’ll be bound,” echoed Dimisdale.
The two hurried away toward the spot where an eager group had gathered about the newcomer; and Nat was left to his thoughts and the darkness.
“An attempt to capture the Virginia members of Congress,” breathed the boy, his blood thrilling at the idea; “and to-night!”
He stared at the dim cluster of Tories who stood in the path before the house listening to something that was being swiftly imparted to them by the night rider.