Helpless to aid his friend, and forced to sit idly by and see him suffer and die, Lawrence Enderwood buried his face in his hands.
“General Howe well might know this be no place for women.”
The gruff, surly tone of Cunningham was answered by one as sweet as the note of a song bird.
“But, Captain, he surely might know it would be a better place for human beings if it were.”
Lawrence lifted his head and his eyes lighted, as well they might, for the girl was a refreshing picture.
“You are right, Miss Danesford. General Howe not only might, he ought to know about this villainous place.”
“Ah, Mr. Enderwood––pardon, that epaulette declares you are a captain and the red facings of your blue coat indicate that you lead Virginians. Possibly, however, the Mister to you is of more value than the title of captain, since your General Washington has made himself famous with the British as a plain ‘Mister.’”
“It must be very humiliating to their generals to be beaten by a plain ‘Mister,’ must it not? But I would not say unpleasant things, for verily your visit is most welcome, whether you came to see me or another.”
“You, most assuredly. Colonel Brent was boasting yesterday of having bagged a genuine militia captain from old Virginia, and, when he told me your name, I did not thank him for his exploit.”