As Rodney rode away he thought much upon the strange man he had left. Evidently he was one whom his father had befriended. And the rascal had tried to rob his benefactor’s son. Probably, what with the illness and all, the fellow’s conscience twinged a little. Anyhow, he should have the lawyer though it were better he should have the clergyman, thought the lad.
That night Rodney found it difficult to put thoughts of the sick man out of his mind and, when a few days later he again had occasion to visit the camp, he took along with him some delicacies which he thought might tempt the patient’s appetite.
“So you didn’t forget me. What’s this? Something besides camp fare? Oh, yes, you are David Cameron’s son, but you’ve got a life work ahead if you live up to his standard.”
“I believe you, sir.”
“Would you be willing to send this letter? I suppose it will reach Philadelphia in a few days. By the way, did your father come to Charlottesville from London?”
“No. He lived nearly eighteen years down in Prince William County. He was employed there much of the time by Squire Danesford.”
“Danesford! Did he have a daughter about your own age?”
“Yes. Lisbeth. She was in Philadelphia the last I knew of her. I heard the other day that the state had seized their estate. Danesford is a bitter Tory, you know.”
“Danesford died a poor man in London last April. His daughter, I understand, died about three months later. At least the person to whom that letter is addressed wrote me she couldn’t live.”