I took her warm little hand in mine, as I replied: "And I to see you again in yours." Then I added: "You have brought the news that the British are leaving Philadelphia?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Then may I come to see you there, still in my own proper guise?"
"If General Washington gives you time," she replied. "But to tell you the truth, I don't think you will stay long in Philadelphia. Now, good-bye."
I helped her upon her horse, and she gave me her hand again. Perhaps I held it a second or two longer than custom demands, but of that I shall say nothing more.
I watched her as she rode away, the morning sunshine rippling on her hair, a slender figure, yet so strong and brave. There, I knew, beat a dauntless heart. Her spirit and courage led me on to love her from the first, and then the mystery about her, the strange, magnetic charm had drawn me too. She might take my love and tread upon it if she would, but it was hers, and no woman could ever dispossess her.
Chapter Twenty-four—In the City Again
A detachment of our army entered Philadelphia the next day, hot upon the heels of the retreating British, and Marcel and I were among the first dozen Americans who rode into the city, Wildfoot, the ranger, commanding the little band which had the honor of taking the lead. Seldom have happier horsemen galloped to the music of triumph.