Waldron turned sharply to a guard.
“Find his body. It can’t be far and bring it to New York for burial.”
“If you will permit me, Miss Holland,” Waldron said with a stately bow, “I will take you and your mother to your house on the Square. I fear it has been looted by the soldiery who got out of hand for a few hours. But you will be safe there from tonight. I will place a guard at your door. You are under my protection now—”
“Thank you! Thank you,” Virginia answered in low tones.
The Governor-General drove by the army headquarters, spoke for a moment to the Commander-in-chief, arranged the programme for the triumphal entry into the city, secured a cavalry escort and leisurely drove back into New York through miles of weary plodding, stunned and maimed refugees still fleeing before the savage sweep of the imperial army.
He placed Virginia and her mother in their wrecked home and stationed a guard at the door.
With lordly condescension he took her hand in parting:
“Please remember, Miss Holland, that I’m the most powerful man in America today. My word is law, and I am yours to command.”
“You are generous,” she answered softly.
He lifted his hand in protest, bowed and took his seat again in his automobile.