CHAPTER XXVII
While Brown was at work in the North collecting money, arms and ammunition, Cook was quietly completing his work at the Ferry. He fought the temptation to take Virginia with him on his trips and then succumbed.
The thing that decided it was the fact that she knew Colonel Louis
Washington and had been to Bellair. She promised to introduce him.
To make sure of Brown's quixotic instructions about the sword and pistols he must make the trip. The drive in the snug little buggy along the river bank was a red letter experience in the young Westerner's life.
Seated beside the modest slip of a Southern girl chatting with vivacity and a happiness she couldn't conceal, the man forgot that he was a conspirator in a plot to deluge a nation in blood. He forgot the long nights of hiding in woods and ravines. He forgot dark deeds of sacking and robbery. He was just a boy again. The sun was shining in the glory of a sweet spring morning in the mountains. The flowers were blooming in the hedges. He smelled the wild cherry, blackberry and dewberry bushes. Birds were singing. The new green of the leaves was dazzling in its splendor. The air was pure and sweet and sent the blood bounding to the tips of his fingers.
He glanced at the soft red cheeks of the girl beside him and a great yearning for a home and babies and peace overwhelmed him. His lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears. He rebelled against the task to which he had put his hand.
"Why so pensive?" she asked with a laugh.
"Am I?"
"You haven't spoken for a mile."
"I'm just so happy, I reckon," he answered seriously.