"He is—perhaps you do not know—my father died this spring." And crystal drops welled from the big eyes and hung suspended on the curling lashes.
"Aye, my dear child," and a note of the tenderest sympathy came to the deep voice, "so I heard at the time. God grant we may all be as well prepared as was your good father, when the end shall come."
There was a pause, filled by the crackling of the fire, whose gleams made a bright sparkle of the drops on Dorothy's swart lashes before she could wipe them away. The other officers were now exchanging significant glances, and looking at the girl with much interest.
The silence was broken by Mary, who was secretly burning to escape. She had waited until she met Washington's eyes; then, as he glanced at her, she made a deep courtesy and said, "And now, sir, if you please, we will retire to our own apartments below stairs."
"Wait but a moment," he replied. His eyes had gone back to Dorothy, who was standing with clasped hands, looking into the fire, and forgetful of all else than the sorrow his words had awakened within her heart. "Are you abiding under this roof, Mistress Devereux?"
"Only for this one night, sir," Mary answered. "We are stopping at Dorchester, with our old friend Mistress Knollys, and have been toward Boston to see a dying relative. We were returning from there when the storm overtook us, and are obliged to remain here until to-morrow. We shall set out again in the morning, sir."
"Not alone, surely?" he said with a slight frown. "It is scarce prudent for you two young ladies to be travelling these roads, at such a time as this, without escort."
"We had an escort, sir, but he went on to Dorchester, to assure Mistress Knollys of our safety. He will return in the morning, or else send some one for us."
"That is more as it should be," Washington said with an approving nod. "And in case no one comes for you, I myself will take pleasure in seeing that you are provided with a suitable escort."
Mary courtesied once more, and both girls murmured their thanks.