No sooner had they closed the door of their own apartments than they hurried to the light and examined the precious slip of paper.
It read: "A solemn promise given to Mistress Dorothy Devereux, of Marblehead. G. Washington."
"Oh, Dot," Mary exclaimed, "I never thought,—we have told him an untruth!"
Dorothy was still looking at the paper, but at Mary's alarming words she raised her eyes in wonder.
"You are not Mistress Dorothy Devereux, but Mistress—"
"Sh-h!" cried Dot, putting her hand quickly over Mary's lips. Then they looked at one another and laughed, but uneasily.
CHAPTER XXIX
Neither of the girls found much rest during the night, owing to the strangeness of their surroundings and the exciting experiences that had come to them. In addition to this, their wakefulness was increased by the noise of the gale outside.
The rain had ceased, but the wind at times attained such violence as to rattle the casements like the jarring of a cannonade. Then its force would lessen, and it would moan about the gables and down the chimneys with a sound as though the patriots already fallen might be lamenting the long-continued siege of Boston.