The prisoner bowed in silence; then, as Washington went toward the door to summon Doak, the young man turned to smile hopefully into his wife's eyes.
"Keep a brave heart, sweet one," he whispered, "and trust in my love and truth. Naught can ever part us now."
A minute later the door closed after the fisherman and his charge.
"Keep the paper, child," Washington said to Dorothy, as soon as they were alone, "and remember that the promise it contains is renewed for the future. In such days as are about us, it is not improbable to reckon upon its being needed again—although scarcely for a like purpose."
He smiled, as his fingers closed upon the small hand within which he placed the eventful slip of paper. "And now go, my daughter," he added, "and may God bless you. Trust in Him, and He will surely watch over your life, and make all well in the end."
CHAPTER XXX
Had Dorothy been less absorbed by anxiety and grief when she was making her way to General Washington's apartments, she would have heard the door of the taproom open softly as she reached the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor.
Farmer Gilbert's head was thrust from the opening, and his fierce eyes watched the slight figure ascend to the landing above and turn in the direction of the rooms occupied by the Commander-in-Chief.
As soon as she was out of sight, he glanced up and down the hall, to make certain no one was near, and slipped cautiously out. Then quickly removing his heavy shoes, he stole, cat-like, up the stairway.