Standing in the dim light of the hallway, the aide opened the papers and read them hastily. Either the strain on the eyes, or some emotion, put a frown on his face, and it was still there as he walked to the door before which stood a sentry, and passed into a badly lighted room.
“Powerful proud ter meet yer Excellency,” was his greeting from a man in civilian shorts and a military coat, who held out his hand. “Captain Bagby desired his compliments ter yer, an’ ter say that legislative dooties pervented his attindin’ ter the matter hisself.”
Paying no heed to either outstretched hand or words, the officer looked first at a man standing beside the fireplace and then at the two women, who had risen as he entered. He waited a moment, glancing from one to the other, as if expecting each of them to speak; but when they did not, he asked gruffly of the guard, though still with his eyes on the prisoners: “And for what were the ladies brought?”
“Becuz they wud n’t be left behind on no accaount. Yer see, yer Excellency, things hez been kinder onsettled in Middlesex Caounty, an’ it hain’t been a joyful time to them as wuz Tories; so when orders cum ter bring old Meredith ter York Island, his wife an’ gal wuz so scar’t nothin’ would do but they must come along.”
“Ay,” spoke up the man by the fireplace, bitterly. “A nice pass ye’ve brought things to, that women dare not tarry in their own homes for fear of insult.”
“You may go,” said the officer to the captor, pointing at the door.
“Ain’t I ter hear the ’zamination, yer Excellency?” demanded the man, regretfully. “The hull caounty is sot on known’ ther fac’s.” But as the hand still pointed to the entrance, the man passed reluctantly through it.
Taking a seat shadowed from the dim light of the solitary candle, the officer asked: “You are aware, Mr. Meredith, on what charge you are in military custody?”
“Not I,” growled the master of Greenwood. “For more than a year gone I’ve taken no part in affairs, but ’t is all of a piece with ye Whigs that—to trump up a charge against—”
“This is no trumpery accusation,” interrupted the officer. “I hold here a letter to Sir William Howe, found after our army took possession of Boston, signed by one Clowes, and conveying vastly important information as to our lack of powder, which he states he obtained through you.”