As he was catching up his cloak and sabre in the hallway, the door of the office opened. “Come in here a moment, Sir Frederick,” requested the commissary.
“I have done as I promised, and that is all I can do at the moment,” almost sobbed the young fellow. “Nor will I dine here Wednesday, though you do your worst.”
“Tush! Do as ye please as to that, but come in here now, for I have a thing to say that concerns Miss Meredith’s happiness.”
“And what is that?” demanded the baronet, as he entered.
“I see by the G. O. that ye are named one of the commissioners to arrange a cartel of exchange with the rebels at Germantown to-day.”
“Would to God it were to arrange a battle in which I might fall!”
“’T is likely lists of prisoners will be shown, and should ye chance to see the name of Leftenant Hennion on any of those handed in by the rebels I recommend that ye do not advertise the fact when ye return to Philadelphia.”
“But the fellow‘s dead.”
“Ye have been long enough in the service to know that some die whose names never get on any return, and so some are reported dead who decline to be buried. Let us not beat about the bush as to what I mean. We are each doing our best to obtain possession of this lovely creature, but the father holds to his promise to the long-legged noodle, and, if he is alive, our suits are hopeless. So let them continue to suppose him—”
“Mine is so already,” groaned Mobray. “But if ’t were not, I would not filch a woman’s love by means of a deceit. Nor—”