“Such talk is idle, and you should know it, Mobray. A word with you ere Grayson and Boudinot—who have gone to look at that marplot house of Cliveden which frustrated all our hopes four months since—return and interrupt us. I last saw you at the Merediths’; can you give me word of them?”
“Only ill ones, alas!” answered the captain. “Their necessities are such that I fear me they are on the point of giving their daughter to that unutterable scoundrel, Clowes.”
Jack started as if he had been stung. “You cannot mean that, man! We sent you word he had broke his parole.”
“Ay,” replied the baronet, flushing. “And let me tell you, John, that scarce an officer failed to go to Sir William and beg him to send the cur back to you.”
“And you mean that Mr. Meredith can seriously intend to give Miss Janice to such a creature?”
“I fear ’t is as good as decided. You know the man, and how he gets his way, curse him!”
“I’d do more than that, could I but get into Philadelphia,” declared Jack, hotly. “By heavens, Fred—”
But here the entrance of other officers interrupted them, and Colonel Brereton was set to introducing Boudinot and Grayson to the British officer.
Scarcely had they been made known to each other when Mobray’s fellow-commissioners, Colonel O’Hara and Colonel Stevens, with a detail of dragoons, came trotting up; and so soon as credentials were exchanged the six sat down about a table in a private room to discuss the matter which had brought them together. One of the first acts of Mobray was to ask for a look at the Continental lists of prisoners; and after a hurried glance through them, he turned and said to Brereton in a low voice: “We had word in Philadelphia that Leftenant Hennion died of a fever.”
“’T is a false rumour,” replied Brereton. “If I could I’d see that he failed of an exchange till the end of the war; and I would that one of our officers in your hands could be kept by you for an equal term.”