“At the tavern.”
“’T is no place for Miss Meredith.”
“Beggars cannot be choosers, sir.”
For a moment Brereton said nothing; then remarked as he faced about, “If I can serve you in any other way, Mr. Meredith, hesitate to ask nothing of me.”
“My thanks to ye, general,” answered Mr. Meredith, gratefully. “I fear me I little merit courtesy at your hands.”
“’T is a peace-making time,” replied Jack, “and we’ll put the ill feeling away, as ’t is to be hoped Great Britain and our country will do, once the treaty is negotiated and ratified.”
“’T is no country I have,” rejoined the squire, sadly. “One word, sir, and I will be gone. I was but just told that ’t was ye who got Mrs. Meredith off the pest-ship; and if—”
Brereton held up his hand. “’T was the Marquis who gave the order, Mr. Meredith, and the Surgeon-General who superintended the removal.”
“So I was told at the time, but I feared that I might have been misinformed. None the less, general, I am your present debtor;” with which words the squire bowed himself out.
Left alone, Brereton stood like a stone for some minutes ere he resumed his seat. He glanced down at the sheet, on which was written:—