She turned, and looked at me for the first time, a silent plea in her blue eyes.
"I do—he is Major Lawrence of General Washington's army," her voice low, but distinct. "I have known him since the Continental troops were first quartered in Philadelphia."
I started slightly, yet as instantly recovered my outward composure, realizing that this strange girl again purposed protecting me from exposure, even at the expense of a falsehood.
"Indeed; you were doubtless aware then that he was within Sir Henry Clinton's lines as a spy?"
"Far from it," she laughed easily, not glancing toward me, but permitting her eyes to rest upon the bewildered face of Captain Grant. "Why, that idea is perfectly absurd. Did you tell my father so ridiculous a story, Captain?"
"Did I! What else could I say?" he growled indignantly. "He was within our lines in British uniform."
Her long lashes veiled the blue depths modestly.
"Yet there might be other reasons for such masquerade, gentlemen," she confessed. "Would it be impossible, think you, that he should have taken so great a risk to again meet with me?"
There was a silence following the simple question, broken by Seldon's laugh, as he slapped his knee in appreciation.
"Good enough, by Gad!" he exclaimed heartily. "The lass has cleared the mystery with a word. The fellow would be a poor soldier indeed to fail in such a test—eh, Grant?"