"Why do you suppose that?"
"Because while at General Washington's headquarters he mentioned that you had asked permission to take your father—Colonel Mortimer, of the Queen's Rangers—to his home at Elmhurst. You left, as I understood, an hour or two ahead of us. Am I right?"
"Yes, sir; this is Colonel Mortimer's party."
"Then we will pass on without detaining you longer, as we ride in haste. I met your father once; may I ask if his wound is serious?"
"Serious, yes, but not mortal; he was shot in the right side when Monkton fell. His horse was hit at the same time, and the animal's death struggle nearly killed his rider. The surgeon says he may be lame for life."
I reached out my hand, and, with just an instant's hesitation, he returned the clasp warmly.
"My father is suffering too much for me to ask that you speak to him, Major Lawrence," he said a little stiffly. "Perhaps later, at Elmhurst—"
"I understand perfectly," I interrupted. "I am very glad to have met you. We shall ride within a short distance of Elmhurst. Shall I leave word there that you are coming?"
"Oh, no," quickly, his horse taking a step backward, as though to a sudden tug of the rein. "That would be useless, as there is no one there."
"Indeed! I thought possibly your sister."