"I told you you were far from knowing Peter," she laughed. "He is seventy-two, and, would you believe it, until this war came, was never ten miles from this spot."
"And since?" recalling the events of the night before.
"He has made it his duty to attend me; he has become my shadow. From the humdrum experience of a respectable house servant he has become the very spirit of reckless adventure—he has journeyed to New York, to Trenton, to Philadelphia, to—"
"Night riding with Hessian foragers," I broke in, "disguised in a Ranger's uniform."
"Well, yes," she dimpled quietly, "even that."
I waited for something more, some explanation of what all this concealed.
"You trust me with so much," I ventured, when she continued silent, "it would seem as if you might tell me even more."
"I cannot perceive whereby any further confession would serve you. Yet I have not refused to answer any question, surely. It is hardly safe for us to remain here so long, and yet if there be something you wish to ask—"
"You could scarcely expect me to be entirely without curiosity. I have been captured on the highway, brought here a prisoner, and held under guard all night. I supposed myself in British hands, only to discover that you have again intervened to save me. Surely there must be a key to all this mystery. If, as I suspect, it was your brother, Eric, who led the attack on me, having mistaken me for another, then what was his purpose? And what has become of Eric?"
She wrinkled her brows in perplexity, her hands nervously clasping the back of a chair.