“On second thought,” said she, “it won’t do to keep him here waiting for one of our patrols to pass this way. In the meantime some of the rebels might come into the neighborhood and stop here. He must be delivered to the British this very night!”
Peyton gave no outward sign of the momentary heart stoppage he felt within.
“Why,” said the aunt, speaking low, and in some alarm, “’twould require Williams and both the blacks to take him, and we should be left alone in the house.”
“I sha’n’t send him to the troops,” said Elizabeth, 127 in her usual tone, not caring whether or not the prisoner should be disturbed,—for in his powerlessness he could not oppose her plans if he did know them, and in her disdain she had no consideration for his feelings. “The troops shall come for him. Black Sam shall go to the watch-house at King’s Bridge with word that there’s an important rebel prisoner held here, to be had for the taking.”
“Will the troops at King’s Bridge heed the story of a black man?” Aunt Sally seemed desirous of interposing objections to immediate action.
“Their officer will heed a written message from me,” said the niece. “Most of the officers know me, and those at King’s Bridge are aware I came here to-day.”
Thereupon she called in Cuff, and sent him off for Williams, with orders that the steward should bring her pen, ink, paper, and wax.
“Oh, Elizabeth!” cried Miss Sally, looking at the floor. “Here’s some of the poor fellow’s blood on the carpet.”
“Never mind. The blood of an enemy is a sight easily tolerated,” said the girl, probably unaware how nearly she had duplicated a famous utterance of a certain King of France, whose remark had borne reference to another sense than that of sight.[6]
Williams soon came in with the writing materials, and placed them, at Elizabeth’s direction, on a table 128 that stood between the two eastern windows, and on which was a lighted candelabrum. Elizabeth sat down at the table, her back towards the fireplace and Peyton.