Harry’s heart bounded.
“If,” the old man went on, “I could without lending aid to the King’s enemies. But you see I couldn’t. I won’t lend aid to neither side’s enemies.[7] I don’t want to die afore my time.” And he gazed complacently at the fire.
Peyton knew the hopeless immovability of selfish old age.
“God!” he muttered, in despair. “Is there no one I can turn to?”
“There’s none within hearing would dare go against the orders of Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Valentine.
“Miss Elizabeth evidently rules with a firm hand,” said Peyton, bitterly. “Her word—” He stopped suddenly, as if struck by a new thought. “If I could but move her! If I could make her change her mind!”
“You couldn’t. No one ever could, and as for a rebel soldier—”
“She has a heart of iron, that girl!” broke in Peyton. “The cruelty of a savage!”
Mr. Valentine took on a sincerely deprecating look. “Oh, you mustn’t abuse Miss Elizabeth,” said he. “It ain’t cruelty, it’s only proper pride. 137 And she isn’t hard. She has the kindest heart,—to those she’s fond of.”
“To those she’s fond of,” repeated Harry, mechanically.