He lay a long time awake, disturbed by thoughts of the task before him. When he did sleep, it was to dream that the task was in progress, then that it was finished but had to be begun anew, then that countless obstacles arose in succession to hinder him in it. Dawn found him little refreshed in mind, but none the worse in body. He found, on arising, that he could walk without aid from the stick, and he required no help in dressing himself. Looking towards the river, he saw the British vessel heading for New York. But that sight gave him little comfort, thanks to the ordeal before him, in contemplating which he neglected to put on his sword 185 and scabbard, and so descended to breakfast without them.
That meal offered no opportunity for the disclosure, the aunt being present throughout. Immediately after breakfast, the two ladies went for their customary walk. While they were breasting the wind, between two rows of box in the garden, Miss Sally spoke of Major Colden’s intention to return for Elizabeth at the end of a week, and said, “’Twill be a week this evening since you arrived. Is he to come for you to-day or to-morrow?”
“I don’t know,” said Elizabeth, shortly.
“But, my dear, you haven’t prepared—”
“I sha’n’t go back to-day, that is certain. If Colden comes before to-morrow, he can wait for me,—or I may send him back without me, and stay as long as I wish.”
“But he will meet Captain Peyton—”
“It can be easily arranged to keep him from knowing Captain Peyton is here. I shall look to that.”
Miss Sally sighed at the futility of her inquisitorial fishing. Not knowing Elizabeth’s reason for saving the rebel captain, she had once or twice thought that the girl, in some inscrutable whim, intended to deliver him up, after all. She had tried frequently to fathom her niece’s purposes, but had never got any satisfaction.
“I suppose,” she went on, desperately, “if you go back to town, you will leave the captain in Williams’s charge.”