There was a silence. I sat there with clinched fist on the table, teeth set, realizing what I had said, glad that I had said it, grimly determined to stand by every word I had uttered.
"Lord Dunmore represents the King," said Mount, smiling.
"Prove it to me and I am a rebel from this moment!" I cried.
"But Lord Dunmore is only doing his duty," urged Mount. "His Majesty needs allies."
"Do you mean to say that Lord Dunmore is provoking war here at the King's command?" I asked, in horror.
The young man by the chimney stood up and bent his pleasant eyes on me.
"I have here," he said, tapping the letter in his hand, "my Lord Dunmore's commission as major-general of militia, and his Majesty's permission to enlist a thousand savages to serve under me in the event of rebellion in these colonies!"
I had risen to my feet at the sound of the stranger's voice; Mount, too, had risen, tankard in hand.
"I am further authorized," said the young stranger, coolly, "by command of my Lord Dunmore, to offer £12 sterling for every rebel scalp taken by these Indian allies of his most Christian Majesty."
At that I went cold and fell a-trembling.