“Here, Betty,” she said, placing the folded sheets upon the table; “Eustace Singleton is on Lord Cornwallis’s staff and must have influence with him, and through him, with General Clinton. I have written Eustace to use all effort and despatch in Richard’s behalf, but you must add a postscript to make the plea effective.”
“And why, I pray you, should he heed a postscript from Betty?” asked her mother, angrily, forgetful for a moment of her grief.
“Because,” Joscelyn answered, facing her calmly, “he loves her, and the few words she writes will outweigh all my pages.”
“What! That Loyalist, the son of Joseph Singleton, our old enemy, in love with my daughter? This is some mockery.”
“It is the sober truth.”
“I do not believe it; but if it be so, then will Richard and I have a word to say in the matter. Betty, put down that quill; I will not have you stoop to ask a favour of that family.”
“Not even for Richard’s life and freedom, Aunt Clevering?”
“I do not believe he has any influence. In love with my daughter—what impudence!”
“Rather what good fortune, since it may save your son.”
“Mother, it seems our one chance; bid me write.” And Joscelyn joined in the girl’s plea.