“And what did you hear me say, knave?”
“Oh, nothing that will ever go the farther for my hearing it. It's all one to me whether you're working for your country or yourself in this matter, so long as my pretty pounds are none the less heavy and safe.”
“I'm working for both, you fool,” returned Bernard. “Did you ever know a general or a patriot who did not seek to serve himself as well as his country?”
“Well, no,” retorted the soldier, “for what the world calls honour, and what the rough soldier calls money, is at last only different kinds of coin of the same metal.”
“Well, hush your impudence,” said Bernard, “and mind, not a word of what you have heard, or you shall feel my power as well as others. In the meantime, here is a golden key to lock your lips,” and he handed the fellow a sovereign, which he greedily accepted.
“Thank you, Cap'n,” said Holliday, touching his hat and pocketing the money; “you need not be afraid of me, for I've seen tricks in my time worth two of that. And for the matter of taking this yellow boy, which might look to some like hush-money, the only difference between the patriot and me is, that he gets paid for opening his mouth, and I for keeping mine shut.”
“You are a saucy knave,” said Bernard, reassured by the fellow's manner; “and I'll warrant you never served under old Noll's Puritan standard. But away with you, and remember to be in place at ten o'clock to-night, and come to me at this signal,” and he gave a shrill whistle, which Holliday promised to understand and obey.
And so they separated, Bernard to while away the tedious hours, by conversing with the old Colonel, and by endeavouring to reinstate himself in the good opinion of Virginia, while Holliday repaired to the kitchen, where, in company with his comrades and the white servants of the hall, he emptied about a half gallon of brown October ale.