The boy ran swiftly up the stairs, and held the door of his room open for his mother to enter. She closed and locked the door behind her, and then, handing him a letter, said: “I found this in the dining-room after Lieutenant Mott left the breakfast-table.�
John took the letter from his mother’s hand and read:
Fort Granby, August 6, 1780.
Lieutenant Mott. Upon receipt of this, you will at once take and hang that young rebel, John Russell. He has violated his parole and is entitled neither to a further hearing nor a trial. Hang him before sunset to-night. I shall expect to receive word by to-morrow morning.—Heald.
John’s face turned deadly pale, then red with anger. “I have not broken my parole!� he cried. “I never gave a promise that I would not help father to escape. This is murder, and——�
“I think Lieutenant Mott dropped that letter in the dining-room intentionally,� broke in his mother. “He’s not as bad as Captain Heald. He won’t carry out the order.�
With a great effort John controlled his voice. “We’ll see, mother. If it is really an order, I suppose he’ll have to carry it out—unless I escape.�
“He might let you escape.�
“No, little mother. But don’t give up. I’ll find a way out.�
He kissed his mother, unlocked the door and walked slowly down the stairs and out upon the veranda. Lieutenant Mott was coming up the steps, and as he met John he gave him a keen glance of sympathy. But that was all. Not a word or sign to show that he would not carry out his order.