"Why not declare ourselves, and have it done with?" returned the first.
"The time's not ripe. We will be able to accomplish much more—and to play the rôle will require no dissembling."
"That's well enough, but I'm tired of it all," came the grumble. "Suppose the British do not take the city."
"Tush! New York cannot be held. Remember that we—" The reply stopped, for a woman's voice broke in.
"How's the young gentleman?" inquired a loud feminine whisper with an unmistakable brogue.
"I'm just going in to see how fares it with him," was the response.
Carter dropped back on the pillow, and half closed his eyelids. There was a small mirror at the foot of the bed, and in the reflection he saw the door open and a face peep in. He caught a glimpse of a pair of keen eyes, a large nose, and a strong determined jaw. Immediately the door closed.
"He's asleep," was whispered out in the hall. "'Tis the best thing; when he wakens you can ask him questions. But not a word as to who fetched him here."
"No, sur, not a word," the woman replied.
Whether it was the suggestion contained in the warning or not that worked the charm, it is hard to tell. The fact was, however, that in a moment Carter began to snore. It was dusk when he awakened the second time. He felt much stronger, and a flood of recollections that had not bothered him before came over him.