"Done," said Colonel Forsythe. "Come and see me to-morrow morning after review; and you, sir," turning to his uncle, "will have done your part toward winning back the Colonies when you have helped place a sword-belt around his waist. Come also to-morrow. Matters can be easily arranged. But we are pressed for time." Colonel Forsythe arose—the compartment was hidden from the view of the crowd that thronged the large room—and adjusted his wig skilfully over his thin brown hair. He buckled on his sword, and turning, spoke again. "I must hasten," he said, "and I wish to thank you for the pleasure of the dinner and the honor of your company. To-morrow, then, at nine o'clock." He bowed and walked away.
Uncle Daniel picked up his heavy gold-headed cane, and slipping his arm through his nephew's, stepped out into the street. For some time as they walked along neither spoke. William was living over in his mind some of the old scenes out in the New Jersey home. He could hear the clatter of the mill and the roaring of the waters at the dam. He imagined he could hear George's laughter, and feel the hand that had so often grasped his own as they climbed the hills or ran down the brook together. Oh, if his brother were only here beside him!
At this very moment the same thought that was upper-most in his mind was being echoed by another heart, beating firmly beneath a brass-buttoned coat in far-off New Jersey.
"Your service may make some amends for the disgrace your brother has brought upon the family," said Uncle Daniel at last.
William's heart rebelled at the words his uncle used. "I'll warrant you," he said, "that George will not disgrace the name. He has been influenced by bad counsel and wicked friends."
"I would not give a shilling for his future," said Daniel Frothingham, "and I'm sorry that I brought up this at all. I told you once before that he was dead to me. I can never forgive him."
"I have forgiven him," said William. "I know that he thinks he is in the right, and, uncle, promise me"—he grasped the old man by the arm—"that when the war is over and our standard is once more respected and honored in America, grant me this, that George and I will be able to stand once more together hand in hand in your estimation. He has been misled. Oh, if he could but see!"
"William," said Daniel Frothingham, in his most ponderous manner, "I have made you my son and heir. May you never forget who you are, and that your grandfather, aye, and his grandfather, and so on back, have bled and died on foreign soil for the same flag and country that you are going to serve. Traitors have no place. Led or misled, your brother's hand has been raised against his and yours. Now say no more."
They had reached Uncle Daniel's house, for William had lived with him ever since his arrival in London. Uncle Daniel's heart had opened to the worth of the frank true nature that had grown so close to him; he would have denied his nephew nothing; all the yearnings of paternity had come to the lonely old man. He was deeply affected by thinking that the only being he had ever loved was now about to leave him.