"I will myself escort
Kitty to her own door, and impress upon her the necessity of keeping the
matter a close secret. My mortification would be great were it known.
Why, it might even endanger my friendship with Sir Henry Clinton."
Betty left the room, but her lip curled as she said to herself, "A Tory
to the tips of his fingers; God forbid that I should ever feel what
Clarissa must."
Very little sleep visited Betty that night (or what remained of it) as
she lay with open eyes that strained into the growing dawn, picturing to
herself Oliver's flight across the North River, and hoping fervently
that she had thrown the pursuit skillfully off his track. When at last
she fell into a doze it was nearly seven o'clock in the morning, and
Miranda, who softly entered the room, bringing fresh water, halted at
the pillow, loth to waken her.
"Mistress Betty," she whispered. No reply, but the sleeper turned
uneasily, and then opened her eyes. "I certainly do hate to call you,
but jes' look here; what you say for dat, little missy?" and Miranda
held up a letter. "Dat was left wif me at daybreak by de young boy who
came wif Sambo--missy knows who I mean,"--rolling her eyes fearfully
around the room,--"and he said tell you that Jim Bates, of Breucklen
Heights, had tole him to fetch it to you.
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