“So?  Then Mr. Rutherford is like to have his work cut out for him, I take it.”

Jennifer eyed me curiously.  “Grif Rutherford is a stout Indian fighter; no West Carolinian will gainsay that.  But he is never the man to match Cornwallis.  We’ll have help from the North.”

“De Kalb?” I suggested.

Again the curious eyeshot.  “Nay, John Ireton, you need not fear me, though I am just now this redcoat captain’s next friend.  You know more about the Baron de Kalb’s doings than anybody else in Mecklenburg.”

“I?  What should I know?”

“You know a deal—­or else the gossips lie most recklessly.”

“They do lie if they connect me with the Baron de Kalb, or with any other of the patriot side.  What are they saying?”

“That you come straight from the baron’s camp in Virginia—­to see what you can see.”

“A spy, eh?  ’Tis cut out of whole cloth, Dick, my lad.  I’ve never took the oath on either side.”

He looked vastly disappointed.  “But you will, Jack?  Surely, you have not to think twice in such a cause?”

“As between King and Congress, you mean?  ’Tis no quarrel of mine.”

“Now God Save us, John Ireton!” he burst out in a fine fervor of youthful enthusiasm that made him all the handsomer, “I had never thought to hear your father’s son say the like!”

I shrugged.

“And why not, pray?  The king’s minion, Tryon, hanged my father and gave his estate to his minion’s minion, Gilbert Stair.  So, in spite of your declarations and your confiscations and your laws against alien landholders, I come back to find myself still the son of the outlawed Roger Ireton, and this same Gilbert Stair firmly lodged in my father’s seat.”

Jennifer shrugged in his turn.

“Gilbert Stair—­for sweet Madge’s sake I’m loath to say it—­Gilbert Stair blows hot or cold as the wind sets fair or stormy.  And I will say this for him:  no other Tryon legatee of them all has steered so fine a course through these last five upsetting years.  How he trims so skilfully no man knows.  A short month since, he had General Rutherford and Colonel Sumter as guests at Appleby Hundred; now it is Sir Francis Falconnet and the British light-horse officers who are honored.  But let him rest:  the cause of independence is bigger than any man, or any man’s private quarrel, friend John; and I had hoped—­”

I laid a hand on his knee.  “Spare yourself, Dick.  My business in Queensborough was to learn how best I might reach Mr. Rutherford’s rendezvous.”

For a moment he sat, pipe in air, staring at me as if to make sure that he had heard aright.  Then he clipt my hand and wrung it, babbling out some boyish brava that I made haste to put an end to.

“Softly, my lad,” I said; “’tis no great thing the Congress will gain by my adhesion.  But you, Richard; how comes it that I find you taking your ease at Jennifer House and hobnobbing with his Majesty’s officers when the cause you love is still in such desperate straits?”