They were poor, doubtless driven to make ends meet, and yet they had taken me in, called upon near the undivided services of an able surgeon, and worn themselves out with nursing me.  Nor did I forget the risk they ran with such a guest.  For the first time in many years my heart relented toward Mr. Marmaduke.  For their sakes I forgave him over and over what I had suffered, and my treatment of him lay like a weight upon me.  And how was I to repay them?  They needed the money I had cost them, of that I was sure.  After the sums I had expended to aid the commodore with the ‘Ranger’ and the ‘Bon homme Richard’, I had scarce a farthing to my name.  With such leaden reflections was I occupied when I heard Mrs. Manners speaking to me.

“Richard, I have some news for you which the doctor thinks you can bear to-day.  Mr. Dulany, who is exiled like the rest of us, brought them.  It is a great happiness to be able to tell you, my dear, that you are now the master of Carvel Hall, and like to stay so.”

The tears stole into her eyes as she spoke.  And the enormity of those tidings, coming as they did on the top of my dejection, benumbed me.  All they meant was yet far away from my grasp, but the one supreme result that was first up to me brought me near to fainting in my weakness.

“I would not raise your hopes unduly, Richard,” the good lady was saying, “but the best informed here seem to think that England cannot push the war much farther.  If the Colonies win, you are secure in your title.”

“But how is it come about, Mrs. Manners?” I demanded, with my first breath.

“You doubtless have heard that before the Declaration was signed at Philadelphia your Uncle Grafton went to the committee at Annapolis and contributed to the patriot cause, and took very promptly the oath of the Associated Freemen of Maryland, thus forsaking the loyalist party—­”

“Yes, yes,” I interrupted, “I heard of it when I was on the Cabot.  He thought his property in danger.”

“Just so,” said Mrs. Manners, laughing; “he became the best and most exemplary of patriots, even as he had been the best of Tories.  He sent wheat and money to the army, and went about bemoaning that his only son fought under the English flag.  But very little fighting has Philip done, my dear.  Well, when the big British fleet sailed up the bay in ’77, your precious uncle made the first false step in his long career of rascality.  He began to correspond with the British at Philadelphia, and one of his letters was captured near the Head of Elk.  A squad was sent to the Kent estate, where he had been living, to arrest him, but he made his escape to New York.  And his lands were at once confiscated by the state.”

“’Then they belong to the state,” I said, with misgiving.

“Not so fast, Richard.  At the last session of the Maryland Legislature a bill was introduced, through the influence of Mr. Bordley and others, to restore them to you, their rightful owner.  And insomuch as you were even then serving the country faithfully and bravely, and had a clean and honourable record of service, the whole of the lands were given to you.  And now, my dear, you have had excitement enough for one day.”