at Friend Stair's," said my Lord, most affably. "We shall put your
new-found loyalty to the test, Captain Ireton, by entrusting you with a
most important mission. Go with the commissary-general and he will find
you your mount and equipment."

Thus dismissed, I went with Stedman, and was accorded a more gentlemanly
welcome than my overhearings had given me leave to expect.

On the way to the horse paddock the commissary-general told me of his
plan to write a history of the campaign; a bit of confidence which set
me laughing inwardly and wondering if he would put one John Ireton,
sometime of the Scots Blues, and late captain in her Apostolic Majesty's
Hussars, between the covers of his book. 'Tis small wonder that he did
not. I have since had the pleasure of reading his history of the great
war, and I find it curiously lacking in those incidents which did not
redound to the honor and glory of the king's cause and army in the
field.

Not to digress, however, my makeshift mount was soon exchanged for a
better; I was allowed to draw what I would of accoutrements and
provender from the king's stores; and so, to cut it short, I was
presently at the door of my Lord's headquarters fully equipped and ready
for the road.

I did hope in those last few moments that I might have a chance to
exchange a word with my dear lady; might ask her forgiveness, or,
failing so much grace of her, might at least have another sight of her
sweet face.

But even this poor boon was denied me. I was scarce out of the saddle
when an aide came to conduct me to the general, and I saw no one in the
house save my Lord himself.

As you would guess, my instructions conformed exactly to the plan
outlined by Lord Cornwallis in the council. I was entrusted with a
sealed packet for delivery to Major Ferguson, and, for safety's sake, as
my Lord explained, I was given the meat of the message to deliver
verbally should the need arise. Ferguson was to be ordered to come in
instantly by forced marches, if necessary, and he was on no account to
risk a battle with the over-mountain men.

You may be sure, my dears, that I scarce drew breath till I was a-horse
and out of the town and galloping hard on the road to that ford of
Master Macgowan's which afterward became famous in our history under the
misspelling "Cowan's Ford." 'Twas too good to be true that I should be
thrust thus into the very gaping mouth of opportunity, and now and again
I would feel the packe