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Updated: May 23, 2025
It rained hard all the next forenoon, but the men wrapped their blankets and the skirts of their hunting shirts round their gunlocks, and hurried on after Ferguson. A few of Shelby's men stopped at a Tory's house. "How many are there of you?" asked a young girl. "Enough," said one of the riflemen, "to whip Ferguson, if we can catch him."
Ah, and then could he thump out his Horace, the Tory's mentor and his cordial, with other great ancient comic and satiric poets, his old Port of the classical cellarage, reflecting veneration upon him who did but name them to an audience of good dispositions.
And there was another person in that house, to whom the tragical events of the night brought deep disquietude; but it was a disquietude of quite a different character from that which was experienced by the troubled wretches we have named: that person was the Tory's Daughter the pure, guileless, and nobleminded Sabrey Haviland.
She was to make the discovery on the afternoon that she and Miss Victoria Fenton sat talking, waiting for Tory to announce that preparations were ready for tea. From the beginning of Tory's first acquaintance with Katharine Moore, Miss Fenton had been quietly watching the other girl.
However, if Kara were wearying of this and really preferred the other girls, Tory appreciated that she was probably being a nuisance. She would not speak of it to Memory Frean or Miss Mason, but in the future Kara should not be so bored by her society. Walking on together through the woods, once Memory Frean attempted to put her arm inside Tory's. Quietly Tory drew away. The dusk was deepening.
The stranger was a middle-aged man with iron-gray hair. He was carrying his hat in his hand and enjoying the beauty and fragrance of the late evening in the woods. As Tory rushed toward him, Miss Frean stepped back into a deeper shadow. The newcomer was Tory's uncle, Mr. Richard Fenton. "How stupid of me to have been frightened!" she exclaimed.
The night was not particularly cool, yet the fire was not uncomfortable, and had been lighted at Tory's request. The older woman had finished eating and sat holding an open magazine in her hands. Tory's eyes studied the room, with which she now had grown familiar, with the same curiosity and pleasure. The room was so simple and odd.
"How in the world did you find this impossible place? Kara and I have been fearing we might have to stay here always!" Don held out his hand and caught Tory's, giving it a reassuring pressure. He was a big, blue-eyed fellow with fair hair and a splendid physique. In contrast Victoria Drew appeared small and fragile and incapable. Lance McClain was entirely unlike his brother in appearance.
Will you join them in defence of their homes and country, and help fulfil this matchless girl's expectations when we meet that taunting foe at Bennington, as by God's favor we will? If so, then let it now be told in three cheers for the good cause, and as many more as you please for The Tory's Daughter!"
You know you want to play what you have written for Kara, so why pretend otherwise?" Tory's manner left no chance for argument, so Lance, with a whimsical smile of agreement, meekly obeyed. He sat under a light from a reading lamp, the two girls standing beside Kara's chair.
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