CHAPTER XVIII.
MR. HARPER IS SOUGHT BUT NOT FOUND.
The sentence of the court was communicated with proper tenderness tothe prisoner, and after giving a few necessary instructions to theofficer in command, and despatching a courier to headquarters withtheir report, the remaining judges mounted and rode to their ownquarters.
A few hours were passed by the prisoner, after his sentence wasreceived, in the bosom of his family.
Dunwoodie, from an unwillingness to encounter the distress of Henry'sfriends, and a dread of trusting himself within its influence, hadspent the time walking by himself, in keen anxiety, at a shortdistance from the dwelling. To him the rules of service were familiar,and he was more accustomed to consider his general in the capacity ofa ruler than as exhibiting the characteristics of the individual.
While pacing with hurried step through the orchard, laboring underthese constantly recurring doubts, Dunwoodie saw the courierapproaching; leaping the fence, he stood before the trooper.
"What news?" cried the major, the moment the soldier stopped hishorse.
"Good!" exclaimed the man; and feeling no hesitation to trust anofficer so well known as Major Dunwoodie, he placed the paper in hishands, as he added: "But you can read it, sir, for yourself."
Dunwoodie paused not to read, but flew, with the elastic spring ofjoy, to the chamber of the prisoner. The sentinel knew him, and he wassuffered to pass without question.
"O Peyton," cried Frances, as he entered the apartments, "you looklike a messenger from heaven. Bring you tidings of mercy?"
"Here, Frances--here, Henry--here, dear cousin Jeanette," cried theyouth, as with trembling hands he broke the seal; "here is the letteritself, directed to the captain of the guard. But listen!"
All did listen with intense anxiety; and the pang of blasted hope wasadded to their misery, as they saw the glow of delight which hadbeamed on the countenance of the major give place to a look of horror.The paper contained the sentence of the court, and underneath waswritten these simple words:
"_Approved--Geo. Washington._"
"He's lost, he's lost!" cried Frances, sinking into the arms of heraunt.
"My son, my son!" sobbed the father, "there is mercy in heaven, ifthere is none on earth. May Washington never want that mercy he thusdenies to my innocent child!"
"There is yet time to see Washington again," said Miss Peyton, movingtowards the door; and then, speaking with extreme dignity, shecontinued: "I will go myself; surely he must listen to a woman fromhis own colony; and we are in some degree connected with his family."
"Why not apply to Mr. Harper?" said Frances, recollecting the partingwords of their guest for the first time.
"Harper!" echoed Dunwoodie, turning towards her with the swiftness oflightning; "what of him? Do you know him?"
"It is in vain," said Henry, drawing him aside; "Frances clings tohope with the fondness of a sister. Retire, my love, and leave me withmy friend."
But Frances read an expression in the eye of Dunwoodie that chainedher to the spot. After struggling to command her feelings, shecontinued:
"He stayed with us for a few days; he was with us when Henry wasarrested."
"And--and--did you know him?"
"Nay," continued Frances, catching her breath as she witnessed theintense interest of her lover, "we knew him not; he came to us in thenight, a stranger, and remained with us during the severe storm; buthe seemed to take an interest in Henry, and promised him hisfriendship."
"What!" exclaimed the youth, in astonishment; "did he know yourbrother?"
"Certainly; it was at his request that Henry threw aside hisdisguise."
"But," said Dunwoodie, turning pale with suspense, "he knew him not asan officer of the royal army?"
"Indeed he did," cried Miss Peyton; "and he cautioned us against thisvery danger."
Dunwoodie caught up the fatal paper, that lay where it had fallen fromhis own hands, and studied its characters intently. Something seemedto bewilder his brain. He passed his hand over his forehead, whileeach eye was fixed on him in dreadful suspense--all feeling afraid toadmit those hopes anew that had been so sadly destroyed.
"What said he? what promised he?" at length Dunwoodie asked, withfeverish impatience.
"He bid Henry apply to him when in danger, and promised to requite theson for the hospitality of the father."
"Said he this, knowing him to be a British officer?"
"Most certainly; and with a view to this very danger."
"Then," cried the youth aloud, and yielding to his rapture, "then youare safe--then I will save him; yes, Harper will never forget hisword."
"But has he the power to?" said Frances. "Can he move the stubbornpurpose of Washington?"
"Can he! If he cannot," shouted the youth, "if he cannot, who can?Greene,[107] and Heath,[108] and the young Hamilton[109] are nothingcompared to this Harper. But," rushing to his mistress, and pressingher hands convulsively, "repeat to me--you say you have his promise?"
[Footnote 107: General Nathanael Greene, a noted American commander.]
[Footnote 108: William; a general in the American army, who organized the forces at Cambridge before the battle of Bunker Hill.]
[Footnote 109: Alexander Hamilton, aide-de-camp to Washington.]
"Surely, surely, Peyton; his solemn, deliberate promise, knowing allthe circumstances."
"Rest easy," cried Dunwoodie, holding her to his bosom for a moment,"rest easy, for Henry is safe."
He waited not to explain, but darting from the room, he left thefamily in amazement. They continued in silent wonder until they heardthe feet of his charger as he dashed from the door with the speed ofan arrow.
A long time was spent after this abrupt departure of the youth, by theanxious friends he had left, in discussing the probability of hissuccess. The confidence of his manner had, however, communicated tohis auditors something of his own spirit. Each felt the prospects ofHenry were again brightening, and with their reviving hopes theyexperienced a renewal of spirits, which in all but Henry himselfamounted to pleasure. Frances reposed in security on the assurance ofDunwoodie; believing her lover able to accomplish everything that mancould do and retaining a vivid recollection of the manner andbenevolent appearance of Harper, she abandoned herself to all thefelicity of renovated hope.
From the window where she stood, the pass that they had travelledthrough the Highlands was easily to be seen; and the mountain whichheld on its summit the mysterious hut was directly before her. Itssides were rugged and barren; huge and apparently impassable barriersof rocks presenting themselves through the stunted oaks, which,stripped of their foliage, were scattered over its surface. Thebase of the hill was not half a mile from the house, and the objectwhich attracted the notice of Frances was the figure of a manemerging from behind a rock of remarkable formation, and as suddenlydisappearing. The manoeuvre was several times repeated, as if it werethe intention of the fugitive (for such by his air he seemed to be) toreconnoitre the proceedings of the soldiery, and assure himself of theposition of things on the plain. Notwithstanding the distance, Francesinstantly imbibed the opinion that it was Birch, who had so connectedhimself with the mysterious deportment of Harper, within herimagination, that under circumstances of less agitation than those inwhich she had labored since her arrival, she would have kept hersuspicions to herself. After gazing for a long time at the pointwhere she had last seen the figure, in the vain expectation of itsreappearance, she turned to her friends in the apartment.
Dunwoodie soon made his appearance, but his air was that of neithersuccess nor defeat, but of vexation. He took the hand of Frances,in the fulness of her heart extended towards him, but instantlyrelinquishing it, threw himself into a chair, in evident fatigue.
"You have failed," said Wharton, with a bound of his heart, but anappearance of composure.
"Have you seen Harper?" cried Frances, turning pale.
"I have not; I crosse
d the river in one boat as he must have beencoming to this side in another. I returned without delay to relieveyour uneasiness. I will this night see him and bring a respite forHenry."
"But you saw Washington?" asked Miss Peyton.
"The commander-in-chief had left his quarters."
"But, Peyton," cried Frances, in returning terror, "if they shouldnot see each other, it will be too late. Harper alone will not besufficient."
"You say that he promised to assist Henry?"
"Certainly, of his own accord, and in requital for the hospitality hehad received."
"I like not that word 'hospitality'--it has an empty sound; there mustbe something more reasonable to tie Harper. I dread some mistake:repeat to me all that passed."
Frances, in a hurried and earnest voice, complied with his request.She related particularly the manner of his arrival at the Locusts, thereception that he received, and the events that passed, as minutely asher memory could supply her with the means.
As she alluded to the conversation that occurred between her fatherand his guest, the major smiled but remained silent. She then gave adetail of Henry's arrival, and the events of the following day. Shedwelt upon the part where Harper desired her brother to throw asidehis disguise, and recounted, with wonderful accuracy, his remarks uponthe hazard of the step that the youth had taken. She even remembered aremarkable expression of his to her brother, "that he was safer fromHarper's knowledge of his person, than he would be without it."Frances mentioned, with the warmth of youthful admiration, thebenevolent character of his deportment to herself, and gave a minuterelation of his adieus to the whole family.
Dunwoodie at first listened with grave attention; evident satisfactionfollowed as she proceeded. When she spoke of herself in connectionwith her guest, he smiled with pleasure, and as she concluded, heexclaimed with delight:
"We are safe!--we are safe!"
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