Part 46 (1/2)
”What said he? What promised he?” at length Dunwoodie asked, with feverish impatience.
”He bid Henry apply to him when in danger, and promised to requite the son 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 you are safe-then will I save him; yes, Harper will never forget his word.”
”But has he the power to?” said Frances. ”Can he move the stubborn purpose of Was.h.i.+ngton?”
”Can he? If he cannot,” shouted the youth, ”if he cannot, who can?
Greene, and Heath, and young Hamilton are nothing compared to this Harper. But,” rus.h.i.+ng to his mistress, and pressing her hands convulsively, ”repeat to me-you say you have his promise?”
”Surely, surely, Peyton; his solemn, deliberate promise, knowing all the circ.u.mstances.”
”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 the family in amazement. They continued in silent wonder until they heard the feet of his charger, as he dashed from the door with the speed of an arrow.
A long time was spent after this abrupt departure of the youth, by the anxious friends he had left, in discussing the probability of his success. The confidence of his manner had, however, communicated to his auditors something of his own spirit. Each felt that the prospects of Henry were again brightening, and with their reviving hopes they experienced a renewal of spirits, which in all but Henry himself amounted to pleasure; with him, indeed, his state was too awful to admit of trifling, and for a few hours he was condemned to feel how much more intolerable was suspense than even the certainty of calamity. Not so with Frances. She, with all the reliance of affection, reposed in security on the a.s.surance of Dunwoodie, without hara.s.sing herself with doubts that she possessed not the means of satisfying; but believing her lover able to accomplish everything that man could do, and retaining a vivid recollection of the manner and benevolent appearance of Harper, she abandoned herself to all the felicity of renovated hope.
The joy of Miss Peyton was more sobered, and she took frequent occasions to reprove her niece for the exuberance of her spirits, before there was a certainty that their expectations were to be realized. But the slight smile that hovered around the lips of the virgin contradicted the very sobriety of feeling that she inculcated.
”Why, dearest aunt,” said Frances, playfully, in reply to one of her frequent reprimands, ”would you have me repress the pleasure that I feel at Henry's deliverance, when you yourself have so often declared it to be impossible that such men as ruled in our country could sacrifice an innocent man?”
”Nay, I did believe it impossible, my child, and yet think so; but still there is a discretion to be shown in joy as well as in sorrow.”
Frances recollected the declaration of Isabella, and turned an eye filled with tears of grat.i.tude on her excellent aunt, as she replied,-
”True; but there are feelings that will not yield to reason. Ah! here are those monsters, who have come to witness the death of a fellow creature, moving around yon field, as if life was, to them, nothing but a military show.”
”It is but little more to the hireling soldier,” said Henry, endeavoring to forget his uneasiness.
”You gaze, my love, as if you thought a military show of some importance,” said Miss Peyton, observing her niece to be looking from the window with a fixed and abstracted attention. But Frances answered not.
From the window where she stood, the pa.s.s that they had traveled through the Highlands was easily to be seen; and the mountain which held on its summit the mysterious hut was directly before her. Its side was rugged and barren; huge and apparently impa.s.sable barriers of rocks presenting themselves through the stunted oaks, which, stripped of their foliage, were scattered over its surface. The base of the hill was not half a mile from the house, and the object which attracted the notice of Frances was the figure of a man emerging from behind a rock of remarkable formation, and as suddenly disappearing. The maneuver was several times repeated, as if it were the intention of the fugitive (for such by his air he seemed to be) to reconnoiter the proceedings of the soldiery, and a.s.sure himself of the position of things on the plain. Notwithstanding the distance, Frances instantly imbibed the opinion that it was Birch. Perhaps this impression was partly owing to the air and figure of the man, but in a great measure to the idea that presented itself on formerly beholding the object at the summit of the mountain. That they were the same figure she was confident, although this wanted the appearance which, in the other, she had taken for the pack of the peddler. Harvey had so connected himself with the mysterious deportment of Harper, within her imagination, that under circ.u.mstances of less agitation than those in which she had labored since her arrival, she would have kept her suspicions to herself. Frances, therefore, sat ruminating on this second appearance in silence, and endeavoring to trace what possible connection this extraordinary man could have with the fortunes of her own family. He had certainly saved Sarah in some degree, from the blow that had partially alighted on her, and in no instance had he proved himself to be hostile to their interests.
After gazing for a long time at the point where she had last seen the figure, in the vain expectation of its reappearance, she turned to her friends in the apartment. Miss Peyton was sitting by Sarah, who gave some slight additional signs of observing what pa.s.sed, but who still continued insensible either to joy or grief.
”I suppose, by this time, my love, that you are well acquainted with the maneuvers of a regiment,” said Miss Peyton. ”It is no bad quality in a soldier's wife, at all events.”
”I am not a wife yet,” said Frances, coloring to the eyes; ”and we have little reason to wish for another wedding in our family.”
”Frances!” exclaimed her brother, starting from his seat, and pacing the floor in violent agitation. ”Touch not the chord again, I entreat you. While my fate is uncertain, I would wish to be at peace with all men.”
”Then let the uncertainty cease,” cried Frances, springing to the door, ”for here comes Peyton with the joyful intelligence of your release.”
The words were hardly uttered, before the door opened, and the major entered. In his air there was the appearance of neither success nor defeat, but there was a marked display of vexation. He took the hand that Frances, in the fullness of her heart, extended towards him, but instantly relinquis.h.i.+ng it, threw himself into a chair, in evident fatigue.