"Stand where you are." There was a pause, and presently four dark forms emerged from the roadside, and stood at the horse's head.
"You've chosen a strange time for your errand, and a dangerous one," said one of the party, with a mild and gentlemanly accent.
"Who speaks?"
"The officer in command of this picket."
"Is not that Beverly Weems?"
"The same. And surely I know that voice."
"Of course you do, if you know Harold Hare."
And the stranger, dismounting, stretched out his hand, which was eagerly and warmly clasped, and followed by a silent and prolonged embrace.
"How rash you have been, Harold," said Beverly, at last. "It is a mercy that I was by, else might a bullet have been your welcome. Why did you not wait till morning?"
"Because my mission admits of no delay. It is most opportune that I have met you. You have spoken to me at times, and Oriana often, of your young cousin, Miranda."