“There’s her cousin,” Major Gordon ventured to say; for since the conversation had became so familiar, he no longer avoided questions, which, at an earlier period of his acquaintance with Uncle Lawrence, he would have omitted from motives of delicacy to Kate.
“Her cousin!” and the veteran snapped his fingers even more scornfully than before. “If there wasn’t another man on airth, she’d never marry Charles Aylesford. I tell you, Major,” he added decisively, “she’d never marry where she don’t love; and there’s one man she loves already, or my name ain’t Lawrence Herman.”
His hearer’s heart leaped into his throat, but he dared not ask who the man was.
The veteran saw, by the faint light the conflagration cast through the chinks, the emotion of our hero; and his gratification was evinced by another silent chuckle. He waited awhile, but receiving no answer, went on.
“You don’t ask who the lucky man is,” he said. “Now what if I was to tell you it was yourself?”
“You can’t mean it!” cried Major Gordon, half starting to his feet; a glow of happiness, such as he had never experienced, shooting through his frame.
Uncle Lawrence was about to answer, when the door opened, and a stranger stooped to enter. He carried a lantern, which, though it threw a vivid glare on the two prisoners, did not at first reveal the face of the intruder. But, when the door was closed, this person raised the light so as to show his countenance, and held out his hand to the Major, whom he called by name.
“Captain Powell!” exclaimed our hero in astonishment, rising and grasping the proffered hand. “It is—isn’t it?”
“It is Captain Powell,” was the reply. “The last person, no doubt, you expected to see. But I owe you a heavy debt, and I have come to pay it, by setting you free.”
“The Lord’s hand is in it,” cried Uncle Lawrence, lifting up his eyes reverently. “Did I not say, ‘trust in the Lord,’ Major?”