It was some time before Kate was able to undertake the fatigues of a return. At last, however, she set forth, supported by Major Gordon, who had, notwithstanding his wound, an arm uninjured to offer to her. When they had emerged from the denser part of the swamp, it was proposed to construct a litter for her, the road now allowing of her being transported in this way; but she declined the proffer, insisting that she was able to walk to the hut, at least.
For, as the way led back to within a mile of that place, Uncle Lawrence decided that it would be advisable to go there at once, because Kate could then obtain some repose, while a messenger, despatched to Sweetwater, might bring a carriage to transport her home, later in the day. As by this plan Mrs. Warren would obtain intelligence of her safety sooner than if they all pursued their way to the family mansion immediately, Kate pronounced in favor of it. Moreover, by this scheme, she would be able to bring away with her the orphan child, who had been so instrumental in her escape, and who, now that the reputed uncle was no more, would be willing, Kate reasoned, to accompany her to Sweetwater. To this desolate little girl our heroine felt her heart strangely drawn, even apart from the gratitude which filled her heart towards the child as the preserver of her life.
Accordingly, when they reached the main road, where Kate had taken the wrong turn, two of the patriots left the party, and hastened with all their speed to Sweetwater; while the remainder, striking into the byway that led to the cabin, advanced at a slower pace, accommodated to our heroine’s fatigue.
When the latter reached the clearing on the knoll of the swamp, they found that the child, already forced by circumstances to be a housekeeper, had removed the evidences of the last night’s debauch, and restored everything to order and comparative neatness. The table was set away; the chairs replaced in their positions; the floor swept and subsequently sanded, as was then the fashion. The child was sitting, trying to read with difficulty, when the party came up; and the book falling from her hands in her surprise, Uncle Lawrence took it up, and discovered, as he had suspected, that it was a Testament.
When she recognized Kate, the orphan stole immediately to her side, and, clasping the hands of our heroine between both her own little palms, said, gently,
“I’m so glad you’ve come back. Oh! how I wished, all the morning, that these good people would find you.”
“I’ve come back to take you away with me,” said Kate, stooping, and kissing the child. “You musn’t shake your head sadly. There’s nothing now to keep you here. That bad man, who called himself your uncle, is dead and gone.”
The orphan looked wonderingly at Kate; then at Uncle Lawrence; and, finally, around the entire group. Reading a confirmation of this truth in every eye, her little face assumed an awe-struck expression, and she burst into tears.
Kate tried to soothe her.
“He wasn’t your uncle at all, dear,” she said, taking the child in her lap, for they had now entered the house. “These gentlemen,” turning to Major Gordon and Uncle Lawrence, “say they know all about you. So you musn’t think of him, except as a bad, bad man, who has brought death on himself by his own wickedness.”