“Then how can you go?”
“On foot, and alone, unless I chance to engage one to attend me in the character of a servant.”
“You are a brave one, my young lady. But they will be likely to detain you at the outposts.”
“I had supposed so, and therefore came here with the hope that, after you had heard my story, you might be moved to prevail on your husband to give me a pass.”
“O girl, girl! No, no, he would not dare to do it, after finding out the cause, which he must first know,” exclaimed the lady, in a tone of kindly remonstrance. “He would dare do no such thing. But I would, in such a case; indeed I would! And, stay, let me see!” she continued, rising and opening the general's desk. “Here are several passes which he keeps for occasions of hurry, all signed off and ready, except inserting the name of the bearer. O, what shall I do? I am tempted to write your name in one, and trust to your honor and shrewdness to shield me, in case of your failure, from exposure and blame.”
“Will your hand-writing be acknowledged, madam?”
“O, yes, I don't hesitate on that account; for I often fill up the general's passes under his direction.”
“O, then, dear madam, as I know you would do by a daughter, do by me—trust to my discretion, and hesitate no longer.”
The good-hearted countess soon yielded, and our heroine, with tears of gratitude, mutely imprinted a farewell kiss on her cheek, and departed with the coveted pass in her pocket.
When Miss Haviland reached her chamber, she seated herself by an open, but partially curtained window, where, unseen her self, she could easily note what was passing in the street below, to which her attention seemed somewhat anxiously directed. She had been but a few minutes at her post of observation, before she was apprised, by the hooting of boys, and the gibes and laughter of the idling soldiers, with whom the street, at this hour, was commonly thronged, that some unusual spectacle was approaching. And peering forward through the folds of the curtains, she beheld, amidst a slowly-advancing crowd, a meanly clad, simple looking country youth wearing a ragged broad-brim, and mounted on an unsightly, donkey-like beast, whose long tail and mane were stuck full of briers, and whose hair, lying in every direction, seemed besmeared with mange and dirt; all combining to give both horse and rider a most ungainly and poverty-struck appearance. The fellow was trying to peddle apples, which he carried in an old pair of panniers swung across his pony's back and which seemed to be bought mostly by the boys, who with them were pelting him and his cringing pony, to the great mirth of the bystanders. While the crowd, and the object of their attention, were thus engaged, at a little distance, an officer, who was passing, paused near the house, and, calling a couple of soldiers to his side, said to them,—