Now whether Mrs. Houston really put her threat into immediate execution, is not known. What is certain, the increased coldness of all the family, even of the kind-hearted, liberal-minded Colonel Houston, so distressed the spirit of the orphan girl that she seldom sought their company, and at last met them only at meal times. A fortnight passed thus, during which the family at the Bluff received no company and paid no visits. Such long seasons of isolation, even in summer, were not unusual in that sparsely settled place, where the undertaking of a friendly visit was really a serious piece of business.
At the end of a fortnight, however, as the family were sitting at dinner, Mr. Wellworth suddenly and unannounced entered the room. His countenance betrayed that some unusual circumstance had brought him out. All arose to receive him. In the midst of the general shaking of hands, the colonel put the question that all longed to ask.
“What has happened, Mr. Wellworth?”
“Why, sir, a party of British soldiers landed this morning and attacked the parsonage!”
“Good Heaven! I hope no serious damage has been done?” exclaimed Colonel Houston, while all listened with intense interest for his answer.
“No, thank the Lord! There was, providentially, a wedding at the church, a poor man’s, whose friends had all gathered to see him married. We armed ourselves with what we could catch up, and, being much the larger party, succeeded in beating off the assailants.”
“I hope there was no bloodshed?” said the kind-hearted Mrs. Compton.
“None on our side to speak of. They left one of their party on the field—Dodson—Carson—Dawson—yes, that is his name, Dawson—the very fellow that was with the foragers who broke in upon our picnic party.”
A low half-suppressed cry from Margaret, had greeted the name of the wounded man. But no one heard it but Mrs. Houston, who resented it by saying:
“And I hope, Mr. Wellworth, the wretch was dead!”