“He may be so by this time, madam,” replied the minister, in a voice of grave rebuke; “the poor young man is severely wounded. We have put him to bed; my daughter Grace and her maid are taking care of him, and I am off for Dr. Hartley. I called just to beg you to have me put across the bay.”
“Certainly,” replied Colonel Houston, who immediately despatched his waiter to give orders for the boat to be made ready. And in fifteen minutes Mr. Wellworth had departed on his errand.
It was late in the evening when the clergyman returned with the physician, and both took their way to the parsonage. The next morning, when Dr. Hartley called at the Bluff on his way home, he reported the wound of the young ensign not so dangerous as had been represented. And, in short, in a few days the young man was convalescent. Before his full recovery, the British fleet had left this portion of the bay, and had gone down to the mouth of the Patuxent. The attack upon the parsonage was the last foray made by their troops in that neighborhood.
One morning, about the third week in August, the family at Buzzard’s Bluff were cast into a state of consternation by an unprecedented event. Margaret Helmstedt did not appear at the breakfast table. After awaiting her coming for some time, Mrs. Houston sent to inquire for her, and learned that she was not to be found. Her maid was also missing. Her footman was next sought for in vain, and during the search it was discovered that her little sail, The Pearl Shell had also been taken away. And while the trouble of the family was still at its height, Mr. Wellworth was announced, and entered with intelligence that seemed, in Mrs. Houston’s estimation, to throw light upon the mystery of Margaret’s flight—namely, that his prisoner, the young British ensign, William Dawson, had broken his parole and fled.
CHAPTER XIII.
PERSECUTION.
“They said that guilt a shade had cast
Upon her youthful fame,
And scornful murmurs as she passed
Were mingled with her name.
In truth, it was a painful sight