Frances now led the way to the opposite room. Dunwoodie followed her reluctantly, and with forebodings of the result.
The salutations of the young men were cordial and frank, and, on the part of Henry Wharton, as collected as if nothing had occurred to disturb his self-possession.
After exchanging greetings with every member of the family, Major Dunwoodie beckoned to the sentinel to leave the room. Turning to Captain Wharton, he inquired mildly:
“Tell me, Henry, the circumstances of this disguise in which Captain Lawton reports you to have been found; and remember—remember—Captain Wharton, your answers are entirely voluntary.”
“The disguise was used by me, Major Dunwoodie,” replied the English officer, gravely, “to enable me to visit my friends without incurring the danger of becoming a prisoner of war.”
“But you did not wear it until you saw the troop of Lawton approaching?”
“Oh, no!” interrupted Frances, eagerly, “Sarah and myself placed them on him when the dragoons appeared; it was our awkwardness that led to the discovery.”
The countenance of Dunwoodie brightened, as, turning his eyes in fondness on the speaker, he listened to her explanation.
“Probably some articles of your own,” he continued, “which were at hand, and were used on the spur of the moment.”
“No,” said Wharton, with dignity; “the clothes were worn by me from the city; they were procured for the purpose to which they were applied, and I intended to use them again in my return this very day.”