“O Peyton,” cried Frances, as he entered the apartments, “you look like a messenger from heaven. Bring you tidings of mercy?”
“Here, Frances—here, Henry—here, dear cousin Jeanette,” cried the youth, as with trembling hands he broke the seal; “here is the letter itself, directed to the captain of the guard. But listen!”
All did listen with intense anxiety; and the pang of blasted hope was added to their misery, as they saw the glow of delight which had beamed on the countenance of the major give place to a look of horror. The paper contained the sentence of the court, and underneath was written these simple words:
“Approved—Geo. Washington.”
“He’s lost, he’s lost!” cried Frances, sinking into the arms of her aunt.
“My son, my son!” sobbed the father, “there is mercy in heaven, if there is none on earth. May Washington never want that mercy he thus denies to my innocent child!”
“There is yet time to see Washington again,” said Miss Peyton, moving towards the door; and then, speaking with extreme dignity, she continued: “I will go myself; surely he must listen to a woman from his own colony; and we are in some degree connected with his family.”
“Why not apply to Mr. Harper?” said Frances, recollecting the parting words of their guest for the first time.
“Harper!” echoed Dunwoodie, turning towards her with the swiftness of lightning; “what of him? Do you know him?”