“Good!” exclaimed the man; and feeling no hesitation to intrust an officer so well known as Major Dunwoodie, he placed the paper in his hands, as he added, “but you can read it, sir, for yourself.”
Dunwoodie paused not to read; but flew, with the elastic spring of joy, to the chamber of the prisoner. The sentinel knew him, and he was suffered to pass without question.
“Oh! Peyton,” cried Frances, as he entered the apartment, “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!”
“Washington!” echoed Dunwoodie, gazing around him in vacant horror. “Yes, ’tis the act of Washington himself; these are his characters; his very name is here, to sanction the dreadful deed.”
“Cruel, cruel Washington!” cried Miss Peyton. “How has familiarity with blood changed his nature!”