“He stayed with us for two days—he was with us when Henry was arrested.”
“And—and—did you know him?”
“Nay,” continued Frances, catching her breath as she witnessed the intense interest of her lover, “we knew him not; he came to us in the night, a stranger, and remained with us during the severe storm; but he seemed to take an interest in Henry, and promised him his friendship,”
“What!” exclaimed the youth in astonishment. “Did he know your brother?”
“Certainly; it was at his request that Henry threw aside his disguise.”
“But,” said Dunwoodie, turning pale with suspense, “he knew him not as an officer of the royal army?”
“Indeed he did,” cried Miss Peyton; “and he cautioned us against this very danger.”
Dunwoodie caught up the fatal paper, that still lay where it had fallen from his own hands, and studied its characters intently. Something seemed to bewilder his brain. He passed his hand over his forehead, while each eye was fixed on him in dreadful suspense—all feeling afraid to admit those hopes anew that had been so sadly destroyed.
“What said he? What promised he?” at length Dunwoodie asked, with feverish impatience.
“He bid Henry apply to him when in danger, and promised to requite the son for the hospitality of the father.”