“Said he this, knowing him to be a British officer?”
“Most certainly; and with a view to this very danger.”
“Then,” cried the youth aloud, and yielding to his rapture, “then you are safe—then will I save him; yes, Harper will never forget his word.”
“But has he the power to?” said Frances. “Can he move the stubborn purpose of Washington?”
“Can he? If he cannot,” shouted the youth, “if he cannot, who can?
Greene, and Heath, and young Hamilton are nothing compared to this
Harper. But,” rushing to his mistress, and pressing her hands
convulsively, “repeat to me—you say you have his promise?”
“Surely, surely, Peyton; his solemn, deliberate promise, knowing all the circumstances.”
“Rest easy,” cried Dunwoodie, holding her to his bosom for a moment, “rest easy, for Henry is safe.”
He waited not to explain, but darting from the room, he left the family in amazement. They continued in silent wonder until they heard the feet of his charger, as he dashed from the door with the speed of an arrow.
A long time was spent after this abrupt departure of the youth, by the anxious friends he had left, in discussing the probability of his success. The confidence of his manner had, however, communicated to his auditors something of his own spirit. Each felt that the prospects of Henry were again brightening, and with their reviving hopes they experienced a renewal of spirits, which in all but Henry himself amounted to pleasure; with him, indeed, his state was too awful to admit of trifling, and for a few hours he was condemned to feel how much more intolerable was suspense than even the certainty of calamity. Not so with Frances. She, with all the reliance of affection, reposed in security on the assurance of Dunwoodie, without harassing herself with doubts that she possessed not the means of satisfying; but believing her lover able to accomplish everything that man could do, and retaining a vivid recollection of the manner and benevolent appearance of Harper, she abandoned herself to all the felicity of renovated hope.
The joy of Miss Peyton was more sobered, and she took frequent occasions to reprove her niece for the exuberance of her spirits, before there was a certainty that their expectations were to be realized. But the slight smile that hovered around the lips of the virgin contradicted the very sobriety of feeling that she inculcated.