“Major Dunwoodie”—said the peddler, slowly, turning an eye upon her that read her soul.
Frances lowered her head upon her bosom, for a moment, in shame; then, elevating her fine and glowing face, she added, with enthusiasm,—
“Never, never, Harvey, as God may hear my prayers!”
The peddler seemed satisfied; for he drew back, and, watching his opportunity, unseen by Henry, slipped behind the screen, and entered the cavern.
Frances and her brother, who thought his companion had passed through the door, continued conversing on the latter’s situation for several minutes, when the former urged the necessity of expedition on his part, in order to precede Dunwoodie, from whose sense of duty they knew they had no escape. The captain took out his pocketbook, and wrote a few lines with his pencil; then folding the paper, he handed it to his sister.
“Frances,” he said, “you have this night proved yourself to be an incomparable woman. As you love me, give that unopened to Dunwoodie, and remember that two hours may save my life.”
“I will—I will; but why delay? Why not fly, and improve these precious moments?”
“Your sister says well, Captain Wharton,” exclaimed Harvey, who had reentered unseen; “we must go at once. Here is food to eat, as we travel.”
“But who is to see this fair creature in safety?” cried the captain. “I can never desert my sister in such a place as this.”
“Leave me! leave me!” said Frances. “I can descend as I came up. Do not doubt me; you know not my courage nor my strength.”