“All this may be very true; but the affair of André has made us on the alert. When treason reaches the grade of general officers, Captain Wharton, it behooves the friends of liberty to be vigilant.”
Henry bowed to this remark in distant silence, but Sarah ventured to urge something in behalf of her brother. The dragoon heard her politely, and apparently with commiseration; but willing to avoid useless and embarrassing petitions, he answered mildly,—
“I am not the commander of the party, madam; Major Dunwoodie will decide what must be done with your brother; at all events he will receive nothing but kind and gentle treatment.”
“Dunwoodie!” exclaimed Frances, with a face in which the roses contended for the mastery with the paleness of apprehension. “Thank God! then Henry is safe!”
Lawton regarded her with a mingled expression of pity and admiration; then shaking his head doubtingly, he continued,—
“I hope so; and with your permission, we will leave the matter for his decision.”
The color of Frances changed from the paleness of fear to the glow of hope. Her dread on behalf of her brother was certainly greatly diminished; yet her form shook, her breathing became short and irregular, and her whole frame gave tokens of extraordinary agitation. Her eyes rose from the floor to the dragoon, and were again fixed immovably on the carpet—she evidently wished to utter something but was unequal to the effort. Miss Peyton was a close observer of these movements of her niece, and advancing with an air of feminine dignity, inquired,—
“Then, sir, we may expect the pleasure of Major Dunwoodie’s company shortly?”
“Immediately, madam,” answered the dragoon, withdrawing his admiring gaze from the person of Frances. “Expresses are already on the road to announce to him our situation, and the intelligence will speedily bring him to this valley; unless, indeed, some private reasons may exist to make a visit particularly unpleasant.”
“We shall always be happy to see Major Dunwoodie.”