It was a man, evidently an American by his appearance; and as they looked back at him, he seemed to check the hitherto brisk gait of his horse.
Dorothy was the first to recognize him.
"Oh, Mary, 't is that dreadful man who frightened us!"
"Frightened ye?" echoed Doak, interrogatively. "How was that, mistress?"
When Mary explained what had taken place the night before, he glanced back again, and saw that the distance between them was rapidly increasing, for the man in the rear was letting his horse walk, while he sat swinging loosely in the saddle.
"There be naught to fear now," he said, in a way to reassure the two girls. "He's not like to think o' tryin' any frightenin' game with me. An' he rides like he had too much store o' liquor aboard to be thinkin' of aught but keepin' firm hold on his craft." Then, when he had looked again, "He be fallin' way behind, so there's no call for bein' fright'ed, either one o' ye."
They soon lost sight of the stranger, and without further happening arrived safely at their destination, to receive a motherly welcome from Mistress Knollys, who had been most anxious concerning them, knowing how the roads were infested with stragglers from both armies.
She insisted upon Doak alighting to take some refreshment; and he, nothing loath, did so, while she wrote a letter to her son for the fisherman to carry back to Cambridge.
Dorothy and Mary also improved the opportunity to write to Jack, Dot even venturing to enclose a little missive for Captain Southorn, which she begged her brother to deliver.
It was her first love letter, although so demure and prim in its wording as scarcely to deserve that name. But a loyal affection breathed through it, praying him to hope, and to trust in Washington's friendship for them.