“What does Hemlock say?” interjected Maggie.
“He’s no in camp. He came back three days ago and left for Oka, where he bides.”
Until bedtime Morton was the subject of conversation, and the more they talked of him the keener their interest grew in his serious situation. That one whom they had learned to like and respect so much should die an ignominious death shocked them, and even Mrs Forsyth was constrained to say, that much as she disliked Yankees, “Gin I were near eneuch to walk to him, I wad gang on my knees to Hampton to beg his life.”
Next morning, while engaged in the stable, Mr Forsyth was surprised by the appearance of his daughter.
“Hey, my woman, what’s garrd you to come oot in the grey o’ the mornin’? Time eneuch an hour frae this.”
“Father, I could not sleep and I wanted to speak to you. If Hemlock was brought back, would he not save Morton?”
“Ah, he winna come back. Doubtless he kens the Yankees wad rax his neck for him. His leevin for hame shows he is afeard o’ what he has dune.”
“Yet there’s no other hope of saving Morton.”
“Too true; gin the actual slayer o’ the officer is not surrendered within a few days poor Morton will suffer.”
“Well, then, father, you cannot go to seek for Hemlock, and my brothers would not be allowed to leave their duty in camp, so I will go. I can be in Oka before dark and will see Hemlock.”