“My name,” replied our hero, “is Nicholas Barry, and the name of the lady is Miss Kate M’Carthy.”
“Mr. Barry,” hastily observed the stranger, extending his hand, “my name is Henry Evans, and my kinswoman, Kate M’Carthy, is well and now in safe keeping.”
At the mention of the name, Evans, and the assurance that his betrothed was safe and well, the heart of Berry so bounded within him, that after the blood had poured itself in one mighty torrent through his whole frame and blazed over his face and brow for a moment, he became as pale as death, and had not his newly found friend leaped forward and caught him in his arms, he should have fallen fainting to the ground. Recovering himself speedily, however, he leaned against the huge door-post at his side, and, breathing with more regularity, soon became cool and collected.
Evans could well understand this sudden emotion. His own heart was just in the vein to sympathize with it; so, in a moment the subtle freemasonry of kindred spirits was established between them.
Who can explain it? Here was a brave, young fellow, with the heart of a lion, who had faced death in various shapes but an hour or so previously—who had within the brief space of two days engaged hand to hand in the most dreadful encounters with the enemy, without experiencing the slightest sense of fear, or condescending to yield a single inch of ground where he had set down his foot—here, we say, we see him succumb at once, and rendered as helpless as a child at the mere mention of a woman, and the assurance of her safety, although not by any means thoroughly satisfied of her being in anything like imminent danger. We shall not attempt to analyse the subtle and powerful influences at work in such mysterious cases; but simply content ourselves with the observation, that men who are susceptible of such influences, and who strike at once to the first tap of their drum, are not notorious for any great deficiency when brought face to face with a more tangible and terrible enemy. And so thought Henry Evans as both he and Nicholas sallied forth; the former to report to the gallant O’Neill, and the latter to re-enter the house already so often referred to, where Barry agreed to join him when he had seen the hero of Ridgeway.
CHAPTER XVII.
As remarked in a preceding chapter, Kate M’Carthy had some distant relatives in the vicinity of Fort Erie; and, as fortune would have it, the two strangers who, on the night before the battle of Ridgeway, interrupted the murderous designs of Smith, belonged to the family with whom she claimed kindred. One of these, Henry Evans, who had once met her in Toronto, on hearing from Martha of her presence in Wilson’s house and the circumstances that surrounded her, instantly requested to be conducted to her, with a view to reassuring her and offering her the protection of which he was satisfied she stood so much in need. The recognition was mutually exciting, and on the part of Kate appreciated with heartfelt gratitude. Explanations ensued which placed her friend in possession of all that was, for the present, necessary for him to know; and it was at once agreed upon, that she should accompany him on the ensuing morning to the residence of his widowed mother, not far distant, where she was to remain until Barry or her friends in Buffalo could be communicated with; as her return to the United States, at a period so disturbed and critical, was, of course, out of the question. New life and hope welled up through this arrangement; and the poor girl, who but a few moments previously believed herself in a position the most dangerous and difficult, now found herself under the protection of her own stalwart kinsman.
Martha, also, was delighted that the being she herself so loved had made a discovery that not only quieted the painful anticipations and reflections of her new friend, but gave herself an opportunity of speedily abandoning forever a roof that had now become loathsome to her, as she had already made up her mind to accompany Kate to the house of old Mrs. Evans, who, notwithstanding her suspicious associations, loved her for her own sake, and desired that she should forgo all further intimacy with her uncle, and become the wife of young Henry. In this way matters stood until the morning of the second of June—Henry remaining throughout the night with the alarmed family; there being nothing to fear in the direction of his own residence, which lay quite out of the line of the two armies that were now about to close in mortal strife.