He awoke, he knew not how long afterwards, feeling warm and comfortable, in a great high bed in what had been his uncle Nathan's room. A candle was burning dimly at his side, and faithful Aunt Polly was sitting fast asleep in a great rocking-chair. Well he knew how soundly Aunt Polly slept. Again he almost sickened at his false position. He could not stand it. What meant Aunt Clarissa's welcome? And how things had changed! One thing was left to him, and but one—flight. Anything rather than to sail under wrong colors and to deceive those who loved and trusted him.
He arose, and taking his clothes from the chair, stepped softly into the hallway and dressed quickly. Then he stole down stairs. The moonlight from the outside flooded the great hall. With a frightening start he saw hanging over the back of a great chair a pair of heavy saddle-bags. They belonged to the transient guest—the young American officer, most probably. He lifted the flap. Heavy papers tied and sealed with great blotches of red wax were there.
Was it dishonest? His hands fairly trembled. "'Tis for the King," he said, beneath his breath; but he stopped suddenly and slipped the papers back into the pouch. "I could not touch them if they contained secrets worth all kingdoms," he said. "I will go back empty-handed. I had rather fail."
There was a stir over in the direction of the fireplace, and to his surprise he saw old Cato shuffling noiselessly toward him. The old man picked up the saddle-bags without a word.
"Where are you going with that, Cato?" said William, astonished that the latter had not spoken.
"Jes goin' to take care ob dem, sah," was the reply.
"Leave them here. They are safe enough," said William, feeling half ashamed of himself, as he spoke the words.
"No, sah; scuse me," was the old man's reply. "If Mas'r William Frothingham asks dis ol' nigger fur his head he ken have it, but old Cato ain't goin' to give dese 'spatches to no British officer."
William leaned back against the mantel-piece. Had the others found out also?