It was still early in the morning. Nat Ernshaw was standing alone under the shade of a cedar-tree, thinking of his absent friend and the sister who now was the star of light to the soul of the brave patriot. From this reverie he was aroused by the sharp, peremptory challenge of the sentinel posted at the outskirts of the swamp.
“Friend!” shouted the horseman, and, without slackening his pace, he dashed over the narrow neck of safe ground directly towards the spot where Ernshaw was standing.
Nat recognized his friend, and exclaimed: “Good heavens! What brings you here so soon?”
“The British are at our house, and my sister has disappeared—was stolen away last night by three mounted men, who carried her away by the road which leads to Charleston.”
“Stolen away! Catherine gone! O God! is this so?” The captain was too startled at the news, and big tears burst from his eyes. He quickly, however, controlled his feelings, and then his flushed face and quick words showed that the man within him was ready for action. “Have they left no traces behind by which they may be recognized?”
“None but this;” and John showed the note which he had picked up in his sister’s room.
“You have suspicions, though?”
“Yes; and well-grounded ones, too. The man whom I suspect—whom my mother suspects—is a captain in the British army. He came into my presence this morning, and I shot him down, as I would have shot a dog.”
“If he had a hand in the abduction, she must not be far distant, for he could not make his reappearance so suddenly.”
“He probably was not present when the deed was done; but that it was planned by him, and executed for him, I can have but little doubt. No one else had any motive for such an act. Alas, Nathaniel! my sister is even now in Charleston, I have every reason to fear.”