The rebel spy, or, The king's volunteers
page: (Cover) [View Page (Cover) ]A Romance of the Siege of Boston. BY DR. J. H. ROBINSON. GLEASON'S PUBLISHNG HALL, CORNER OF BROMFIELD AND TREMONT STREETS, BOSTON. S. FRENCH, corner Spruce & Nassau Sts., New Ynrk.--A. WINCH, 116 Chestnut St., Philadelphia. J. A. ROYS, 43 Woodwardl Avenue, Detroit.-E. K. WOODWARD, cor. Fourth & Chesnut Streets, St. Louis.-BURGESS, TAYOR & CO., 1"Baltimore Streetf Baltimore. R. E. EDWARDS), 115 Main Street, Cincinnati.--C. P. KIMBALL, Long Wharf, San8 Francisco, California. page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] BOSTON: F. GLEASON'S PUBLISHNG HALL, CORNER OF BROMFIEtD AND TR1PONT STREETS. 1852. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by F. GLLasoN, in the 07ir'i Of ke of the District Court of Massachusetts. page: Advertisement[View Page Advertisement] PouLISHEB'S. NoTI-The;owiag Noellte wa origia!t:.pi hed in TaV :F *Awo oB o ; UNION, ad is bn:onut e ;mone ongthe maniy deeply, interepting productions, emanating from that, source. 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Boston was A filled with British troops, and invested by the continental army. All thought of a peaceable adjustment of the colonial difficulties had been abandoned. The moment of recon- ciliation (without an appeal to arms) had pass- ed. The. patriots were firm and hopeful, trust- ing their cause in the hands of the God of bat- tles; while the royalists were alTogant, self- reliant, and insolent. Tories' were' honored and- protected, as much as whigs were feared, des- pised and insulted. Among those who were friendly to the royal cause, few-were more zealous and earnest than Mr. WilliamI Day. He was a gentleman by birth and-education; and had inherited a large for- tune from his father. He occupied an elegant mansion on Summer street, and lived in a style of affluence and luxury surpassed by none of his neighbors. His family consisted of a wife and- two children-a son and daughter. Edward was -twenty years of age, and Marion was but eighteen-a young lady of uncommon beauty. Possessed of good sense, highly educated, and moving in the most accomplished eircles, she was an object of much interest to all who knew her; especially to some of the officers of the royal army who had been so fortunate as to make her acquaintance, or to see her. Marion Day was seated in' the parlor. A A shade of care and anxiety rested upon her brow. Her eyes had lost a portion of their vivacity, and her cheeks were delicately pale. The door was opened, and a visitor was announced by a servant. A man of about thirty years of age made his appearance. Marion arose and re- ceived him with cold politeness. "I have called, Miss Day, to see your broth- er," said he, with some embarrassment of man- ner. "I will speak to him," replied Marion, ad- vancing towards the door. page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] "Nay, fair Marion, do not leave me. I am in no particular haste to see Edward, and I would say a few words to you," he .rejoined. "Speak on, Mr. Grayson-I am ready to hear you," returned Marion, resuming her seat. "I was about to approach you, Miss Day, upon a delicate subject; but the cold and form- al manner in which you receive me, discourages me at the outset," added. Grayson. "Have you any news to tell me in relation to the movements of his majesty's troops, and the continental army, Mr. Grayson?" asked Marion, in the same cold, distant manner. "It is not on that subject I would speak, Miss Day; but to oblige, I will give you what information I may happen to possess in regard to the progress of events. It will please you to hear, doubtless, that we have succeeded in form- ing a new company, to be called the King's Volunteers." "All tories, I suppose, and citizens of Bos- ton?" remarked Marion. "They are, and they have honored me with the command. Your brother has been chosen first lieutenant by a unanimous vote." "Indeed! then I see before me Captain Grayson, of the King's Volunteers." "I have that-distinguished honor," said Gray- son, bowing complacently. "And you will fight the rebels?" "I shall, undoubtedly." "But how, and where, will you fight them? Boston is at this very moment in a state of siege, and the ten thousand troops under Geqeral Gage cannot move a single step into the country." "I am well aware, Miss Day, that the rebels affect to hold us besieged, but the idea is pre- posteroisly absurd. Remember that we have not a few undisciplined troops, but the flower of the British army; and we could disperse our. vaunt- ing foes almost any morning before sipping our coffee." "Then I advise you to do it, by all means, and not waste so much- time and treasure in building fortifications, and parading up and down these peaceable streets," retorted Marion,' with a smile. "I hope you do not sympathize with these deluded people, fair lady?" "Do you mean the British troops?" "No: I mean the rebels." "Some persons might possibly imagine that the colonists are not a deluded people." "I should regret it, if any sensible individual should differ with me. By the way, I would remark that a young man was arrested last night, acting in the capacity of a spy. He has Seen condemned to be shot, -and the sentence will be carried into effect to-morrow morning." "O, how cruel are the usages of war!" ex- claimed Marion, with much feeling. "How does he bear his fate?" "Well, I must say that he is a bold young fellow. He conducts himself like a gentleman and a soldier. I think he will die very well." "Good-heavens, sir! how can you speak of it so calmly? Is there not always something solemn and awful in the idea of death-espe- cially a death by violence?" "There is something unpleasant. in the sub- ject, I will admit; but it is a fitting punish- ment for aspy." "But have you no influence to save this un- fortunate young man?" "And why should I desire to save him?" "A strange question for you to ask, Mr. Gray- son. Is not sympathy a noble and generous attribute, and is not mercy its chosen compan- ion?" "In times of peace, gentle Marion, it may, be so; but war teaches a sterner policy, The young man referred to has been taken as a spy, and as such he will be dealt with. But'a truce to this ungenial theme. Permit me to approach a subject in which I am more interested." "I will not hear you; Mr. Grayson," said Marion, firmly. "Not hear me I Nay, I entreat, I humbly implore you. to listen. Your angelic beauty, your charming manners and good/ sense have won my heart. -How have I offended-why do you treat me with such freezing coldness? A Tell me how. I may gain your esteem?" "Mr. -Grayson (Captain Grayson, I suppose I should call you now), I will deal fairly ana plainly with you. , By becoming a man of honor-by aiding the cause of justice and truth, you' may win my friendship; but no more than that.- On this subject my mind is fixed, and I do most earnestly assure you that it cannot be changed. Speak to me no more in relation to this matter. Believe that I have spoken my mind truly, and that the subject is decided for- ever," replied Marion, firmly, yet gently. Grayson arose to his feet and stood like one awaking from some pleasant dream, to learn that it was only a dream. "Miss Day, you will drive me distracted!" he exclaimed, vehemently. "I had not ex- pected this cruel treatment; I had not imagined for a moment that one so angelic in form, feature and disposition, could utter such words." "You wrong me, sir," replied Marion, in a soothing tone. "There is not a heart in the world so mean that I would wound it wantonly. I have only uttered the words which duty bade me speak. We are not formed for -each other. Our views and sympathies are different; they could not possibly be more widely dissniilar. Cease then to think of me; go, and forget that such a being as Marion Day exists." "Why then, let me ask, have you encouraged me to hope? Why have you smiled on me from day to day, and treated me with kindness?" "What a question for a human being en- dowed with reason to ask? We should smile on every creature that God has made, and treat them with kindness.. I have never encouraged you to hope for my love; on the contrary, I have always shunned you as much as common politeness would allow. Let us cease to speak upon a theme so painful to us both." "It is possible that you may wish to forget this subject; but I do not, and shall never seek to. I feel that I can never abandon the hope, however remote it may be, of winning a being so fair and so gifted. No, I cannot-I will not!" At that moment the parlor door was thrown open, and Edward Day entered. Perceiving the agitation visible on the countenances of his sister and Grayson, he paused and looked in- qpiringly from one to the other. "Good morning, Edward," said the latter, recovering himself, and extending his hand, with a smile. "I have good news for you. You have been chosen first lieutenant of the King's Volunteers. You will make a fine -look- ing officer." "I thank the'volunteers for the honor they would confer upon me, but I shall not accept," replied Edward. "Not accept!" exclaimed Grayson,' aston- ished beyond the power of expression. "What mean you, Edward Day?" "If I fight at all, Mr. Grayson, it will be on the side of down-trodden humanity. All true men will sympathize with the continental army," continued Edward, firmly. "I believe you are all going mad here!" cried Grayson. "Is it possible that you too have turned rebel.?" "Do not call them rebels, Mr. Grayson; that term is offensive to me. I have kept silent long enough; I can do so no longer.- I must speak out whatever the consequences may be. I am, and have ever been, a,patriot; and such I hope to live and die." Mr. Day now entered the room. "Mr. Day," said Grayson, with some agita- tion of manner, "your son rejects the honor that-has been conferred upon him by the volun- teers." "Rejects!" exclaimed Mr. Day. "Yes, sir, he rejects! I congratulate yout upon your son; he is a rebel," replied Grayson, ironically. "Is this true, Edward?" asked Mr. Day, looking fixedly at his son. page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] "It is true that I reject the appointment," replied Edward. "How, sir I how dare you reject without con- sulting me!" retorted his father, with 'much spirit. "I declined the appointment from principle. With me it is a matter of conscience," said Ed- war, mildly. "But I command you to accept the offer," continued his father, with increasing violence of manner. "I most respectfully decline. If I fight, it will be yonder where the smoke of the camp fires of the continental army is seen rising," added Edward. "Now may heaven grant me patience!" cried Mr. Day. "I am your father. I have a right to direct your actions." "May some well sped bullet strike me dead when I so far forget myself as to raise a hand against the colonists!" exclaimed Edward, fer- vently. "' I regret that I have lived to hear a son of i mine utter such a traitorous speech. I will cast you off-I will disinherit you--I will drive you i forth from my house as God drove forth the first z murderer, to be .a wanderer and a vagabond 1 upon the earth!" exclaimed Mr. Day, wild with passion. 1 "God knows that I should feel and regret a E father's curse most bitterly; but so it must be. I entertain different ideas of right and wrong from your own ; and before the sun has arisen c again, I shall be within' the American lines, a ready to do battle for the cause of humanity and l justice. Yes, I will fight for my country-God 1 knows I will fight." . "Then you are no longer my son. I disin- t herit you; I will cut you off without a shilling. v Leave my house, go forth a beggar and an out- cowh and with a father's curse-" q "Nay, father, curse him not, for he is thy u child--thy flesh and thy blood!"' exclaimed d Marion, laying her hand upon her father's up t. raised arm. w "I forgive you," said Edward, sadly. Then cE turning to. Marion, he added: "It may be long ere we meet again, dear sister, for I go to fight the .battles of my country. May heaven pre- serve pure and unsullied the noble sentiments with which it has inspired you. Be ever the good, angelic being that you are,now, and have been." Edward pressed, his fair sister to his bosom and kissed her tenderly. "What would you do?" asked Mrs. Day, who had entered soon after her husband. "Adieu, mother," said Edward, and hastily quitting the house, he mounted a horse, which a servant was holding by the bridle at the door, gave him the rein, and dashed off at full speed towards Boston Neck. The parties instantly ran into the street to watch his extraordinary movements. "You -have driven our boy from us," said Mrs. Day, reproachfully, to her husband. "Let him go; I foare not. The ourses of a father will follow him in his mad career," re. plied Mr. Day. "And so will the blessings of a mother," returned Mrs. Day, fervently. And the approval of Heaven," added Marion, in a low voice. "Look!" she continued, with energy. "He approaches the fortifications on the Neck, without abating his speed." "The challenge of the sentinel will be likely to stop him," said Grayson, with a meaning sneer. "No, no! he does not stop, nor falter in his course!" exclaimed Marion. "His noble steed dashes on faster and faster. See! he nears the advance guard; a sentinel raises his firelock; fie remins his horse suddenly upon him-rides him down, and dashes on like the wind. :And now Heaven preserve him! they fire upon him- the fire streams along the, whole line of the ad- vance guard. He will fall, he will perish!" "No, he does not fall," rejoined Grayson, quickly. "He still sits in his saddle, and seems unharmed by the leaden shower./ What a dare- devil boy'! A fine officer for the king's volun. teers have we lost. In two minutes he- will be within the lines of the rebel army. That mad.-, capyis bornto break a rope." "He is safe! he is safe!" exolaimed Marion, \ as she saw him turn in his saddle, and wave his hat triumphantly. i "A daring feat! a daring feat!" said Mr. Day; "but I would not have shed a single tear had they shot him dead!" "Husband," said Mrs. Day, solemnly, " may God forgive you for that speech." "I love my king and my country--and I hate a rebel, thoughhe be my own son," replied Mr. Day, bitterly. "And does not our brave Edward love his country also? And has not that love just com- pelled him to forsake his home and friends, and to look death in the face?" replied Mrs. Day. "Are you all rebels and traitors? Have ye all forsaken me!" exclaimed the tory. "I shall never forsake my husband," rejoin- ed Mrs. Day, quietly. "Ties strengthened by thirty years' companionship, shall not be weak- ened by a mere difference of opinion; if a dif- ference of opinion really exists." page: 12-13 (Illustration) [View Page 12-13 (Illustration) ] CHAPTER II. THE REBEL SPY. CV ARION DAY retired to her chamber, much affected by the incident of the morning. The bold flight of her brother to the American army, the declaration of Grayson, and the fact that a brave young man was about to be sacrificed for a crime Which was probably wholly imaginary, all served to agitate her. "Please, ma'am, here's a paper that I found after Mr. Grayson left the house." Marion raised her eyes languidly towards the speaker, whose well-known voice she had recog- nized as that of a faithful servant, who was ever ready and willing to make any sacrifice for her mistress. "What is it, Alice?" "That's what I don't know, ma'am, I'm sure." "Let me read it." Marion took the paper from Alice, and read as follows: "Head Quarters, June 15th, 1775. "This may certify that the sergeant of the guard, and the sentinels on duty, are hereby ordered to admit the bearer to the person now under sentence of death, without question, at 4 , any and all times that he may wish to avail e himself of this permission. "(Signed) THOMAS GAGE." "This pass was undoubtedly. given to Gray- son, who probably expected to wring some in- r formation that would be useful, from the unfor- tunate young man," said Marion, thoughtfully. "Couldn't it be made of some service, ma'am, providin' you didn't want the Britishers to shoot him?" asked Alice. "The idea is a happy one, and has already occurred to me. I am glad, Alice, that you are so kind and considerate, and have so little sympathy with the sanguinary scenes that are daily enacted in our streets." "I'm a human cretur,-mistress Marion, and though my talk and manners aint, perhaps, so polished and genteel-like as they might be, you'll always find my heart in the right place, and my hands ready to serve you to the last. I heard Mr. Grayson and your father talking about this spy, as they call him, and accordin' to what they said, I should think him a real prince in disguise." The eccentric Davie Dixon challenged by an American officer.-See CHAPTER II, page 16. page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] "Alice, you are a good girl, and I thank you for your devotion to me. In regard to this young man, I do not know him, and never, to my know- ledge, saw him; but in this case the claims of humanity are as strong as though I had known him from childhood. It is sufficient for me to know that a human being is in distress and dan- ger, and has perilled his life in a cause which I love. I feel and know that the colonists are right, and the government wrong. Edward has had the same feeling. He has gone to join the ranks of the 'continental army, and I glory in his spirit. Yes," she added, enthusiastically, after a momentary pause--"I glory in his spirit., "It does my heart, good to hear you say so. -If I was only a man, mistress Marion, you'd soon see me marching off to the rat tat of the drum, and the shrill shrieking of the fife, right towards the bagnets of the enemy." While Alice was speaking, she marched across an imaginary battle-field, to the. music of an imaginary drum and fife, and went through the pantomime of cutting down a whole platoon of British soldiers. "Alice," resumed Marion, "I wish, by some means, to save the spy from death. Are you ready to assist, and incur some danger for the sake of saving the life of a fellow-creature?" "I'm yours till death, and perhaps longer," said Alice, firmly. "Then follow my directions implicitly, and do not fear the consequences. We have no time to lose. In taking this step, I solemnly declare before Heaven, that I am actuated by the purest, the holiest, the loftiest motives. Though but a feeble woman, I love my country; and should I do that which under other circum- stances might seem unmaidenly; I know that He, whose- very essence is. iiberty,.will absolve me from all sin." / Leaving Marion to carry out her heroic plans, whatever they may be, we will turn our atten- tion to other characters. On -the night of the 15th, two persons ap- proached the water's edge at Leehmere's Point 4 in Cambridge. One of those individuals wore e the uniform of a'general of brigade, though his ' figure was: mostly concealed by a large military overcoat; the other was dressed in the coarse ' garments of a common. laborer. "Sherwood," said the man in uniform, "I regret that I suggested this movement." "For what reason, general?' asked -the other. "Becamue, upon reflection, I pereeive that it will be attended with much danger." "Do me not the injustice to suppose that I shrink from the peril to be incurred," replied Sherwood, proudly. "I know that you are brave, rashy brave, my dear boy, and this very trait in your charac- ter may lead you into danger. The attempt is highly hazardous. You can scarcely hope to 6ross this bay in the face and eyes of an enemy, without being discovered. A single shot from the floating battery yonder would be sufficient to shatter your little craft in pieces, and thus destroy both you and your enterprise at a blow. And again; suppose, if you will, that you cross the bay and reach Barton's Point in safety, how will you land? or, if you effect a landing, how 'will you be able to pass the enemy's picket?" "I have considered all these difficulties, General Putnam, and I am stilli;reolved to go. The night, you observe, is quite dark. I shall make no noise in crossing, and this little boat is a small object to see 6n the water upon such a dark night; and a still smaller object for a mark for the enemy to fire at. I k;w well- where the picket guard is posted, the number of men on duty, and what intervals of distance are be- tween them. Having this knowledge, I must trust the rest to my own skill, the darkness of the night, and a careful providence. If I do return- in- safety, we may gain. important intelligence; on the contrary, if I never return, just say that I did my duty, and perished in the service of my country." . "Remember, Sherwood, that if you are taken by the enemy while acting as a spy, we can do nothing to save you. According to the usages of war, they can put you to death before our eyes." page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] "I know it general, but I am firm. It is time for me to, go. , If I am successful, I will ble with you before morning." "Hark!" said the general. "I hear the sound of horse's hoofs. Some one comes this way at a fast gallop. Ho! who goes there?"' exclaimed the general, drawing a pistol from his belt. The horseman made no answer, but wheeling suddenly, reined up within a yard of the gen- eral. "Speak I who in the fiend's 'name are you, what do you want, and how did you come here?" cried Putnam, impatiently, cocking his pistol. "Well, -now; that's a mighty heap o' ques- tions to ask a: chap all to once. I guess as how 'twould take a good three minutes to answer them ere three questions. A queer old covey, you be!" "O, ho! it's our eccentric friend, Davie Dixon, who made his appearance at the Ameri- can camp a few days ago," said Putnam, with a laugh. 'Glory in the name, old fire-eater. I'm an inderpendant mounted ranger, and the defen- der of the continental Congress. My fightin' blood is up. I can:lick my weight in wild cats. Where is the Britishers!" exclaimed Dixon, shaking his clenched hand towards the British lines. And here we shall be obliged to pause a mo- ment to describe a character so -unique, who will occasionally act a part in the following tale. Imagine, if you please, a man of about thirty years of age, six feet and three inches in his stockings, the outlines of whose figure present nothing but acute angles. The defender of the continental Congress was of that lank and lean configuration which makes a man of ordinary height look above the medium measurement. His cheek bones were prominent, and his cheeks sunken; while his nose- was thin and sharp, mouth large, resembling a rent in the wall; and eyes small, deep-set, gray and restless. His hair, which was sufficiently luxuriant in growth, was of a light, flaxen hue, and hung in tangled disorder over his forehead,. and down to his shoulders. The general expression of his face was comical in the highest degree-; but when taken in conjunction with the rest of his person, and the animal upon which he was mounted, together with some odd peculiarities of dress, Davie Dixon had not his compeer upon earth. - The steed which had the honor of bearing Davie Dixon to "the wars," and upon which he had bestowed the distinguished soubriquet of "Congress," was one of that class of animals that must be seen to be appreciated. He was apparently built upon the same principle that had been observed in the configuration of his master. "Congress " had an exceedingly long neck with scarcely any mane upon it; a sleepy looking head which was never raised above a level with his shoulders; a long and lank body, beautifully striped with ribs, which one could count at his leisure; together with a sharp back bone ; and, to tell the truth, sharp bones every- where-there were bones; and to conclude, he passessed in a remarkable manner the same an., gular formation which characterized his -rider. The latter carried a rusty "l kind's arm" of the largest description, which only left his hands long enough for him to take his food and sleep; and in fact, he slept with it by his side. A powder horn, and ball pouch to match, were suspended by a leathern string, the one under the right and the other under the left arm. [SEE ENGRAVING.] "I was at Lexington," resumed Dixon. "I hung like the reg'lar nightmare on the van of the British army. It'll be a long day afore they forgit me; for I sent perticerler death arter 'em in the shape of good half ounce balls." "Did you ride ' Congress' upon that memo- rable day?" asked the general, with a smile. "I hope you don't mean any disrespect to the fine sperited critter, gineral. I rode him, and no mistake, and he seemed to know jest as well as a human being that the red-coats were a little out o' their reck'nin' like." "He looks as though he had been eating rail fence for the last few days,." said Putnam. "He's ginerally been blessed with a putty goodaappetite, and is hearty to his meals, but he never eats no sich vegitable perductions as you jest mentioned." Dixon paused, and looked at Sherwood at- tentively. "Gineral, I'm afeared, as nigh as I can judge o' human natur, that this here chap's about to run his neck into some danger." "Who told - you of his intentions?" asked Putnam, quickly. "Davie Dixon don't want no tellin'. He know's allers what's going on by instinct. Mind what ye're about, youngster, or the 'tar- nal red coats 'll play ye some ugly tricks." Davie paused and turned his horse's head to- wards the American lines, adding as he did so: "I'll keep an eye on ye, my lad. There's some o' the real continental grit about ye. Come up, Congress." With these words the "inderpendant ranger" jerked the reins and gallopped away. "What a singular being," said Sherwood, as he watched the receding figure of Dixon. "He is one of those most eccentric beings to be met with about once in a century; but not- withstanding his peculiarities, I believe he has a good and generous heart," replied Putnam. Sherwood Melville now stepped-into the little boat, pushed'it, from the shore, and was soon gliding gently towards Barton's Point.. The deep darkness of the night screened him from observation during his perilous passage across the bay. He landed without accident, and aided by his perfect knowledge of the locality, was fortunate enough to pass the enemy's picket without 'discovery. Elated with his success, without loss of time, Sherwood directed his foot- steps towards Middle street, and entered a dwelling of 'respectable appearance, not far from Prince (at that period called Prince's- street). He was met on the threshold by a young lady of some sixteen- summers, who embraced him with every demonstration of joy. "This is an unexpected pleasure, Sherwood!" she exclaimed. It is to me, also, fair sister. How is our mother?" "She. is quite well, but she will be better for seeing you," said a voice, and the next mo- ment Sherwood Melville was cordially embraced by his mother, a lady a little past life's meri- dian.. "It makes my heart glad to see you, my dear boy. How did you enter. the city and elude the sleepless vigilance of our enemies2" said Mrs. Melville. "The darkness of the night befriended me," replied Sherwood. " *How well Agnes is looking to-night." "No compliments, brother. I always look well- when you are with us. What may be your object in visiting Boston to-night? As my better judgment rises above the selfish joy of seeing you, I begin to comprehend something of the danger of your position. Yod are not unknown here. Many of our former friends and neighbors have turned tories, and are now our most bitter enemies. They know that you have joined the continental army, -and were they to see you here, your life, even, might pay-the forfeit of your rashness," said Agnes, earnestly. "I should have thought of this!" exclaimed Mrs. Melville. "In the joy of seeing you again, I have thought of nothing but my hap- piness. Dear Sherwood, you have done wrong in approaching us. Our oppressors and enemies are ever on the alert, and you can scarcely ex- pect to return to the American lines in safety." "But I wish to learn, with some degree of accuracy, the intentions of our enemies," said Sherwood. "You come among us, then, as a -" "Hush, Agnes! do not speak the word. Even these dumb walls may be suddenly gifted with ears to hear us!" said Mrs. Melville, quickly, holding up her finger warningly. "Yes," replied Sherwood, in a voice sup- pressed almost to-a whisper, "I do indeed come in the character you were about to name. But how can our enemies prove it, providing I should be discovered and made a prisoner? . I have not a single paper upon my person to tell a story against me, and convict me of being what I am." "Ah, my boy, do not rely upon that; the A * page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] very fBet of, your being found in a place in a state of siege,: and within the -lines of the enemy, will be quite enough to seal your fate.'2 "o, Sherwood I what will you do?" criedj Agnes, much wrought upon by a sense of her brother's* danger. "Be calm, dear friends," answered the young: man. "H Hope for the best, and if the worsf comes, let us try to bear it like Christians. Can you tell me anything in relation to the iln- teutions of General Gage?" "Colonel Marton was here to-day," remark- ed Mrs. Melville, looking at Agnes. "s What did he say?" asked Sherwood. "Mitch that was not pleasant to Agne,3,'I fear," replied his mother. ('-Was he:impertinent, Agnes? Speak; tell me all. I may yet be able to chastise his 'mso.- lence," continued Sherwood.' Agnes leaned herhead upon Sherwood's shoul- der and wept. The kind young man smoothed her dark hair with his hand, and gently wiped away her tears. "Hhas persecutedmy dear child- with cease- less protestations of love," resumed Mrs. Mel- ville. "She has spoken her sentiments without reserve ; but his pertinacity is wonderful. The steady refusals of Agnes only serve to stimulate him- to renewed exertions. And to-day lie used language which can only be construed into an attempt to intimidate by menaces." 4"I regret to hear this," said Sh, rwood. "He is a man who has power to do muLch mis- chief, and so far as I can learn,- is .a person wholly devoid of principle, ready to perform any dishonest act to gratify his own brutal selfish- ness. You cannot be. too much- on your guard. Did he say. anything in regard to th e move- ments of the army?" "itHBe: did," said Agnes. "He affirmed that the troops would soon occupy Bunker 1Hill; and that any two regiments in his majesty's service that could not beat in the field the whole force of-theiMassachusetts province, oughlt to be deci- mated. They are a mob," he added, " a mob* Anh English officer makes use on language like this, in-a'private letter.- without order or discipline, and very awkward at handling their arms." "He spoke then, of taking possession of l Charlestown Heights The continental army will forestall them in that. As for his affieting to despise the American troops, the battle of Lexington should have taught him a more truth. ful lesson. Buttime is flying, I must away. If God prospers our cause, I trust we shall soon meet again." "Before you leave us," rejoined Agnes, "I must not forget to mention a little incident which happened yesterday. I had occasion to go as far as Green Lane, where I was insulted by a soldier, and protected by. a gallant young gen- tleman." "Thank heaven, that you found a protector. The villanous soldier should have been severely punished. No brave manwould insult a lady," returned Sherwood, with some warmth. "He, did not escape without punishment, I should judge," replied Agnes, with a smile. "He received a blow which felled him to the earth. My gallant protector walked with me to the door." "A noble fellow, upon my word! Did you fall in love with him, gentle sister?" said Sher- wood, archly. The pretty 'face of Agnes grew suddenly as red as the red rose, and she placed h&r little hand over her brother's mouth. "Fie, Sherwood; you seem to imagine that one of your sex has only to make his appearance under interesting circumstances, to take a wo- man's heart by storm. We are made of mate- rial less impressible, I assure you." "Well, have it all your own way, my dear girl. But I hope you will not venture from the house often until these troublous times have passed,. I shall see you again as soon as the fortunes of war will permit." "Be qareful, I entreat you, and not fall into ' the hands of the enemy," said Mrs. Melville-,; anxiously, " and do not visit us again until you can come in safety; for I tremble to think what may possibly be the consequences of this rash step." i' CHAPTER II. , THE CAPTURE-THE RELEASB. SHERWOOD took a tender leave of his mother and- sister and sallied into the street. He had gone but a short distance be- fore he was met by an officer of the royal army at the head of half a dozen soldiers. He was surrounded. and after a desperate resistance, overpowered and made a prisoner. Since the battle of Lexington the prison on Queen street had been filled with human beings, and many other buildings had been used for the confinement of suspected persons and offenders generally. Sherwood was marched off to one of the buildings thus appropriated, and a strong guard placed over him.. It is not our design to dwell upon the feel- ings of Melvlle, upon finding himself thus sud- denly deprived of liberty; they were of that bitter'and gloomy kind which any man would ,experience under similar circumstances. Upon the following day a11 the formalities of a martial trial were gone through with, and to hisl dismay, he was found guilty of being a spy upon the movements of the British army. Sherwood was assured that he should be al- *.t ( lowed the honor of a soldier's death, and that : was the only gleam of comfort he had received since the moment of his arrest; and that cer- r tainly, under the circumstances, could not be considered a very great comfort. "It is hard to die so young," said Melville, as he paced nervously the room which served as his prison. "I had hoped to live to meet our foes in open field-to prove -to them that a ' re- bel ' can fight. My sweet dream oi glory and honor is fading away. To-morrow I die. The stars of my,destiny-would have -it thus. But why should I shrink from my fate? Why mur- mur at the decrees of an inscrutable providence? He- who gave me life has a right to take it from me. I wonder if men exist after death? My. mother taught me that doctrine, and my heart assures me that it is so. Perhaps after that strange ordeal, which we call death, has passed, I shall still be. conscious of those who love me upon earth, .and who mourn my untimely death. This sai news will break the heart of my mother. Ancdpoor Agnes will grieve until her fair cheeks lose, their love- page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] liness. I would that the few remaining hours of my existence could be Soothed by their pres- ence. And yet it would cost me a severe pang. It would unman me to witness the despair of my poor heart-broken mother. 6, the cruelty of our oppressors! Well, let me summon my strength; I need it all to meet my fate like a man. I will at least show them how an Amer- ican ' rebel' can die." The door of our hero's prison was opened by a sentinel on duty, and two persons were allow- ed to enter; one was a young lady closely, veil- ed, and the other appeared to be a woman far advanced in years, who had a stooping figure, and walked with a cane. Sherwood had expected to see in the visitors his mother and sister, and his disappointment was great at beholding two strangers. "Be not surprised, sir," said the younger of the two females, throwing back her veil, and displaying features of inimitable beauty. "We are friends-at least friends to the noble cause which you have espoused." "I dbubt it not, lady," replied Sherwood, bowing respectfully. "I have taken a bold step to save you, sir," continued the lady. "Accident, or providence, has favored my designs. I have gained (as you see) access to your prison, and in a few mo- ments you may-be at liberty. Nay, do not thank me; show your gratitude by changing garments with this woman without loss of time." Before Sherwood had time to express his as- tonishment at what he had heard, the individual whom he had taken for an old woman, had thrown off a portion of her disguise, and now stood erect before him a comely female of about twenty- three, in whom we wish the kind reader to recog- nize Alice, the servant of Marion Day. * If you do indeed feel grateful, lose no time, I implore you, but put on these garments; and i with them assume the bent form and tottering step of old age!" exclaimed Marion, earnestly. e "My faithful domestie will take your place, s while you will pass in safety those who hold you q in custody, and, if fortune favors us, in half an hour be beyond the reach of your enemies.'" [ 3 "-And by doing this, shall I not compromise - your Safety, charming lady?" asked Sher- wood. F "Not at all, I assure you," returned Marion. "Believe me, fair lady, rather than be the cause of placing you in a position of danger; I would prefer to die a score of times," said Sher- wood, gazing with an expression of admiration, which he did not strive to conceal, at the in- comparable face of Marion. "Don't stop to talk fine sentiments, sir!" ex- claimed Alice, as she proceeded to force the garments Upon him which she had just thrown off. "It's a shame for a nice young feller to be shot like a mad dog. You must live to fight the Britishers. And when you have a chance, give it to them hard, and don't forget a few ex- tra blows for mistress Marion and me." "Brave girl! do you not fear to take my place?" "What in the name of natur should I be afraid of! Civilized nations don't very often kill defenceless females. And if they give me any of their ' lip,' if I don't give them as good as they send, they are welcome to the last word, that's all." "I submit to your wishes," said Sherwood. '"A few hours imprisonment will be all that can result from it, and then you will be set at liberty without farther pnnishment.' "That sounds like good common sense," re- sponded Alice. "Now you begin to look like an old woman. Stoop a little more. Here, take the cane. Draw the bonnet over your face, and drop the veil; it's very thick, and if you stoop in this way, there'll be no' danger of their seeing your face. I shall sit down and keep quiet till the red-coats find out that the game has escaped." "I will remember you with the deepest grat- itude," said Melville. "And you must remember her, too," rejoin- ed Alice, pointing to Marion, with admirable simplicity. The latter blushed until she was quite crimson, and dropped her veil. "Believe me, young woman,' the suggestion was not needed," returned Sherwood. warmly. it - I; "Although I have looked upon her fair features but for a moment, they are so deeply impressed upon memory, that they will never cease to lin- ger there. Though I never should gaze upon the sweet face of your noble mistress again, it will remain imaged upon my soul forever." "You're a 'nice young man; that sounds well,"'said Alice. "You're not a youngster to fear the bagnets of the enemy. But don't stop any longer; take mistress Marion's arm, and don't forget to stoop as you go." "I am ready, lady, and if we fail in this 'at- tempt, remember that I shall think of you with equal gratitude to the last," said our hero. "Bend a little more, sir," said Marion. "Lean on me, and leave all-to my discretion. Alice, I will not forget you. Now we will go." Sherwood obeyed the injunctionsof his bene- factress. The latter pushed open the door, both passed out and stood in a long entry, at the farther end of which was a sentinel. 'He step- ped to one side as they advanced, and she ad- dressed him in a low voice. B"Suffer no one to visit the prisoner within an hour. I am likely to obtain some important in- formation from him,- which will be of conse- quence to General Gage. I act by authority, as i this paper has already assured you." The sentinel touched his hat obsequiously, and i Marion and Sherwood walked forward without hinderance, the latter stooping and assuming the I tottering gait of an old woman, as he had been directed. As they proceeded, they passed an r open -door of a room which had recently been used as a guard-room, and within which were m several soldiers talking loudly of the late stirring A events. They. looked at Marion as she passed, c and she heard one of them remark: s "A splendid figure, upon my word!" "I should like to take -a peep under that p veil," remarked another. i " What a clumsy old woman the charming li creature is leading," observed athird. Marion h shuddered, and felt a sense of inexpressible re- b lief when she found. herself in the street. th Another sentinel was posted at the door, who re stared at Marion. She had purposely thrown 2 Is aside her veil to draw as much of his attention d as possible, and keep him from noticing Sher- i- wood. n "Courage, good mother," she said, in an it agitated voice. "We shall soon reach the car. riage." Sherwood, as he leaned upon the round- s ed arm of his benefactress, was conscious that o she was. trembling violently,. and the danger of p his position, and the peculiar circumstances in i which he was placed, made his own heart beat faster. They walked on a few yards towards a corner, where a covered carriage was in waiting, i in charge of a servant.- "You must Renter this," added Marion. " o6 not display too much strength ; take my hand-- slowly-slowhy-they may be observing us." As Sherwood took the hand of the beautiful stranger, and leaned upon her as he entered thb carriage with the affected decrepitude of old age, his emotions may not easily be described. He longed for an opportunity to express the grati- tude and admiration he felt for her; to seal it, if occasion required, with his best blood. He seated himself in the carriage, and Marion Day took her place beside him. "This must be some sweet dream," said Sherwood, in a low voice., "I fear I shall awake soon and discover that I have been dream- ing of an angel, who came and set me free." "You confuse me with your gratitude," re- plied Marion, with a smile. The driver mounted the box, and the vehicle rolled rapidly away. "I shall- soon confide you to the care of one who is a friend to the cause of liberty," added Marion. "He will take such steps for your se- curity as he thinks best calculated to secure the same." "I regret to change hands, lady. You will permit me to remember you, I trust, with a feel- ing of gratitude that nothing but death can ob- literate. Your noble disinterestedness, your heroic courage, and, pardon me, your angelic beauty, combined, have already cast about-me the chains of another though gentler thraldom," rejoined Sherwood, enthusiastically. "I will attribute such expressions as these, page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] sir, to emotions which the peculiar circumstances in which we are placed are calculated to eall up," replied Marion. "Lady, I would forfeit my life rather than offend you!" exclaimed Sherwood, with emo- tion. 4"You have not offended," replied Marion, gentlr. ' If my admiration of your character has been ai-ied too far, attribute it to anything but a de- Sire to take advantage of your condescension." The carriage had been driven rapidly forward; it now stopped at the corner of Lynd street and Green Lane. f' Do we part here?" asked Sherwood. "We do," said Marion. 'bI have not words to express my emotions.* I -scarcely dare speak so boldly, but while Sher- wood Melville lives, there will always be one true worshipper at the shrine of your goodness and beauty. Should I ultimately escape the present peril, I shall cherish as something sacred the hope that we may meet again. My fair benefactress, adieu." Pressing the-small, gloved hand of Marion Day to his lips, Sherwood stepped from the car- riage. A tall man took him by the arm and hurried him into the nearest dwelling, while the vehicle rolled quickly away. "Who is it that thus interests himself in my safety?" asked Sherwood. "Davie Dixon, the mounted ranger' the de- fender of the continental Congress, the terror of the red-coats and tories. Death to the 'tarnal critters," was the reply. "Is it possible that this is you, Davie? How in the name of common sense did you get here?" O' You talk, stranger, jest as though there was places in the world where Davie Dixon couldn't go." "I have thought so, I confess." "' That's a very nateral error for young people to fall into; but you'll know me better afore the war is over." "I do not doubt it." "But we must not stand talking; your es- cape can't remain a secret long. The soldiers will be arter you like nateral blood hounds. I must git you out o' harm's way as soon as pos- sible. It's my 'pinion you wasn't born to die by British lead. You'll live to stand up side by side with me, and give blow for blow; and thrust for thrust. Come on." CHAPTER IV. COLONgL MARTON-THE PROMSE-ITS FULFILMENT. Ja T the t'me of Sherwood's escape, Col. ,L[( 'Marton and Grayson were together. "I congratulate you, Captain Grayson," said the former, " upon your success in raising such a fine company. They are well worthy of being called the King's Volunteers." "A sturdy set of fellows, colonel, and I think they will fight, providing our enemies over yon- der do not run away, and deprive them of that pleasure," replied Grayson. "You are lucky, Grayson, upon my word, to get the command of the volunteers. You stand in a fair way of promotion." "' I shall strive to do my duty, colonel." "I learn that Edward Day, son of our staunch old friend, has been chosen first lieutenant." "So he has, and rejected the office with ecorn. " "The audacious puppy!" "That is not all, colonel. I have just had the pleasure of seeing him perform one of the most dare-devil feats that I have yet witnessed. He deserted to the enemy-actually ran down the advance guard, under a-heavy fire." \ "Did he really reach the rebel camp in . safety?" I "He did, most certainly." i "What did his father say'?" X "Stormed like a madman." "And what said his fair sister?" : Well, she seemed glad of it." - "No!" t "Yes." "That's very singular. When are you to be married to her?" "That is what I am most anxious to know. I'll give any man a hundred pounds to tell me.. The fact is, she refuses me altogether. I be. lieve, she's a rebel at heart." "I hope not, for your sake, captain. 'She is very fair, I have heard." "Beautiful as an angel." "Possessed of uncommon abilities too, I uA-. derstand?" "She has a finely balanced mind, well stored. with knowledge, and overflowing with graceful; and sparkling thoughts. She is really a won- derful girl: But she baffles me at all points. I almost despair of success." page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] "Perseverance is an excellent virtue, Cap- fain Grayson." "Very true, but confidence should beget confidence. Tell me how you get along with Miss Melville?" "Quite as indifferently as you do with Miss Day. The girl, in fact, despises me." "That's unfortunate." "It could nt be worse. She is an unmitiga- tel rebel; but I think the death of her brother will be likely to subdue her pride a little." "Is there not some way by which you can make the unfortunate situation of the brother subserve your cause?" "I have been thinking about it, and am now going to make the trial. I shall promise to save him, on condition that she will consent to marry me immediately." "Would you indeed marry her, colonel?" "Doyou see anything verdant about my visual organs?" said the colonel, facetiously. "Ho, ho! I understand; a kind of mock affair, an engagement, which will not be bind- ing.. Very good indeed! It takes you to do things up properly, colonel," replied Grayson, obsequiously. "It is getting late in the day. I -must hurt ry away to Melville's: Adieu." Mrs. Melville and her daughter had just learned the sad: news of Edward's arrest and condemnation. Both were victims to the most heart-rending grief. "Dear mother" said Agnes, struggling to -suppress her sorrow, " let us pray to -God, and -endeavor to bear this dreadful affliction with Christian calmness." "Talk not of calmness to a mother, when her firstrborn is in danger," rejoined Mrs. Melville, in accents of bitterness. "The measure of my -woes is indeed filled to the brim." A gentle knock was heard at the door. "That is Colonel Marton'sknock!" exclaim- ed Agnes. "Perhaps Heaven has heard our petitions, and Sherwood may yet be saved.?' "You find us cast down:and sorely afflicted, olonel -Marton/' said Mrs. Melville, as the *offier tered., "The cause of your grief I know but too well; but it is an event I have long foreseen," answered Colonel Marton, in a kind tone. "Alas, how many mothers," he resumed, " will be placed in the same terrible position on ac- count of this unhappy and wicked rebellion. I blame those who have enticed your son away from duty and home, more than I blame him. I would to heaven that those arch traitors, War- ren, Adams and Hancock, were in his place. Mrs. Melville, I sympathize with you, truly." "Not so, colonel, if you wish any evil upon Warren, -Adams or Hancock. As highly as a mother's heart dotes on her first-born, she would not have him change places with those gallant -men. No, no; let my boy perish, instead of them, for they are our-ountry's hope." "Good heavens! what an atrocious woman!" exclaimed the colonel, thrown off his guard by this unexpected avowal. . "Where did you learn such pernicious sentiments? No wonder the country is going mad, when women preach 'such doctrines." "Have you, then, no idea of what it is to love liberty and equal rights? Did you never feel that your country was dear to you, and that tyranny was detestable?" replied Mrs. Mel- ville, forgetting for a moment her grief. "Pardon me; I have been too hasty," re- turned Marton. "But truly I cannot appre- ciate this devotion to liberty which y6u affect to have." "It is quite useless to make the avowal, Col- onel Marton. It is quite evident that you are a stranger to true patriotism. Liberty, in its real sense, is something you have never thought of," resumed Mrs. Melville. "I will not bandy words with you upon this subject, madam; I came for another purpose; to offer you all the consolation and sympathy in my power; to assure you of my unwavering friendship." " Iamn grateful, I am sure," answered Mrs. Melville. "Is there any hope?" "None whatever, I fear." "Then my poor boy must die; and so young , too" 1' "It seems destined to be thus." "And have you no power to aid him?" "I possess a little power, possibly." "And will you not prove a generous enemy and save him?" - I "If it be the wish of your daughter, Agnes, your son shall be restored to your arms," said the colonel, coolly. "O, how can you doubt that such is my wish!" exclaimed Agnes. "I would willingly give my life for his." "I do not ask your life, fair Agnes; I ask only your hand," replied Marton, throwing off the mask at once. "What does he say, my mother?" asked Agnes, wildly. "I hardly know, my child." "I will repeat what I intended to say," con- -tinued the colonel. "Consent to wed me, and your brother shall be set at liberty, or at least, his life shall be spared. I have influence enough to save him. The conditions are not hard, cer- tainly. There are many fair ladies in merry England who would gladly unite their destiny with mine." "Colonel Marton, is it possible that you dare make such a proposition as this to my poor Agnes at this hour, and under such circumstances? I had believed that you were a man in whose soul there were yet remaining some latent sparks of honor; but how painfully I have been deceived," said Mrs. Melville. "And is this the only condition on which you will save my brother?" asked Agnes, looking at Marton, like one who was not certain that she ( was in her right mind. "My love for you, Miss Melville, forces me to this step," replied Marton, with affected hu- ( mility. ' If it appears mean and selfish, attri- i bute it to my unhappy passion for one of the fairest and best of her sex." "My boy would die rather than accept-lib- d erty on such terms," said Mrs. Melville, look-. ing contemptuously at the colonel, who averted t his eyes beneath her gaze. "( Come, my child," ( she added, firmly, " dry your tears; weep no f more. -Show this monster that you still possess the dignity of a woman, and the strength of vir- tue. This sacrifice I will not ask you to make, even to save our dear Sherwood.?" "I am about to depart," resumed Marton. "Think once more on what I have said. Be not the destroyer of your brother. . Overcome this silly aversion to one whose rank and station is so far above your own. Few ladies would consider it a sacrifice; but if it be indeed a sae- rifice, Swill you not make it to save the life of one so dear to you?" "- must save him, mother!" cried Agnes. "I must-I will make the sacrifice!" "My dear girl, remember that Sherwood would scorn to ask it," rejoined her mother, frantically. "Colonel Marton," gasped Agnes, "I con- sent-save Sherwood." Overcome by, her emotions, with a cry of agony, Agnes fell fainting to the floor. The colonel sprang forward to raise her in his arms; but Mrs. Melville anticipated the movement, and thrust him back indignantly. "Leave us!" she cried, in thrilling accents. "You have her promise; it is enough. She will religiously fulfil it, May God soften your heart." "The promise must be redeemed this very day," replied Marton. "The violence of my passion will not brook delay. I will go for the chaplain immediately." "But why this cruel haste?" asked Mrs. Melville, as she used means to resuscitate her daughter. "If you have any human feeling, wait till to-morrow." " I must be your son-in-law before the lapse of a single hour," said the colonel, perempto- rily. "Begone! leave my light! your presence fills me with horror," returned Mrs. Melville, deeply agitated. "I will obey you, my mother, that is shortly to be," returned Marton, with a mocking smie:. Casting an admiring look at the still insensible' form of Agnes, he left the house. Agnes slowly recovered her consciousness. page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] She -pened her tearful eyes and gazed languid- ly about the room. "He has gone," said Mrs. Melville, in an- swer to the mute inquiry. "Thank Heaven!" said Agnes. Mrs. Mel-- ville stepped to the window and' looked into the street to hide her emotion. ' "A young lady closely veiled is approaching the house!" she exclaimed. There was a gen- tle rap at the door. Mrs. Melville hastened to' answer the summons. , A young lady entered. "is this the -residence of Mrs. Melville?" she asked, with some emotion. "It is," replied Mrs. Melville. "I have come to comfort you in the hour of your sorrow," added the visitor, throwing back her veil. Both Mrs. Melville and Agnes look- ed at her with admiration, for they had never seen a face more lovely. "I am grateful to you, fair stranger," said Mrs. Melville. "Were a ray of comnfort to be found on earth, I might expect to receive it from one whose very features bear the sweet impress of angelic beauty and purity." Marion Day blushed and did not seem dis- pleased at the high compliment which had been voluntarily paid her. "It has been observed until it has become a proverb," added Mrs. Melville, "that misfor- tunes never come singly; this is surely so in our case." "Speak to me freely," replied Marion, ap- proaching Agnes and gently taking her passive hand. "What other calamity hangs over you, beside the loss of your son?" "Alas, lady, events have followed each other with such fearfil rapidity during the last few hours, that I scarcely know what to say. My daughter, whose hand you hold so gently, is about to sacrifice her own happiness to save Sherwood." "4 What do I hear!" exclaimed Marion, with a start. "Will you speak more explicitly?" "Young lady, your air and your sympathi- zing countenance invite confidence. I will tell you all. Among the officers of the royal army there is a Colonel Marton, who has -long paid court to Agnes, who regards him with uncon- querable aversion. It would'be paying him too great a compliment to suppose, for, a moment, that his intentions have been very honorable. He has, like a man of no chivalry and honor, taken advantage of'our present misfortunes. He has pledged his word to effect the release of Sherwood, my son, providing my daughter will consent to an immediate marriage." "Unfeeling and unprincipled man!" exclaim- ed Marion, indignantly. "The sacrifice shall never be made. I thank God that it is in my power to prevent the consummation of this double villany." "Your words inspire me with hope," said Agnes, pressing Marion's hand to her lips. "I feel that you come to bring us good news." "I do indeed," replied our heroine, with a sweet smile. "' He comes-he comes with the chaplain!" shrieked Mrs. Melville, looking wildly down the street. "Who comes?" asked Marion. "Colonel Marton," replied Mrs. Melville. "To consummate the marriage?" added Marion. "Let me have a look at them before they arrive." Our fair heroine looked a mo- ment at the approaching figures. She drew back with a peculiar smile. "Be pleased to leave the matter all-to me," she resumed. "Not-a hair of your son's head shall fall, and Agnes shall never be wedded to that detestable man. Secrete me somewhere; have you not a closet in the room?" "Yes," said Agnes, "here is one. We will confide all to you. Enter; I will close the door." "Remember," added Marion, as she entered the closet, " that your brother shall not suffer-- that he does not need the assistance of Colonel Marton." Agnes closed the door, and as she did so, heard the stops of Marton and the chap, lain. With a trembling hand Mrs. Melville admit- ted and placed chairs for them. "I have lost no time," said Marton. "I have come to claim the fulfilment of your daugh- ter's promise. This reverend gentleman will perform the interesting ceremony." "And what security are we to have that Sher- wood will be released?" asked Mrs. Melville. "The word of a British officer, madam," re- plied Marton, proudly. "And is that all, colonel?" continued Mrs. Melville, sarcastically. ' Is it not sufficient, madam?" "By no means, sir. The rite which you' have come hither to perform cannot be consummated until my son comes with you," added the moth- er, firmly. "How, madam!" exclaimed the colonel, in- solently. "Do you not mean to fulfil your promise?" "I have made no promise, sir." "But your daughter has.'" At this crisis, the colonel approached Agnes, and attempted to take her hand, but she drew from him with evident terror and unqualified disgust. "Do not trifle with me," he continued, losing temper. "Do not keep this holy man waiting. Stand up and let the ceremony proceed, or by heaven, I will not save your brother from the fate he so richly merits." "Save my boy first, colonel, and then there will be plenty of time to claim the fulfilment of the condition," said Mrs. Melville, with a smile. "Odious woman!" cried Marton, angrily; "have you no natural feeling? Are you dead to the finer sensibilities of the heart?" "You may justly suppose that I am destitute of natural affection, when' I consent for you to wed. my child," returned Mrs. Melville. "Woman," said the chaplain, solemnly; "I came hither to pronounce a solemn and inter- esting ceremony. Do not trifle with my holy office. Young lady, arise: Colonel Marton, take her hand, and by virtue of my sacred call- ing' I will perform the marriage rite." "Do not come nearer," said Agnos, retreat- ing to the farthest corner of the apartment. "Do not lay your hand upon me--I will shriek for help." . "And where do -you think help will come from? Will your guardian angel appear?" ask- ed Marton, scoffingly, at the same time seizing Armes and forcing her towards the chaplain, who had arisen, and with book in hand, stood ready to perform the ceremony. "O, yes, I am sure my guardian angel is near at such a moment as this 1" replied Anes, struggling to free herself. The closet door was thrown open with the quickness of lightning. , A figure presented it- self which might well have been taken for a guardian angel, Marion made two or three steps forward with her veil down. Marton re- coiled in speechless amazement, and the chap- lain sympathized largely in his astonishment. "I congratulate myself,"' said Marion, with charming grace and dignity, "that, if I may not act the part of an angel to this poor young girl, I may at least act the part of a friend, and save her from the- power of a villain." Marion paused, and advancing took the hand of Agnes. "Thank God, my friend, that you have been saved- from dishonor. Colonel Mar- ton has no power to save your brother, and that man is no chaplain. His name is Grayson- captain of the King's Volunteers t" Mrs. Melville sank upon her knees, and with streaming eyes offered up silent thanksgiving to God. Agnes threw herself into the arms of her new friend, whom she was now ready to be- lieve was'really an angel in the disguise of a beautiful girl. Both Grayson and Marton were thunderstruck. "Give yourself no farther trouble in relation to Mr. Sherwood Melville," added Marion. "He is at liberty." "Fiends and fury!" exclaimed Marton, rushing from the dwelling, convulsed with pas- sion. "The devil's in the luck!" growled Gray- son, and casting a look of singular meaning at Marion, he followed his accomplice in wicked- ness. Our heroine lost no time in explaining the manner of Sherwood's escape, and the means by which she had learned of his residence and friends. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] -CHAPTER V. I THE MARCH-OHARLESTOWN HEIGHTS. . PDWARD DAY reached the- American j camp in safety, though his garments were perforated with bullets in many places. He IA instantly conducted by the sergeant of the guard, to the quarters of Gen Ward at Cambridge. "I am informed," said the chief in command, "that you performed a very bold action. Why did you leave the besieged town under such cumstances?" "Because I hate tyranny and love liberty," plind Edward, calmly. "How could I stay when I -saw the banners of my gallant country- men flung out to the breeze.." "Are you sure," continued the general, looking searehingly at Edward, "that your mo6ives in putting yourself under the protection of ihte American flag are such as the loftiest lgatotism would approve?" "I can say with a clear conscience, sir, that they are. Only afford me an opportunity to meet the enemy, and my motives, I trust, you will no longer doubt," answered our hero, some- nat coldly. I admire your spirit, young gentleman. I will see what can be done for you," said the general, in a more cordial tone. "What do our enemies say of us?" "Everything that is base and cowardly, gen- eral. General Gage is terribly indignant at the idea of the town's being in a state of siege. ' The rebels,' he asserted a few days since, ' add insult to outrage; for, with a ridiculous parade of military arrangements, they affect to hold us besieged. But we will soon undeceive them. We will enlarge our quarters and penetrate into the country, scattering the raw -militia like chaff before the wind' "' "By my honor!" exclaimed the general, striking his hand energetically upon his sword hilt, " we will teach these haughty Britons that the continental army is not to be despised. What more do they say?" "They talk of taking possession of Dorches- ter Heights and of Bunker Hill." "So I have heard, but' to-morrow morning will tell another story. Whadt is your name, sir?" ' "Edward Day." "And your father is a,-" "Tory, general-I blush to say it." "I will not forget you, young man. Ser- geant Lewis, request General Putnam to come to my quarters." In a few moments the celebrated general made his appearance. "I confide this young man to your care, general," said the commander-in-chief. "You are doubtless already acquainted with his bold entry into the American camp. I would that we had more like him." General Putnam shook hands with Edward, and taking him familiarly by the arm, led. him from the quarters of General Ward. ".Are you ambitious, Mr. Day?" asked the general. "I am ambitious only to meet the enemy. I care but little in what capacity, if it be as a private soldier." "That's the kind of spirit I like. You'll do. I'll trust you out of my sight, which is more than I would some folks, had they come to us in the way you have-; for I should fear they were going to play us a trick. Courage, sir; we'll have glorious fun to-morrow. 'One thou- sand strong will march to Bunker Hill to-night. When the sun of to-morrow - arises, it will shine on an American redoubt, constructed in a sin- gle night, under the guns of the royal army. What do you think of that?" "It makes my heart thrill with pleasure. I will not fail to be there. At what time will the detachment march?" ,' The troops destined for that service will parade at six o'clock this evening, with all the entrenching tools that can be mustered and pressed into the service. Their destination is to 1 be kept secret until after they have passed c Charlestown Neck." ] "Will they stand fire' general? Will they E work beneath a storm of lead?" "They will; and whoever lives to see the seventeenth of June, will bear witness that I t have spoken-the truth. But I must not forget t to ask if you heard aught of a young man from f our camp; of his having been arrested, or any- 1 thing of that kind?" "A fine lookling and brave young fellow has been arrested, tried, and found guilty of the crime of being a-spy." ' "It makes my blood boil!" cried Putnam. "They will murder him, no doubt." "Alas, there is no hope for him. He is fully committed to the power of the tyrants who lord it over us." "Can we not send a flag of truce and make some disposition in his favor, think you?" ask- ed the general, anxiously. "No, sir; they have threatenedto fire upon a flag of truce should one make its appearance, and they will do it. But even if the flag were respected, nothing could be done. He dies to- morrow, brave youth." "I regret this. I cannot express how much I liked the boy. I hoped to fight side by side with him. May God tranquillize, and render calm and firm his last moments. It will break the heart of his poor mother." "It makes me sad to think of it, general. Do you really believe there will be fighting, to- morrow?". , "There can be no doubt about it. If they- have any knowledge of the art of war, they will never suffer us to occupy such a commanding position as Bunker Hill, without a contest " At six-o'clock, the troops 'destined to take possession of Charlestown Heights paraded on Cambridge Common, under the command of Colonel Prescott, whose bravery has won for him an immortal fame, and placed his name in the annals of history never to be obliterated. At the head of his detachment he set out for Charlestown, to carry out the orders of General Ward. Eager to distinguish himself, and to aid the cause of his countrymen, Edward Day pro. ceeded to the hill with the detachment. Silent. ly they took possession of the Heights, and after some deliberation, commenced throwing up the entrenchments. Our hero , accompanied Captain Maxwell to the lower part of the town to. observe the mo- tions of the enemy. It was a mild and beauti- ful- night. The stars shone serenely in the heavens, looking softly down upon the untiring page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] labors of that band of devoted men. The Cer- berus, the Lively, the Falcon, the Glasgow, and the Somerset, lay lazily upon the waters within gunshot. , A feeling of indignation filled the breast of Edward as he gazed upon the dark and grim out- - lines of the cannon that were pointed- from the port holes. "Such are the arguments that his majesty has made use of to convince his subjects that his policy is the best," said he; pacing to and fro near the old ferry. "Strange," he added, "that they do not discover the proximity of the American troops. I can almost fancy I hear the tread of the sentinel on the decks of the - Falcon and the Lively." At that moment, the cry of "All's well," came clearly over the waters. Edward laughed and said half aloud: "Perhaps all is well; but I imagine not so well but it might be better." It was now midnight. Edward paused sud- denly in his walk and looked attentively to- wards Craigie's Bridge. He saw a small boat approaching the shore just above the town, and which, if it came from Boston, must have passed very near the Glasgow. "Well, my young friend, I see you are re- solved to make yourself useful," said a voice. Edward looked up, and recognized the sub- stantial figure of General Putnam. "I see a small boat nearing the shore just above us, which will soon touch the point near School Hill," said Edward, "A boat, did you say!" exclaimed the gen- eral. "It must have passed very near that man-of-war, yonder. Is it friend or foe? What dp you think?" "I am really at a loss to know." "Are you armed?" "I am." ' "Let us hasten towards them, and learn what this portends." Edward and the general walked' rapidly to- wards the spot where the tiny boat was about to touch the snore. "How silently the little cockle-shell moves through the waters. What urges it onward, I wonder?" said Putnam, musingly. D "Some Yankee invention, I dare say, sir." "Right, boy; the Yankees are famous for inventions. But how that little craft could leave Boston and land -here without being blown out of the water, I don't know; unless we con- clude that it comes from the enemy, and with their full approval," resumed the genferal. "I can see a man in the boat," said Edward "It touches the shore," added Putnam. "A tall man leaps out," said Edward. "And another follows him.- They come this way. ' Remain motionless." The two stood perfectly still, and the men ap- proached. "' Who goes there?" cried Putnam, -cocking a heavy horse pistol, and springing towards the parties. "The defender of the continental Congress- the mounted ranger. Where's the Britishers? Death to the 'tarnal critters!" said the voice of Davie Dixon. "Put up your shootin' stick, and tell us what you're here for, old wolf- killer?" "Our friend Davie again, as I live; and, good heavens, Sherwood Melville! Bless your old heart, Davie!" exclaimed the general, throwing his strong arms about Sherwood, and embracing him most warmly. "This really gives me the greatest pleasure. You shall fight side by side with ' old Put' to-mofrrow, my boy." "And that will be an honor -that I did not expect a few hours ago." "Davie, you're a fine fellow," said the gen- eral. "Don't go for to givin' all the credit of this here business to me. I had a share in it, but I didn't do the whole of it, by no means." "Who did then?" asked the general. "A nateral born angel without wings," re: plied Davie. "One o' the most genteel crit- ters that I ever set my eyes on--a reg'larprin- cess, if ever there was one." "What does the harum-scarum fellow mean?" asked Putnam, turning to Sherwood. "He means, my dear general, that I am in- debted for my life and freedom, to one of the most lovely and heroic females that I ever be- held," replied Sherwood, enthusiastically. "Then you are only released from one cap- ftivity to enter upon another," returned the fficer; with a smile.. "Yes, I grant that I am enthralled," an- swered Sherwood, " but it is a thraldom that exalts and ennobles me. No man is degraded, sir, by loving a pure and noble woman. I own Xit without a blush; I glory in the confession; I acknowledge a love equalled only by my love of country. My dear friend, you should have seen the fair being who came to me when all earthly hope had faded; you should have look- ed upon the face and the divine figure which reflected the goodness and beauty of an angel; you should have heard the voice sweeter than notes of music." f "It's all over with you, Sherwood," retorted the general. "You couldn't a stood it yourself, sir," add- ed Davie. "The floating battery of her dark eyes would have demolished the entrenchments of your heart in-no time. I've never seen any- thing so lovely since Congressayisr a colt." "Davie is rather too moABin his preten- sions," said Sherwood. "Without his assist- ance, I might even now have been in the power of the enemy. He has rendered me a most im- portant service, and I flatter myself thatj I shall know how to return the favor when opportunity presents. His courage in risking his life by venturing within the British lines, his ready tact in secreting, me,. and his ingenuity in es- caping from the besieged town, will never be forgotten by me." "I congratulate you both on your bravery and good luck; but I must not forget to make you acquainted with Edward Day, a young gentleman who made a regular stqmpede this morning, and passed the British out post at full speed under a running fire." Edward and the other parties greeted each other with'mutual expressions of pleasure. "' If you had been mounted on Congress it ' would not have been strange that you gave the , red-coats the slip; butv, . dcoxnfess it's raythur singular, seein 's how you was mounted on a common anermal," observed Davie, seriously. - "Congress is the name of your horse, I should suppose," said Edward. "It's evident you haven't been long among the continentallers, or you'd a had some know- ledge of one of the most remarkable quadrapeds livin'," returned Davie. "I shall- take pleasure in hearing the partic- ulars of your escape when we are at leisure," remarked the general. "Let us visit the men at work in the entrenchment." The parties soon reached the spot now so famous in history! A thousand men were- at' work with untiring assiduity. Davie Dixon seized a shovel and leaped into the works. X "Here's my place till mornin'!" he ex- claimed. "Some on us will find a restin'-place here afore to-morrow night, I dare say; but we shan't be the only ones- who'll need a place in the airth to sleep our last sleep in. It's my opinion that every foot o' ground between here and Moulton's Point, and the ferry, will be cov- ered with dead bodies afore the sun sets agin." "To me" your words are prophetic," said Putnam, sadly. "God help the right!"Sher- wood and Edward followed the example of Digon, and worked'in the redoubt with right good will. "How very remarkable," observed Edward, "that the men-of-war lying sot near do not discov- ' er our proximity. I could almost imagine that the hand of the Almighty is stretched in pro- tecting kindness over these devoted men." "What you have said," replied Sherwood, in a subdued voice, " seems to me a solemn. and impressive truth. It is not impious to believe that the eye of the G-od of battles is upon us at this moment, strengthening our hands and im- parting courage to our hearts." "That thought comforts and sustains me," said a gray-haired old man, who was laboring with all the zeal and efficiency of one in the prime of life. "Who can conquer a people pervaded and in- fluenced by one spirit, from the old man with page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] gray hairs tot the youth who prides himself upon his curlinglove-locks!" exclaimed Sherwood. (Trust in heaven," added the old man, "and fight to the last, and this freshy moved earth will prove to us a bed of glory if we fall. I am getting old, young man, and I can desire noth- ing more honorable than to die here where I , stand, defending the laws of eternal right and equity." "You're a nat'ral trump!" cried Dixon, as he struck his shovel into the soil and threw out a' large quantity of earth. That'eventful-night passed away. The first light of morning revealed to the astonished Britons the works of the " rebel " army. "There is a bustle on board the Lively," remarked Sherwood. "They have discovered us, and are putting a spring upon her cable." At that moment a stream of fire and smoke belehed from the sides of the Lively, and several balls fell inside of the works. "Now we shall have it," said Edward. While he was speaking, a twenty-four pound ball passed between himself and Davie, and struck down a man a few feet in the rear.* Several of the Americans dropped their en- trenching tools and looked at the disfigured body in speechless horror. ! Asa Pollard, of Billerica, of Stickney's company, Bridge's regiment. A subaltern informed Colonel Prescott, and asked what should be done. "'Bury *him," he was told. "What!" said the astonished offi- cer, " without prayers?"A chaplain insisted on per- forming service over the first victim, and gathered many soldiers about him. Prescott ordered them to disperse. The chaplain-again collected his audience, when the deceased was ordered to be buried.- Swett's Histowy. In a moment the. clear, ringing tones of Pres- cott were heard, and his tall, martial- figure was seen upon the parapet,., "Don't mind the balls, my brave fellows. Let them waste their powder if they will. We do not fear them. Work a little longer, and we shall be prepared to give them a reception they will long remember." "Three cheers for Colonel Prescott!" shout- ed Davie. The word was caught up by those nearest and rai the whole length of the redoubt, and the ground shook beneath the prolonged cheering of the continental soldiers. While Dix6n was swinging his hat, a shot from the Lively struck it and passed through the crown. "Did you see that!" he cried triumphantly. "I can catch cannon balls in my hat!" This quaint remark produced a general laugh, and restored in some measure the courage and cheerfulness of the men. Their equanimity- was soon somewhat disturbed, however, by a twelve inch shell which fell within the entrenchments. Colonel Prescott was still upon the, parapet, re- gardless of the fire of the enemy, and immediate- ly shoutedtin a stentorian voice : "Down upon the ground, every one of you 1" They instantly flJtat upon the earth, and the shell burst without doing any injury. In a short time ,the firing from the Lively ceased, but was renewed again, after a brief interval, Iby all the ships, and by a six gun battery at Copps HilL Leaving these characters at work upon CharleAs town Heights under a heavy fire, we will turn our attention to others interested in these memo- rable proceedings. CHAPTER VIo 'THiE MUDER--CAPTAIN GRAYSON. /TWRE EN Colonel Marton left Grayson for - the residence of rMrs. Melville, the latter walked towards the place where Sher- wood was held in durance. Upon searching for the paper which was to gain him free admittance, he discovered, to his extreme mortification, that it was missing. He was not a little embarrass- ed, and communicated the fact to the sentinel, who stood with shouldered musket at the door. "-A lady has already gained admittance with a writing like that you describe," said the sen- tinel, touching his cap. "A lady!" exclaimed the captain of the King's Volunteers. "A lady, sir," reiterated the sentinel. "Who was she, and what did she look like?" asked Grayson, hurriedly. "She was very handsome, sir; a splendid figure, sir." "Her face--how did that look?" continued Grayson. "She threw back her veil just as she was passing with the old lady, sir, and I never saw a face so fair; it was loveliness itself." "What old lady was it?" "I don't know; I suspect, however, that it was the young fellow's, mother. She was very old and decrepit, sir." "His mother and sister, probably," said Grayson, to himself; "and yet this fellow's description reminds me of Marion Day. I must see the prisoner.'" "I have no authority to admit any one with- out particular 'orders from Generals Gaae or Howe." - "Very true," replied Grayson. "I will see them instantly." The captain hurried away and returned after the lapse of half an hour with the requisite au- thority. The room in. which Sherwood had been im- prisoned was quite dark, the windows having been closed up with boards, through the crevices of which the light streamed but faintly. As Grayson entered, he saw the outlines of a human figure in . a remote corner of the apart- ment. ' "The commander-in-chief of his majesty's page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] forces has, in his extreme clemency, allowed me to visit you, young man, in order that you may make a clean breast and die with a clear con- science," said the captain. Grayson made a momentary pause, but there was no rejoinder. "Yes sir; you are allowed the privilege of confessing your crimes, before you expiate them by death. . I am willing to hear all you may have to say respecting the condition of the rebel army." Still there was no reply. "What are the numbers of the rebels?" con- tinued the captain. The prisoner remained silent. "Why don't you speak, sir? What means this obstinacy? Do you not wish to die like a Christian?" As- Grayson grew accustomed to the darkness, the person of the prisoner began to grow more distinctly defined. With dilated and astonished eyes, he approached him-and-and beheld the figure and face of a woman! "How is this!" he cried. "A trick, by, heavens I Woman, who are you?" he added, jseizing her savagely by the arm. "You're a gentleman, sir, a regerler gentle- man, sir, to take hold' of a lady in that way, sir!" said Alice, promptly, disengaging her arm, with a quick movement. "It's Alice!" exclaimed Grayson, angrily; "and the prisoner has escaped. This is the work of Marion Day. You'll be hanged for this, young woman," he added, thinking to intimi- date her. "I couldn't die in a better cause, no how," replied Alice. "If the Britishers were bad enough to kill a female, I shouldn't die a tory, sir, by any means whatsomever." "Keep your impudent tongue still, Miss Alice, and tell me all you know about this," added Grayson, in a milder tone. "I shan't speak agin," said Alice, in a de- cided voice. "You're a fiend i" exclaimed the captain, "and your mistress shall suffer-for this." "Shame on you, sir, to threaten a woman," returned Alice. "Silence, termagant, or I may strike you t Ho! guards; this way, the prisoner has es- caped." The consternation and confusion that followed, we will not pause to describe. Suffice it that General Gage ordered Alice to be re- leased, and took no farther notice of the affair than ordering the sentinels under arrest. But Grayson could not pass over the matter so easily. Upon reflection he finally concluded ' that he might turn the whole to his advantage; for, as the reader is aware, he was exceedingly desirous, by some means, to get Marion Day into his power enough to exercise a controlling in- fluence upon her actions. Grayson was 'not a scrupulous man, and he cared but little in what way he, accomplished his designs, provided he attained the object in view. The extraordinary beauty and attractions of Marion had proved too strong for him. We will not say that he truly loved her, because we doubt whether a truly bad man can truly love a pure and noble-mind- ed girl, like our heroine. Finding, to his great disappointment, that he had failed most signally to make a favorable im- pression upon the object of his passion, and that he could expect noithing from her favor, he re- solved to seek- out some ingenious expedient by which he could intimidate and awe her into a compliance with his wishes. While revolving this subject in his mind, what he so ardently longed for happened as follows-: During the afternoon while the events were transpiring to which we have just alluded, M . Day received the following note: "Boston, June 16th, 1775. "SIR,-Being reduced to great want by the unsettled and unhappy condition of the country, I am obliged to ask you for the small amount due me. I regret extremely that my poverty' compels me to trouble you. I livq at No. 10 Temple street. Shall I be so bold as to call' for the money, or will -you send it to me? "'"Yours respectfully, JAMES HLL." ' To this epistle, Mr. Day sent the following: "SIR,-In reply to your note I would say that I will pay you immediately. But do not call at my house, for I allow no man to enter my dwelling w4lo favors the rebel cause. I have, already suffered enough by this accursed rebel- lion. My son has imbibed your detestable doc- trines, and has gone over to the enemy's camp. I wish you, sir, to keep away from my residence, and, in fact, I do not wish to see you at all; for I might forget myself, and do something that I should greatly regret afterwards. I am not in a mood to be trifled with, I assure you, and will not be answerable for your safety if you venture to disregard my warning. I will send the twenty pounds to you to-night or to-morrow morning. Heartily hoping that all the whig leaders will be speedily hanged, I remain a true friend to the government. WILLIAM DAY." This unfriendly note Mr. Day lost no time in forwarding to Mr. Hill. About eight o'clock the ensuing evening, the former was crossing the Comnmon, when he unexpectedly met the latter near Valley Acre. "I will pay- you that money," said Mr. Day. "I have areceipt in my pocket," replied Hill. "I was going near your house and intended to send it in." "Here are two ten pound notes," added Mr. Day. "This makes us square. It will be the last business transaction between us." I grgret it very much," said Hill. "We have always got on well together." "Until recently, sir," retorted Day. "-I shall have no farther intercourse with the whigs; they are raining the country; they have rob- bed me of my only son, and they will soon de- luge the colony with blood." "I hope they will fight bravely," returned Mr. Hill. "Fight!" exclaimed Mr. Day, striking his cane violently upon the ground,!" they can fight behind fences and trees, but they are too cow- ardly to meet the royal soldiery in the open field; they will run when it comes to that." "I do not agree with you, Mr. Day. -' I be- lieve they will display undaunted bravery when they meet the minions of King George," re- joined Hill, calmly. . r '"Begone, sir I how dare you insult the roy- e, al troops in my presence!" cried Day, raising - his cane threateningly. - "I have labored for you in times -past," an- swered Hill, "but I do not acknowledge that , you have a right to control my actions." ; "You will never die a natural death, sir," t returned Day, and then walked on. In the ; course of half an hour he returned, passing over [ the same ground. When he reached the spot i near where the twenty pounds had been paid, I and where the above conversation had transpired, r he saw a dark object lying upon the earth. Imn pelled by a strong curiosity he advanced towards , it, and discovered the body of a man. It lay partly upon the right side with the face down- ward. Mr. Day placed his hand upon the region of the heart; but it had ceased to beat. Much agitated by this unexpected discovery, he turn- ed the face upward. The moonlight streamed down upon the impassive countenance, and re- vealed the features of James Hill! Mr. Day recoiled with an expression of unmitigated hor- ror. All his bitterness of heart passed away when he beheld his former friend and neighbor, stiff and cold in the embraces of death. - He regretted deeply that he had parted with him in anger, and would willingly have given much to blot the remembrance of their parting from his memory. As he stood gazing at the fixed and rigid fea- tures of the dead, he saw a paper lying beside him, which had obviously fallen from his pocket. He secured it: it was the threatening and un- friendly note he had sent him that very day. "Unfortunate circumstance!" exclaimed Mr. Day, much affected at what he beheld. "Ir this note should be found upon his body, it would naturally attach suspicion to me. As probably no one has seen it, I will keep it, and thus avert such a catastrophe." Mr. Day put the letter in his pocket, and then bent over him to learn the cause of his death. There was a dark line across the upper portion of his fore- head as if made by a heavy blow with a club. There was also a wound in' the chest, inflicted, page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] lapparently, with a knife. A sanguinary stream was still flowing slowly from the fatal thrust. "I fear I have been to blame in this matter," said Mr. Day, sorrowfully. "I should have sent him the money and saved him the trouble of going for it, as he undoubtedly was when I met him. "What shall be done? , I must hasten and make this known. And yet myself being the first to find the body seems rather awkward. I am half inclined to pass on, and leave the dis- covery of 'the murder to chance. The body cannot remain here long without being found. He certainly is quite gone, and medical skill can avail nothing. But this is dreadful, I think I'll pass on." Looking once more at the pale and passion- less fave, Mr. Day resumed his way homeward, With a sad and agitated heart. When he reached his dwelling he said noth- ing of what he had seen. Complaining of in- disposition, he retired early. But he could not sleep. He saw before him, continually, the body of poor Hill; and if he was upon the eve of becoming unconscious, he was as often arous- ed by a sudden vision of those fixed and glassy eyes. How Captain Grayson made this unfortunate occurrence subserve his wicked designs the read- er will soon see. Early on the 17th, the thunder of British cannon called the -peaceable inhabitants of Bos- ton, and the surrounding country, from their beds. Mr. Day arose, looking pale and haggard, and his agitation was observed by Marion. i, What does this heavy firing mean?' asked the former, anxiously. "I do not know," replied Marion. "The American army must be making an attack upon the town." "Nonsense, girl! the ' rebels' dare not at- tack the British troops," replied her father, somewhat ill-naturedly. "But there is Captain Grayson," he added immediately. "He is parading his company directly'in front of the house. Fine looking fellows, are they not, Marion? I must go and ask him what all this firing means." Both Marion and tier father hastened to a front, window, and watched with interest the military evolutions of the King's Volunteers. The cap- tain was not'a little proud of his command, and hoped by this pompous display of his men, and of his authority, to make. a favorable impression. upon the tory's daughter. - "Attention, company!" "He looks well in his regimentals," said Day. "See how they straighten up atthe word of command, . standing firm and steady, moving neither hand nor foot."' "To the left--dress!" "Capital!" continued Marion's father. "A thorough bred soldier. I don't see how you can dislike him so." "Shoulder arms!" "Do you hear that?" said Day, admiringly. "I see nothing wonderful in that, father; but there was something really brave and heroic in what Edward did yesterday." "If you do not wish to offend me seriously, Marion, you will cease to speak of that disobe- dient and headstrong boy." "I love him very much, father," replied Marion. "There is the man that I wish you to love, Marion," said her father, in a low voice, point- ing to the captain. , , "I fear I shall have to disregard your wishes ,for once, father," answered Marion, mildly. "Remember, girl, that I am decided upon this subject.- It is my particular'desire that you should favor the suit of Captain Grayson." "Order arms :-Rest!" were the next or- ders that reached the ears of the spectators. "He is comingin," resumed Mr. Day. "Re- ceive him affably." Grayson entered the room. ' What means all this firing, captain?" ask- ed Mr. Day. . "The rebels have taken possession of Bun- ker Hill, and thrown up a redoubt under the very guns of the men-of-war and the batteries,?" he replied. "That cannonading which you hear, is to -scare them away." Marion gently smiled. "You smile at my last remark, Miss Day. May I be so bold as to ask why?" "I was thinking what fine sport it would be for the King's Volunteers to march up the hill and dislodge the rebels." Grayson colored slightly, and said he hoped soon to have that pleasure. * "By the way," he added, carelessly, " there was a dead body found at Valley Acre last night.. You didn't hear of it, I suppose, Mr. Day?" "Yes-no-that is, I did not hear about it," replied the latter, much embarrassed. "When did this dreadful thing happen?" "Last night. sometime; very 'early in the evening, at any rate, for the body was hardly cold when they found it. His name was Hill; a man that I have heard you speak .of, I be- lieve. " "Yes; I knew him well. He used to be in my employ; but since he embraced the whig principles so warmly, there has been a coldness between us. But I am truly sorry to hear that this -has happened. Has the murderer been arrested, or does suspicion rest upon any one?" "The murderer has not been arrested, and I do not know that suspicion rests upon any person. " l He had some business transaction with you yesterday, did he not, father?" asked Marion. "yes," replied her father, hesitatingly; "that is, he sent me a note, begging me to pay him a small sum which I owed him." "Did you pay him, father?" "I did-yes-I think I did," stammered Mr. Day. t "At what time?" asked Grayson, fixing his E eyes steadily upon him. c "I should think it was about eight o'clock,". E answered Day, with the same reluctance and s agitation be had previously displayed. \ "Just about the hour the murder was com- I mitted, as nearly as I can judge," resumed n Grayson. "Your testimony will probably-be 1i required." U f u "I know nothing about it; my evidence g would be entirely worthless, and throw no light 3 f r. upon the dark transaction; and as he is a whig, the government will take but little trouble Jto ,e look up the matter, and punish the murdererer; "for. there is a plenty of work on hand now. But I must go and attend to my toilet, and get .a d look at what is going on at Charlestown Height$. Captain, I will leave you master of the eld for e a short time," and with a significant smile ho it left the room. 'r Do me the favor to be seated, Miss Day,; you never looked more fair," said the captain, "Excuse me; I must not trespass on yot i precious time. You are impatient to meet :tVL enemy, I know," said Marion, with affected i seriousness. "If you are my enemy, I acknowledge the ; truth of what' you affirm, fair Marion." "I would not be the innocent cause of de. taining you a moment, captain. You must go where spurs are won-up yonder, on that hill A'f "Be less sarcastic. I have much to, saytX ; you." "I decline hearing you," said Marion, rising to leave the apartment. "Stay! you must hear!" replied Grayson, closing the door, and placing himself against it. "What means this insolence, sir!" exclaimed our heroine, indignantly. "I will ring the bell, and our servants shall protect me from insult i my father's house. I have not forgotten the circumstances under which I last met you. Youn cannot suppose that you have risen in my esti- mation since that time," said Marion, coldly. "My own memory is equally tenacious, MiP Day. You probably would not rise in the es- timation of your venerable father if he knew something which I do in relation to the escape of Sherwood Melville," retorted Grayson. "Be self-possessed and quiet, Miss Day," he added. "I have that to say which you will never forgpt while life lasts. Frown, if you will; butfrowns become not a face so divinely moulded. Scorn me with your lips; but scorn sits not well. n lips so bewitching. Dart reproachful gglances upon me with your: eyes; but reproachful frez grace not such angelic orbs." The captain paused, and then went on min page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] voice frightful in its solemnity; for he had learn- ed Well the part he was to act. "ast night at half past eight o'clock, I crossed the Common. It was' not very dark; the moon was shining, and a few pale stars were glimmering. Objects were discernible A at the distance of several rods. As I walked slowly -on, I saw a man standing motionless directly in my path, a few paces beyond me. There was something singular in his attitude.. I stopped and regarded him attentively. Some dark and strange looking object was lying at his feet. I moved softly toward it; the dark object was the body of a man. The figure which had first at- ,tracted my attention, held a heavy stick in his hand. He stooped, laid his hand upon the man's breast to see if the work was done-if the 'heart had ceased to beat time to the music of life. The examination seemed satisfactory. He then turned the ghastly face up towards the quiet skies, and marked if it bore any impres- sion but that of death; if any lingering color upon his cheeks betokened life; This also ap peared satisfactory; and as he gazed upon the pallid features of the dead, there was no soften- ing of his heart, no pity traced upon his face. Again he bent over the body, and drew forth papers from -the pockets. One paper he re- plaea in the pocket of 'his victim, another he put into his own! The assassin took one more look at his victim and then walked rapidly away. "I hastened to the spot, and recognized in tiose icy, upturned features the face of, James Hill!" "There. is something dreadful in all this!" exclaimed Marion, sinking into a- chair, and trembling violently. "( Near the body of the murdered man I found this breast-pin. Did you ever see it before, Miss Day?" "Good heavens! it is my father's!" cried Marion, wildly. "It is," said Grayson. "I recognized him as he stood over the corpse; and the stick which was in his hand now stands in the entry.' I marked: it as I came in. I wil produce it." The captain opened the door and took the stick from its accustomed place. There was blood upon it! "This is it. , There is something upon it that is not pleasant, you observe, I perceive. But be calm; no person knows of this but you and myself., I learn that ill feeling has subsisted between the parties for some time. You probably noticed your father's agitation when I alluded to the circumstances a short time since. It could not have escaped your observation." "O, this is horrible!" gasped Marion. "I cannot believe it. I will-- I do reject it as false!" "I know this is painful," resumed, Grayson. "I know it will well nigh freeze you with horror; but you must know it; and it remains solely with you whether it shall remain a secret forever, or be heralded forth to the world." "If you have any pity, I beg of you to leave me. Let me collect my scattered senses." - "But do you comprehend me? Do you fully understand what I have said, Miss Day?" "I scarcely know what I have heard, or what I should understand ; but I comprehend enough to make me the most wretched of beings," said Marion, pressing her hand wildly to her biow. "Would you screen and save him?" "If guilty, yes; but his guilt I do not yet admit. , He is firm in his opinions, strong in his prejudices, violent in temper, but a bad man he is not." "Justice has its claims, Miss Day. Shall my friendship for your father prompt me to disre- gara its voice? Reflect that it is my duty to lodge a complaint against'him, and render in my evidence without regard to personal feelings." "It requires no second sight to guess what will be the price demanded for your silence. I read already the unuttered words upon your lips," rejoined Marion. "You are indeed a diviner, and I perceive that you comprehend me well. -This small L white hand is indeed the price of my silence; L exorbitant, I grant; but the wild passion that consumes me makes me deaf to the voice of reason and soft pity.- Pledge me your word, and call Heaven to be your witness, that you suffer yourself to be entirely at my disposal, henceforth, and I will not drag that old man, with gray hairs, forth to a felon's grave. The :dark secret shall remain within my heart, a sacred deposit-a life-long trust." "Give me time-do not urge me now. Grant me a week-a single day, even. If you have any human compassion, you cannot refuse- e this. I must have'stronger proof of his guilt." "Do you not perceive that that is wholly un- necessary? Is he not in my power, guilty or not guilty? Would not my testimony send him to the scaffold?" said Grayson. "It is a plot--awicked plot to carry out your own dishonorable designs. Your last words reveal still more plainly the blackness of your heart-the unmitigated depravity of your na- tutre. The mask has indeed fallen from your ; features. I see the abyss before me; I look down with dizzy eye into its dreadful depths; ruin and dishonor are there." "I am gratified that you have so true a sense of your position. I await your decision." "To-day I will not give it. A day longer, I at least, will I be mistress of my own actions." I "And I may not be so lenient to-morrow. n To-day I offer you honorable wedlock." t " And you can offer nothing more revolting i to-morrow. That which you darkly hint at a would be the most merciful fate of the two; for ] I might hope that you would tire of me at length, and cast me off; and that event I should hail E with joy." f "A bitter retort, Miss Day, but I care not. M The thought of controlling you in any manner si (whether considered as most merciful or most revolting by you), gives, me such pleasure, that fi I heed not the danger-of the measures that lead sl me to undisputed possession of the prize I have co coveted so long, and which has well nigh made me mad. Adorable Maiion, I would attempt fr the pass of Al-Sirat itself, to call you mine, c( 'though the flaming river of hell rolls its seeth- of ing billows below." hi "Go, sir!" said Marion, rising, and recov- be ering a portion of her self-possession. "My h u answer I cannot give you to-day; to-morrowyou 1, shall hear it from my own lips. Do not at- i, tempt to move me; were you to drag the whole le of us to death, I would make you no other an- d swer." "Let it be so," replied Grayson, after a mo- it ment's reflection. "You can imagine yourself e a free agent for the next twenty-four hours. e But if you value your father's peace of mind, do not permit him to mistrust that you know aught I- of the transactions of last night. To have full t confirmation of my words, you. have only to o question him in a common-place way about the murder, and observe his emotions." r Marion waved her hand towards the door and s made no reply. r "Hark!" said the captain. "The roar of - yonder cannon calls me away. I go to the field. r Gentle Marion, adieu." : Bowing with mock obsequiousness, and with ; a smile of triumph upon his face, Grayson re- lieved Miss Day of his presence. Instead of giving unbridled license to her grief, she strove to regain her composure, and' look at things with calmness and fortitude. That her father was in the power of Grayson, she could not doubt, but that he was guilty of the deed she did not believe; though she could not but acknowledge that he had betrayed much agitation when she had alluded to the death of Hill. \ Another question now arose in her mind Should she speak of this subject to her mother? She decided that it would be best not to, as it would only tend to make her unhappy without subserving any possible good. Grayson had spoken of a paper which her father had taken from the person of the deceased ; she resolved to see if any such proof of his guilt could be found. Arranging her disordered hair, and wiping from her face all traces of recent tears, she as- cended softly to her father's chamber. Instead of arranging his dress, as he had declared was his intention, he had thrown himself upon the bed, and despite the incessant roar of artillery, had sunk into a troubled sleep. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] With trembling limbs his fair daughter ap- proached and bent fondly over him as he re- posed. !"Could a guilty man sleep thus soundly?" she Siaid -to herself. And 'then raising her swimming eyes to heaven, she added: "' Heaven knows he is innocent." As Marion grew calmer she observed that he wore the same vest which he had worn the day previously. A folded paper protruded from one of the pockets. Calling up all her resolu- tion, she drew it forth; it bore the impress of bloody fingers. Marion did not cry out, nor falter in her pur- pose; but opened the paper with nervous haste. It was the identical note which he had written and sent to the lunfortunate Hill. The heroic girl read it with more firmness than might have been expected under the circumstances. Its un- friendly and even threatening tone moved her not a little ; if it was not proof, --it was at least evidence against him, and showed her to what extent he was now in the complete power of Orayson. When she had finished its perusal, she put ar hand again into the ample pocket and found the receipt which Hill had given him for the twenty pounds; that also was discolored with- blood. She now remembered that her father had but twenty pounds about his person on the sixteenth, for she had heard him make a remark to that effect. Upon opening his .pocket-book, she was greatly amazed to find that sum still in his possession. How then could he have paid James Hill? Replacing the articles as she had found them, she kissed the pale brow of her parent, and glided from the room. She had. at first resolved to destroy the letter, but upon second thought she foresaw that he would miss it, which would make him very uneasy, and probably he would destroy it himself. She now remembered that his cane was a sword cane; she went and examined it, Upon drawing forth the sword, the point bore visible traces of blood. It had evidently been wiped, though but imperfectly freed from its sanguinary stains. A glass of water was standing upon the table; she wet her handkerchief in it, and effec- ttually accomplished what had been so poorly done -by some other hand. t CHAPTER VII. IDOCTOR MONTAGUE--MORE PLOTTING. COLONEL MARTON was deeply mor- tified at the failure of his plans in regard to Agnes Melville, and left the house highly indignant, and by no means disposed to abandon the pursuit. After walking for a time in the open air to give his excited feelings an oppor- tunity to regain their wonted level, he returned to his quarters. He had not been seated long, when' Doctor Montague, an intimate friend of the colonel's, and a well-known tory, made his appearance. It is not necessary to our purpose to describe particularly the personal appearance of this dis- ciple of Esculapius. He was a man of thirty, with a portlygperson, a rubicund face, much natural good humor, and, apparently, consid- erable'pedantry. He was disposed,' like many of his profession, to :bring professional techni- calities into common conversation rather too freely, though usually in an apt and wellmean- ing way. Farther insight into his character the reader must excuse us from giving at this time, save what may be gathered from the following conversation. "Colonel, your facial musdles indicate ill- humor. Some derangement of the mental sys- tem?" said the doctor, with characteristic cool- ness. "That's my affair," retorted the colonel, tartly. "Hum, rather bilious," said the doctor. "Something sedative is required." "Doctor, I am in bad humor. Things have not gone to suit me." "Some love affair-an affection of the heart?" "Correct, for once in your life, my learned Galen," rejoined Marton. "The complaint has taken an unfavorable turn; the remedies employed have not proved efficacious, and in short have only served to ag- -gravate the disease." "Your diagnosis is very good,- so far; but what does it all amount to, as long as- you can- not minister to a mind diseased?" "If you expect any relief from my skill, you must confide in me unreservedly. I must know the origin and progress of the disorder, whether page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] it be chronic or acute, and how much the symp- toms inconvenience you; that is, if your suffer greatly from the attack." Martom was silent a moment, in which he ap- peared to be debating some question of expe- dieny in his mind. At length he aroused him- self, and gave his hand frankly to Doctor Mon- 'tague. "I will confide in you fully, my dear sir. I am madly in love, and my passion meets with no grateful return." "What is the name of your fair enslaver?"^ "Agnes Melville." "You surprise me, colonel," said the doctor, with a start. "Do you know her?" "I have just come from Melville's, sir." "Tou "? "Exactly." "Professionally?" "Yes; I am not violently in love yet." "But who is ill?" "Mrs. Melville."' "What ails her?" "Well, I should say there had been some : ndue excitement of the nervous system. There i seems to be a tendency to hysteria, together i with-" ] "Then she is really under your treatment?" exclaimed Marton. ' "Nothing can be more real, I assure you." ;"Swear to me that you do not love Agnes." "I am not conscious of any uneasiness about i the pericordium," said the doctor, with profes- d sional gravity. "Do you feel disposed to be my friend?" "I must confess, colonel, that I. do feel deci- ( ded symptoms of friendship," replied the doctor, looking searchingly at the colonel. i "In the first place, you must know, doctor, r that:I cannot expect to obtain Agnes Melville ] by fair means. . I may say without exaggeration, I that she literally shrinks from me with unfeigned c terror; and this unfounded repugnance I find it b impossible to overcome." "You must resort to a ruse de guerre." a "I have tried that once and it failed; though o - it came very near succeeding, and I think it r would have been quite successful, if-her brother had not made his escape." "I guess at the plot; you tried to make his release the price of her hand?"' said Montague, carelessly. "Most true, and when I went after my friend. the chaplain, I learned, to my dismay, that- the prisoner had escaped. I hurried back, but found the' tables completely turned. The young lady who had, I suspect, been instrumental in young Melville's escape, was there to thwart me most effectually. I retired from the field beaten at every point." "She consented to your proposal when she thought her brother's safety depended upon it?" "She did." " "Then you are probably anxious to get him into your power again?" "That is the very thing I wish to accomplish, and I think with yours aid I can do it." "I shall listen with interest to your pro- posal." "The rebel spy is strongly attached to his mother and sister. Now if they were sick, or in danger, would it not be rational to suppose, if he were notified of the fact, that he would risk his life to see them?" "I presume we may safely prognosticate such an event," said the doctor. "Believing his mother or sister to be near death, he would attempt by some means, or in some disguise, to enter the town ; and as he has done it once successfully, he might again." "But are you sure, colonel, that he has es- caped from the city? He must assuredly be concealed somewhere within its precincts," "That is probably the case ; but I am rather inclined to the opinion that he will contrive to reach the rebel camp before the sun rises again. Let this be as it may; if he is in the town of Boston, there are enough to keep him apprised of the conidition of his mother and .sister. If he eludes the vigilance of the outpost, and reaches the rebel lines, we can still continue to advise him of his mother's dangerous illness, and of her desire to embrace her first-born before she goes the way of all the earth. A prisoner may be exchanged, for instance, who would willingly bear the tidings." "Very good, but very villanous," said the doctor, coolly'. "And shall be made very profitable to the friend who assists me," added Marton. "You are skilful, doctor, in use of drugs and medica- ments of all kinds. You doubtless know of ,some medicine that would produce a sudden sinking of the vital energies--a general and alarming prostration of the powers of life, with- out producing death." Doctor Montague hesitated and seemed a lit- tle nervous. "I do," he said at length, with a slight change of color. "During one of those alarming prostrations, were you to signify your willingness to forward a letter to her rebel son, the fair daughter would lose no time in writing one." "That appears no more than reasonable, colonel." "After that event, the house should be con- stantly watched, ,and no person should enter it without my knowledge. If his filial feelings preponderate over all other considerations, he will certainly throw imself into my power; and then I shall possess a most powerful instrument for controlling the actions of the too fair yet in- corrigible Agnes." "Your, plan is well laid, and if you expe- rience no softening of that strong muscle called the heart, it must succeed." "No danger of that, doctor. May I rely upon you?" "You may, undoubtedly." "Take this purse, my friend, and remember that it is but a tithe of what you shall receive, if all goes on as I wish." "Nay, colonel, keep your money until after the service is rendered. It's a poor pay-mas- ter, they say, that pays before his work, is done." "As you will; it matters not to me. Prove my, friend, and you shall be entitled to my warm- est friendship, and any reward you may please to name." "Very good; reckon upon my aid. I will produce the sudden prostration--the sinkinE of the vital energies-the difficult respiration-the feeble pulsations at the wrist-the lazy motions of the heart--coldness of the extremities, and that startling pallidness that heralds the approach of dissolution. Leave it all to me. Pour me another glass of wine, if you please. Let us drink the health of the fair Agnes Melville." The health of Agnes was drunk, and then Doctor Montague took leave of the colonel. page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] CHAPTER VIl. BATTLE OF BUNKER HLL. i;HE RWOOD MELVILLE and Edward y Day we;e in the ret4ubt at Bunker Hill. I 'wiamnow one o'cdacl. They had witnessed the embarkation of the grenadiers and light- infntty at Long Wharf and the North Battery, and their brilliant landing at Mbulton's Point. With veteran promptness and regularity, the British troops formed into three lines and re- mained at rest, while General Howe reconnoi- tered the American works. It was indeed an imposing scene. Thousands of spectators were gathering upon all the sur- rounding heights, and upon the tops of houses, to witness the grand conflict. The artillery redoubled its roar from floating batteries and the shipping, and the bright arms of the British veterans gleamed gloriously in the rays of the meridian sun. "It is a stirring scene," observed Sherwood. "And one that will long be remembered," returned Edward. "Those troops- present a noble front, and are thoroughly disciplined, while our poor fellows, many of them, never went through a regular drill in their lives." "But they will fight for their homes, their wives, their children, -and their, sweethearts," said Sherwood. "Do you not see that the arrangements of General Howe are admirable. The Lively and the Falcon are sweeping the low grounds in front of Breed's Hill. The Somerset and two :floating batteries at the ferry, and the battery on Copp's Hill, are playing incessantly upon our works. i The Glasgow frigate and the Symmetry transport are anchored higher up the river, and rake the Neck with their balls." "Our troops stand the fire very well though," remarked Sherwood. "Yes, but there will be hot work here soon." I know it, aan I am glad the time draws near. One thing I would say to you before we meet yonder troops," continued Sherwood. "From the first moment of our meeting I have felt for you a brotherly regard. Promise me, that should I fall in the fight, and you survive, that you will make some inquiries, should op- portunity ever offer, in relation to the. gentle being that saved my life. Should You ever meet her, assure her that I thought of her to the last." "I will do so, should you fall; but I trust you will yet have a chance to tell her yourself. What was her name?" "I do not know; I did, not think to ask. Her beauty and goodness bewilderedime." s' Does not Davie Dixon know her?" "No better than myself. A whig friend by the name of Hill secreted him after he had reach- ed the town in the same 'manner I had done. Knowing that Hill was a patriot, this charming girl, it would seem, .had informed him of the plan for my release, and Dixon had assisted without knowing the name of the lady." "I am acquainted with Mr. Hill," replied Edward. "I have often heard him express his opinions freely in regard to political matters. It, was fortunate that your fair benefactress found so able an ally." "I have two dear friends in yonder town, that I cannot help thinking of at this eventful mo- ment-,-a mother and sister," added Sherwood. "The former is a model of female heroism, and the latter fair and amiable. For the life of me, I cannot but think of their lonely and unprotect- ed situation. And this is not all that makes me uneasy. The beauty of Agnes has already attracted the attention of a British officer, and that ,circumstance makes me tremble for her safety." "I sympathize with you,' truly," said Ed- ward. "But see," he immediately added, "the barges of the enemy are returning to Bos- ton for reinforcements." ( "And it is full time," added-Sherwood, "for our expected reinforcements from Qambridge to ( arrive." - \ "Look, there is Dr. Warren. Heleapsinto t the redoubt with a musket in his hand. He is a hdt within himself. The men cheer him to j the very echo. Noble fellow!" "And there comes 'old Put,' as the :men i call him. He seems ubiquitous. See I he gal- I lops the whole length of the lines, regardless of the severe cannonade. He rides up to Prescott e who stands calmly upon the parapet. They m D e confer earnestly together. Heaven shield him- a cannon ball strikes at his feet. They stand t unmoved, and seem unconscious of the fact. Who. can conquer a people who have such brave leaders?" At three o'clock the barges returned with reinforcements, making in all three thousand troops, the flower of the British army. They rformed at the old Battery and Mardlin's ship- yard, and marched towards the American works; and did not join the troops at Moulton's Point.. That fatal march up the hill is well known. In two divisions, one under General Howe, and the other under General Pigot, they moved steadily forward. The royal bands played a lively march, and the heavy columns of Old England presented an imposing front to the continental army. "Steady, men! 'steady!" shouted Prescott. "Reserve your fire until the word is given. Keep cool--fire low!" "Come up, Congressi 'Give it to the 'tar- nal critters!" cried a well-known voice. Both Sherwood and Edward looked up in surprise, and saw Davie Dixon approaching at a gallop, upon his favorite steed, with his long, rusty musket in his hand, and evidently impatient for the fight. "Come into the redoubt!" shouted Sher- wood. "I never fight under kiver," replied Dixon, pulling up Congress with a jerk. "I'm agoin' to meet 'em in open field, and show 'em what Yankee grit is. I'm-a mounted ranger, and the defender of human rights." "You'll be shot down if you venture farther," continued Sherwood, earnestly. "Go it, Congress!" shouted Davie, and the thin, angular looking beast put his nose to the ground and gallopped the whole length of the American lines at an extraordinary speed, while six, twelve and twenty-four pounders were tear- ing up the earth around him in every direction. In a short time he came back again unharmed. "What a strange genius!" exclaimed Gen- eral Putnam, who happened to be near Sher- wood at that moment. "He seems to care nothing about cannon balls." page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] "And who would imagine that bony looking horse could get over the ground with such speed?' remarked Edward. "But it is not a bad thing he is doing, though. It will encour- ace the men, and make them care less for the enemy's large guns." "/Here's the place for Congress and I," said Davie, reining up near a tree. which stood in an angle of the redoubt. "The critters are a com- in', shoulder to shoulder, firm and steady. JehosaphatI how bright their shootin' sticks are. Congress hold up your head, and look at the enemy." Obedient to his master's wish, Congress rais- ed his head higher than the oldest inhabitant remembered having seen it before. The officers now encouraged the men, and directed them to be particular about reserving their fire. On came the devoted ranks of Old England, doomed men, who were to finish the march of life that day upon the soil of Bunker Hill;' men who held the provincials in contempt, and look- ed forward to an easy victory. The tall form of Prescott still towered upon the parapet, and his voice tang along the lines like the tones of a trumpet. "Let them come, my brave boys 1"Follow my directions, and but few of them will return." At that moment the brave Putnam leaped from the redoubt, and running along the parapet, kicked up the guns of some of the soldiers who were about to fire. "I will out down the first man who fires without the orders of General Prescott!" he shouted, in tones of thunder. An almost breathless silence now reigned in the redoubt. The regular tread of the enemy could now be heard. "Steady, Congress, steady!" said Davie. "Keep your eye on the enemy." "Cool, upon my word," observed Edward, with a laugh. "Fellow soldiers I there are our enemies. Remember -the wrongs we have suffered at their hands. Ready, aim, FIRE!" A stream of smoke, flame and death leaped ! from the American lines. The front ranks of the enemy wavered and sank down almost to a man, and others coming up shared their fate. "Hurra for the continental Congress! aim at the red-coats!" shouted Davie Dixon, loading and firing with great rapidity. Being no longer able to stand the destructive fire of the Americans, the British troops retreat- ed in disorder, which event tas hailed with ex- ulting cheers by the patriots. We need not dwell upon a scene the details of which are so generally known. ' The firing of Charlestown, the second formation of- the royal troops, and their second repulse speedily follow- ed. The hillside so recently green with grass, was now slippery with blood, and literally cov- ered with dead bodies. Sherwood and Edward fought side by side, and cheered and encouraged the men by their words and example. Their hearts swelled with pride and joy when they saw the English veterans flying before their fire. "Perhaps," said Sherwood to himself, as he looked towards the town of Boston, and saw the house tops covered with human beings, " perhaps my fair benefactress watches the fortunes of the battle, and sees all these stirring events?' He was right. Marion and her father had ascended to the roof of a dwelling favorable for the purpose, and with powerful glasses observed with anxious hearts all the movements of the combatants. "And my excellent mother and Agnes are doubtless watching this terrible struggle," he added. "Every discharge of cannon and- mus- ketry will make them tremble for my safety. But it is a glorious day for the friends of .lib- erty." Charlestown was now in a blaze, having been set on fire by a shell at the commencement of the action. Vast columns of smoke went wheel- ing up into the skies, hanging like an immense funeral pall over the devoted town. Luridflames ran wildly from street to street, involving all!n general ruin, and, added to the movements of the troops, the roar -of cannon and musketry, and other accompaniments of the battle, presented one of the grandest scenes imaginable. "They do honor to the service," said Mr. Day to Marion, as he watched the first march up the hill. "Do you suppose they will dislodge them, father?" asked Marion. "Can you doubt it? I should- not be sur- prised if they took possession of the Heights without firing, a gun. See, they are almost at the works now, and the rebels have not dis- charged a single piece from the redoubt. While Mr. Day was speaking the 'Americans sent forth a stream of death, prostrating whole ranks of the British troops. "Look!" exclaimed Marion, seizing her father's arm nervously. "Cannot the Ameri- cans fight? Do you not see the columns of the royal army waver and give ground? Do you not see them falling like leaves in autumn, be- fore the well directed -fire of those whom they have affected to despise? Deceive yourself no longer, my dear father. Confess that the pa- triots are brave." Mr. Day made no immediate reply, but trem- bled violently as he gazed at the scene of con- flict. "Good heavens!" he cried at length. "The British are actually retreating in great disorder. It is disgraceful-shockingly disgraceful!" "But do you not observe that the field is literally covered with the dead, and wounded, and dying? And those fine looking officers who went so gallantly to the attack: where are they now?" -"Picked off by those accursed marksmen- murdered-killed--and left in heaps!" rejoined Mr. Day, painfully excited. "Do you remember, father, that Edward is there?" "Don't speak of him, daughter: I beg of you not to speak of him," returned her father. ' An exclamation of surprise from some one at s hor side caused Marion to look around. Agnes 1 Melville stood near her, watching the events of a the battle. Our heroine instantly approached C and took- her hand in a kind and affectionate a manner. "I am truly glad to meet you," she remark- h ed. "What a dreadful day!" * "Yes," said Agnes, " terrible indeed to those , who have friends there. I hope you have not suffered for assisting Sherwood to escape?" she '- added, in a lower tone. 3 "I have not yet, certainly. And Alice re- t turned to me, safe and sound, rejoicing in what ' she had done." "I can never express to you, Miss Day, the 3 gratitude I feel. You have saved the life of k Sherwood, and me from a fate worse than death." . "The troops are going up the hill again," said Mr. Day. . The two young ladies, with their arms closely interlaced, now directed their attention, exclu- sively to the movements of the combatants. They saw them beaten back the second time with greater loss than before, with emotions which it would be in vain to attempt to describe. When they went to the attack the third time, they had lost their contempt of the enemy, and needed to be forced forward by the officers, who pricked them with thehr swords. "They approach the redoubt-they receive the fire of the Americans-the columns waver- the officers urge and cheer them on-they reach the entrenchments!" exclaimed Marion. "I see a figure that looks like his," she add- ed. "He stands upon the -parapet, and now the smoke and dust hide him from my sight, and the fight thickens about the spot where he stood." " Who do you mean?" asked Agnes, quickly. "Your brother, "she said, with a blush. "Perhaps it was Prescott," answered Agnes. "tHe has a noble figure."* Marion made no reply. x The tall, commanding form of Prescott was ob- served by General Gage, as he was reconnoitering the Americans through his glass, who inquired of Coun- cillor Willard, near him, "Who the person was who appeared to command?" Willard recognized his brother-in-law. "Will he fight?" again inquired Gage. "Yes, sir; he is an old soldier, and will fight as long as a drop of blood remains in his veins 1" "The works must be carried," was the reply.- Siege of Boston. I. page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] '"The scene is indeed grand and terrific," continued Agnes. "See the flames shooting up from the burning town; it looks like a sda of fire. And now the combatants are, indis- ariminately mixed together; you cannot distin- guish friend from foe." "The redoubt is carried 1" cried Mr. Day. "The Americans fly. Hurra, for the chivalry of Old England!" !"But it is more like a defeat than a victory," said Marion, in a low voice. "Upon my honor! you are right, young lady," said an individual, who, amid the ex- citement of the animated scene, had not been noticed. Marion looked at the speaker, but made no answer. They ae making work for us professional men," he added. "Yes." said Agnes, timidly. "How is Mrs. Melville, to-day-' he asked. "She appears to be gaining a little, doctor." "I' am truly glad to hear it. If anything should happen-if she should suddenly relapse, lose no time iua apprising me of the circum- stance." "You are very good, Dr. Montague. I will not fail to follow your directions." "I feel an extraordinary interest in her case," rejoined the doctor. "-She suffers from one of those nervous, fluctuating diseases which arise from a constitution naturally delicate. I shall exert myself to the utmost to keep her from sinking." "I am sure I shall be very grateful," mur-' mured Agnes. Dr. Montague bowed, and while pretending to look towards the hill, examined the figures of the two young ladies. His eyes rested ad- miringly upon the gracefully rounded shoulders, the elegantly turned ankle, the unexceptionable waist, and the incomparable symmetry of the whole outline. "Splendid creatures!" he muttered, and continued to watch the maidens until they left the spot. CHAPTER IX. AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERIiY. IT was the 18th of June. The roar of can- non had not ceased. Clouds of smoke still hung over the smouldering ruins of Charles- town. A picket guard of two hundred men had been stationed at the Neck, anotherat Moulton's Point, and at the old ferry. Houseless women and'children were seen running in all directions, fearfully excited with the horrors of the day. The dead were being buried by hundreds in holes liollowed for the purpose; while the wounded and dying were being conveyed front the field in carts and vehicles of every descrip- tion Never before was such a Sabbath day' witnessed at Massachusetts Bay. Sherwood Melville had been separated from Eidward during the fight after the enemy had entered the redoubt. He fought bravely, and was among the last to leave the works. So dense was the smoke and dust that it was with great difficulty that he could distinguish friend from foe. As he passed out of the entrench. ments, fighting his way through the ranks of the British troops who had partially succeeded in surrounding them, he encountered an officer, / whose face did not seem unfamiliar, and who made a furious attack upon him with his swordi and called out to his men to make him a pris- oner at any hazards. Sherwood parried his thrust with his musket, and aiming a blow at him with all his force, was so fortunate as to strike Whim down. But the enemy closed up around him, and he certainly would have capture d him, had not Davie Dixon suddenly came to his assistance. "Go it, Congress!" he shouted, at the top of his voice. The thin and bony animal seem- ed suddenly possessed of the spirit of -ome fighting devil; he reared, struck with his fore feet, kicked, snorted and bit at the common enemy, while his master laid about him with his. musket, clearing a space around Sherwcod in an incredibly short space of time. . But for this fortunate interposition, our hero would have been taken. -He returned with' the rest to Cambridge, where we again resume our story. Fatigued'with his recent exertions he threw himself down and slept when he had reached the American camp, regardless of the din of cannon, page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] and the bursting of shells which were occasion- ally thrown within the lines. It was an hour unfavorable to rest, but he had done his duty, and " tired nature" had need of the "sweet restorer." He awoke in the morning greatly refreshed. Around him, still sleeping, lay many of those who had worked all the night previous, and fought at the hill. Great numbers were wound- ed, and all were covered with the smoke and dust of battle. t was in vain that Sherwood searched for Edward; he could not be found. From General Putnam he learned what had taken place during the night. Nothing of any importance had transpired; but they were in momentary expectation that the British troops would attack Cambridge. Sherwood, anxious for the fate of his new friend, walked nervously from tent to tent, beholding in each some dire- ful memento of war. Discouraged at length, he sat down upon a gun, at the left wing of the army, not far from Plowed Hill. He relapsed into a reverie, which neither the thunder of the Glasgow's guns nor the busy hum and bustle around him could disturb. Gentle reader, he-was thinking of Marion Day. It was now near noon. Sherwood aroused himselfia little from the spell which had been on him for the last hour. Some intoxicated soldiers were approaching, heaping many abusive epithets upon a lad which one of them was drag- ging along by the arm in no gentle manner. "Come on, sir," said the soldier, roughly. "We'll see what the general will say to such a fellow." "What has the boy done?" asked Sherwood, ever keenly alive to the misfortunes of others. "Why, bless your simple heart, sir, he's a spy," replied the soldier, with a drunken swag- ger. "He certainly does not look like'a spy," said Sherwood, looking at the trembling lad. "You can't tell nothing by looks now-a-days, I mister. This smooth-faced little rascal is direct- ly from the enemy's camp. How did he pass a picket guard of two hundred strong, unless he i was sent?" "Why he probably got a pass from the gern eral," replied our hero. "That lad is too young, and his face, what I can see of it, too frank and honest in its expression, to be engaged in such an enterprise. Pray, my good fellow, use him more tenderly. My lad, what have you to say?" The boy endeavored to collect himself, and appear unconcerned; but it,was easy to see that he was thoroughly frightened. "Good sir," he answered, with considerable assurance, " you have judged me rightly, and these well-meaning men have mistaken my char- acter and purpose. I have friends in the Ameri- can camp, and General Gage was kind enough to give!me a pass; this explains why you see me here." "Your ingenuous manner convinces me that you speak the truth. My good friends, I will be responsible for this youth," said Sherwood. "He's no true man," muttered the soldier, as he reluctantly relinquished the boy's arm and pursued his way with his companions. "Come here, my lad," resumed Sherwood. "Sit down upon this gun-carriage and rest yourself." The boy hesitated a moment, and then rather reluctantly complied, still trembling and agitated, and with his cap pulled low over his forehead. "The horrors you have witnessed this day have nearly unnerved you. Try to compose yourself." "Yes, such a destruction of human life ap- pals me i I have met hundreds of \he wound- ed, on my way hither," replied the lad, with a shudder. Sherwood turned and regarded the boy attend tively. His voice did not sound wholly strange to him. "Cease to think of what you have witnessed. Calm yourself. I will be your protector-your cicerone, if you wish it. Take my arm and lean,on me; you are tired, I perceive. I will conduct you to your friends." The youth arose add timidly placed his arm within Sherwood's. "Fie, my boy! have' more courage; you tremble like a woman. You would make but a ehieklen-hearted soldier," he added. "Pardon me, and do not judge hastily," he answered, with a smile. "I shall recover from the shock presently. But be good enough to tell me how you could go to sleep upon that gun, and all this noise going on around you." "I was not asleep,"' said Sherwood. "I was thinking." "Of what were you thinking?" "I am not sure that it would be best to tell "And why not?" "I was thinking of an angel, boy." "Is it possible!" exclaimed the youth. "I never saw one in my life." Sherwood smiled at the simplicity of his com- panion. "I have been more fortunate than you, then." "You have actually seen one, sir?" "I have." "Do tell me how he looked?" H"He i it was not a he-it was a female." "A female angel!" "Silly boy! - I mean a beautiful woman." "O, how stupid I am. I niever heard wo- men called angels before. Isuppose you called her so because she was pretty?" "Not simply because she was surpassingly lovely, good youth, but because she was super- latively good also. She saved my life. And since that time her fair image has not been ab- sent from my mind for a moment; it is ever present with me-in sleeping, dreaming, or waking.. Boy, I worship her; but why should I talk thus to you;i you are yet too young to know aught of love." While Sherwood was 'speaking, the arm of the youth trembled vio- lently in his. "Not quite so bad as that, sir. One of my cousins is in love, and she makes me her con- fidant." "She's rather indiscreet, I should say," re- thmed Sherwood. "She entertains a different opinion. But will you please tell me what it is to love?" E ,i a "It is an emotion that cannot be perfectly described. It is a sentiment often talked of, 6 and often profaned. If you would love truly, i you must imagine that the object of your adora- i tion is entirely worthy of your homage. She must realize your conceptions of a perfect wo- man. Such is the being that has thrown that gentle spell over my spirit, which shall prove as enduring as the spirit itself." "Could you love a woman that was not' fair?" "The beloved object always appears fair to him in whom she has inspired the tender senti- ment." "How very strange that people will so de- lude thenselves!" "Why so?" "Because woman is no divmity; she is but dust and ashes like the rest of mankind." "What singular notions for a mere youth to indulge in; but I can pardon you, for you never saw the gentle being who engrosses all my thoughts."' "I suppose it would be very improper for me to ask the name of your divinity, as you call her?" "Upon that subject I cannot enlighten you. I do not know her name; it's a pretty one, I have no doubt. But you are trembling again; my good youth. A chicken-hearted fellow, upon my word." The lad made no answer. "Who are you seeking in the American camp?" asked Sherwood, glancing once more, with an inquisitive eye, at his companion, whose symmetrical figure seemed to attract his admira- tion. "Edward Day," replied the youth, with some embarrassment of manner. "I have been in search of him for some time without success. He is a friend of mine." "I fear he .is among the slain!" exclaimed the youth, with much emotion. "I trust not," said our hero, .somewhat sur- prised at the change in his young friend's de- portment. At that instant a horseman approach- ed the parties. It was General Putnam. page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] "Have you heard anything of Mr. Day, gen- eral2?" inquired Sherwood. "I have not; I fear he was killed in the re- doubt." When the youth heard- these words he shriek- ed loudly, and would have fallen had our hero not caught him in his arms. "Poor fellow," he said, and carried his now insensible burden into the nearest tent. Depo- 'siting him gently upon a soldier's blanket, he removed his cap. Long, silken ringlets fell loosely down upon the shoulders; a brow of spotless purity, a fair 'face and neck, and the swelling outlines of the bosom, told the sex of the unconscious one. Sherwood gazed at the fair creature whose- head rested upon his arm, with unspeakable, emotions; for he recognized his unknown bene- factress. That he experienced sensations of tumultuous pleasure, we cannot doubt; but there came a chilling thought to mar his sudden happiness. The woman that he supported in his arms loved Edward Day. Had he not suffi- cient proof of it? Had not her agitation, and her relapse into insensibility, proved her inter- est in his new friend? Marion came gradually back to a conscious- ness of her situation. A deep and-crimson blush mantled her face and enhanced a beauty which was tuffieiently bewildering before. "You have discovered my sex," she said, faintly. "But I do assure you, Mr. Melville, that no unworthy motive induced me to this step. Edward Day is my only brother." Sherwood felt that a great load was lifted from his beart. "Do not believe for an' instant, Miss Day, that I could attribute to you any motives but the noblest and purest. I can -well imagine that a solicitude for the safety of an only brother might tempt a nature like yours to dare danger and insult. Reassure yourself. Your brother could not be more anxious for your safety and honor than the person who now addresses you." "I am very grateful," said Marion. "While ignorant of your sex and identity, I gave utterance to words that may have been deeply offensive. Here, on my knees, I beg you to forgive me; but though I hazard your displeasure a second time, I do earnestly and sincerely declare that I did not express a thou- sandth part of the love which your excellence of heart, purity of mind, and beauty of person have inspired. I may never, -perchance, have the, opportunity of speaking to you again on this subject, and I cannot refrain from expressing my sentiments with freedom. I owe Lou my life. What should I have been to-day, had it not been for you? I should have passed that dread and terrible ordeal which all men instinc- tively shrink from. A mother and sister would have wept for me. But it is not gratitude alone that I feel; the sentiment that you have inspired is far stronger-the strongest that can sway the heart of a human being. I should have loved you when first beholding you, even had you not saved my life. To win my heart, you had only to appear. I see that this theme displeases you. You turn from me, perhaps with disgust. You think me ungenerous to speak thus at a moment like this-to take advantage of your lonely and unprotected situation. But- I call heaven- to witness that you are as safe, and as much res- pected and beloved here, and in the guise you are now in, as you would be in your father's house." Marion Day arose with dignity, but -not with the air of one offended. Sherwood respectfully tendered her a cloak, which she wrapped closely about her person. "That your views are honorable, and your love of that pure and exalted kind that woman should desire, I doubt not," she said, kindly, "but I must be frank with you. I will not trust myself to confess how much my heart is pleased and flattered by your preference; it were perhaps unmaidenly to own that it pleads for you. I were not a woman not to be moved by your eloquence. It pains my whole nature to aver that there are barriers between uq that can never be overstepped." "* What do I hear!" exclaimed Sherwood. "Retract those cruel words. Say that there is a remote possibility that you may be to me all that I desire." "Ican extend to you no such assurance. Stifle your regrets. Cease to think of one who can be nothing to you." "Tell me the worst-confess that your affec- tions are Already engaged, if such be the truth."' "Such is not the case; but a cruel web of circumstances has thrown me into the power of another. I can no longer control my own ac- tions. I have become what I shudder to con- fess-a mere machine- a slave-a creature to minister to the caprices, of one unworthy any claoims to humanity. Cease then to address me upon this painful theme. I honor-I res- pect, and-and perhaps I do even more. After saying so much at this,. I feel that honor will compel you to silence." Sherwood had knelt at her feet while she was speaking, and kissed the little hand which she did not withdraw, and dropped tears upon it. Her own voice trembled, and her bosom was agitated with strong emotions. Her face had never appeared more angelic to Sherwood. "Your words and manner assure me that you are the victim of some cruel plot. I will not cease to think of you-I will not give you up. I will attempt to fathom the mystery that hangs over you, and makes you the creature of anoth- er's will. I devote my life to this task," he re- joined, his handsome face glowing with love. 4 "Devote your life to your country; she needs , you," replied Marion. "I will devote myself to both you and my country. " "' I do wrong," answered Marion, "in forget- ting for a moment, the true object of my jour- F ney hither in this uncomely guise. You must be aware that the feeling that prompted me to - dare all the horrors I have witnessed this day, could not have been a common one." "I am not insensible of it. I will leave no means untried to discover the fate of your broth- er. Repose here until I return. No one will disturb you. I will make farther inquiries." "I will remain," said Marion. "Your as- surances are sufficient to make me feel safe." "You do me honor. Cease to feel so pain- fully embarrassed in those garments. Believe that you aie fully understood and appreciated." Marion again expressed her gratitude at such generosity, and Sherwood left her. When, after the lapse of an hour, he return- ed, he was strongly of the opinion that the ob- ject of their mutual solicitude had been taken prisoner at the redoubt. Somewhat comforted by the assurances of Sherwood, she set out on her return to Boston, Sherwood accompanying her beyond the Ameri- can advance guard, where they separated. page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] CHAPTER X. THE ARREST. W ITH the- permission. of the indulgent reader, we will iow. follow the for- tunes of Agnes Melville. While the scenes we have been attempting to describe were transpir- ing at Cambridge, she was seated at the bedside of her mother, who was still feeble. We scarce- ly need say that they were painfully anxious to learn the fate of Sherwood-if he had survived the battle-if he were wounded or captured. Thinking it pos-ible that some opportunity might present itself for sending him a few lines ex- pressive of her fears for his safety, of heyr moth- er's health, and the condition of affairs -in the town, she wrote the following epistle. "Boston, June 18, 1775. "DEAR SHERWOOD,-Extreme anxiety to hear what has been your fate induces me to ,write these lines, in hopes, if you are living, they may reach you ;; and if you have perished, ,that they may ,fall into the hands of some friend who will kindly forward us such particulars as ,may have come within -his knowledge. Every- thing is in confusion here. Pale and anxious ifaces are seen hurrying from street to street, andcl cores of wounded men are hourly carried \s? ' ' , by our dwelling. The British troops are com- pletely dispirited. They begin, at last, to res- peet the enemies which they have so long held in contempt. You may possilily entertain fears that they will march to Cambridge-and that another great battle will ensue; but such' will not be the case. The troops are so dreadfully cut up by the conflict of yesterday, that they are in no condition to act on the offensive. They actually fear an attack 'from the Americans; and if they can keep possession of Boston, they will be fully satisfied, without attempting to car- ly the war out of town. Though but a woman, little versed in the arts of war, I think that time will prove that my conclusions' are joist. fOur mother is quite ill. Her nervous system re- ce ived a severe shock on the kixtec nth. I will not write the particulars of that eventful day, not knowing that these lines will ever meet your eye; but should they be so fortunate as to reach you, endeavor by some means, without exposing yourself to danger, to advise us of your safety. Begging God's blessing upon a cause Eo just as ours, I remain, "Your affectionate sister, AGNES. " Miss Melville-folded, sealed, and directed this letter, and laid it upon the table. Before she had arisen from her seat, the door was un- ceremoniously opened and a British officer en- tered. He bowed stiffly, and said: "Miss Melville, I have come by the orders of a superior officer to arrest and put you under some restraint; as you are strongly suspected of holding treasonable correspondence with the rebels. " Agnes instinctively stretched out her hand to take the letter upon the table; but the officer anticipated the movement, arrested her arm by a gentle grasp, and quickly put the missive in his pocket. "Pardon me,"he added, respectful!y; "I am obeying orders. But, believe me, lady, I would have preferred, had my feelings been con- sulted, that Qome other person had performed this, to me, disagreeable duty. The rebellion has now assumed such a dangerous aspect, that our general deems it his duty to adopt more ;prompt and stringent measures than here- 1 tofore. " "Who has accused me of conveying impor- tant intelligence to the American camp?" asked Agnes. "I am permitted to answer no questions, Miss Melville ; but I own that it would give me pleas- ure to. Will you oblige me by making your- v self ready to accompany me?" k ",But tell me, sir, since you have the air and r bearing of a gentleman, how am I .to leave my I sick mother?" . "You perceive, young lady, thatI am placed b in an embarrassinig position," replied the officer r (who was young and handsome), bowing. M "I Were I to follow the dictates of my own heart, you should;-command, I would obey; but the g usages of war have placed me in a situation y where gallantry must be dispensed with." b( "And humanity, also, you might, have added, e: sir, I presume," rejoined Agnes, with dignity. la "Miss Melville, you do me injustice. I pro- st test that what I am doing is against every dic- tate of my heart !" exclaimed the officer, really da distressed. To . r1 ad "Then show me, a little mercy. Do not take 'e me from the bedside of a sick and: suffering a- mother. Let a guard be placed over me, if yo4 i- will. Station your soldiers about the dwelling in such a manner as. to cut off all communica. s tion with the street, but I appeal to your honor r and humanity as a man, not to tear me from ,f one who needs all my attention, upon a charge e so groundless." "You move me. I cannot witness your die, ) tress without emotion. I --will leave my men r here, and hasten to my superior officer, to ask ithe favor you desire. I will pledge to him my 3 word that you will not attempt to escape." "I have wronged you, sir. I perceive that you may justly claim the title of gentleman. I am guilty of no crime, and therefore you may rest assured that I shall not attempt to escape." The officer immediately withdrew, and return- ed in a short time with the gratifying intelli- gence that by the intercession of Colonel Marxtoln her request had been granted. Accordingly two soldiers were left to guard the fair prisoner and to prevent her from communicating with any' % one without especial orders. . Thankful that she had not been committed to0 prison, she hastened to inform her mother of all t"Lt had happened. "We may thank Colonel Marton for this ser-' vice," said Mrs. Melville, when she had heard her daughter to the end. !"We seem to be wholly in the power of that wicked man. Heaven knows whatmay result from his machi-' nations. Attracted by your beauty, urged on- by his own depraved nature, favored by his rank and position, and circumstances generally, what may we not apprehend that is dreadful!" "The clouds of misfortune indeed seem tX gather over our heads; but we must not weakly yield to despair. Let us do all in our power to bear up under our sorrows, and - when we 'havg exerted ourselves to the utmost, we may .afelyi look to a higher power for help," said Agnes, struggling to appear calm before ,her mother. Mrs. Melville looked compassionately at her daughter. . ' "My poor Agnes," sheadded, gently. "God page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] forbid that I should murmur. It is for you E only that my heart is anxious. I see you pa- n tient and uncomplaining, striving with heroic fortitude to appear unconscious of the danger i thdi! menaces you. But the truth cannot and must not be disguised. It is but too evident that-you are to be kept a prisoner here until the designs of Marton are accomplished. This is no longer for you a place of safety. Even the sanctity of a mother's presence cannot save you. You must not remain here-you must escape, to the American camp." "But that cannot be, mother. The house is dosely guarded. Look towards the window and you will see a sentinel pass it at measured intervals. You are sick,and I could not leaye you were the danger ten'times as great." "You might sacrifice your life for a parent, Agnes, but not your honor; such a sacrifice I would not accept; death would be far prefer- able. I will arise from this bed and walk about, to' show you that I am quite strong again." Despite her daughter's tender remonstrances, Mrs. Melville arose, dressed herself, and really appeared better. But this apparent convales- cence lasted but a short time; before the expira- tion of an hour, she was forced to take her bed again. Towards evening she sank into a gentle repose, and Agnes was able to leave her' for a time and attend to her other duties. A gentle rap at the door attracted her atten- tion. With an' unsteady hand she lifted the latch, and the polite officer who had previous- ly visited her, placed a letter (the seal of which was broken) in her hand. She opened it, and read the following lines: "Mss MELVILLE,-A letter was forwarded to the American camp, this day (by the agency of a prisoner who was exchanged), directed to Sherwood Melville. It is my painful duty to inform you that he fell while fighting bravely on lOharlestown Heights yesterday. ', (Signed) ' ISRAEL PUTNAM." A film gathered over the eyes of Agnes. The paper dropped from her hand. With a suppressed cry she sank into a chair, over whelmed with the weight of this new:calamity.- Tears at length came to her relief, and she suf- fered them to fall unchecked. While paying this sorrowful tribute to the memory of Sherwood, she was not conscious that the door-had been softly opened, nor was she aroused from the first deep agony of her grief until she saw- Colonel Marton standing before her. "Pardonthis intrusion," Faid he, respect- fully. "I have come to say that your letter to your brother was forwarded by an exchanged prisoner, a few lines only having been effaced by the orders of the general." "I have the answer," replied Agnes with a fresh burst of grief. !"I can guess but too well its purport," add- ed Marton. "Those- tears assure me that he has perished in an unhappy cause." "We differ in opinion on that point," said Agnes, with more calmness. "We do, unfortunately," rejoined Marton. "Be good enough to leave me, Colonel Mar- ton. I would be alone with my grief," she added. I "I will leave you soon, Miss Melville," re- turned Martoin, with more deference than he had yet manifested towards her; "but not until I have apologized for my past rudeness. Prom- ise me that you will try to forget that I resorted ' to deception in order to make you mine?" "I will endeavor to," answered Agnes, sur- prised at the turn the conversation was taking, [ at that moment. "I deeply repent my rashness and folly. Let what I am now about to, say prove my sin- i cerity. Your brother is no more, and your y mother's wasting form admonishes you that soon ;o you will be without a protector. Allow me to ;o offer you honorable wedlock, in order that I n may be your lawful protector for life. Excuse, dear Agnes, the abruptness of this overture, but the deep remorse that I feel for my past error, forces me to hasten to make all the reparation s' in my power." a While the colonel was speaking, his voice trembled with agitation. He'covered his face with his hands, and knelt at the feet of Agnes. "Arise, sir!" she said, energetically. "You can no longer deceive me. The contempt which I feel for you is momentarily increasing. Believe me, I am not so simple as .to be moved by affect- ed penitence. Hasten to relieve me of your presence,- and you will do me the greatest of favors." "Do I then sue in vain? Have I indeed sinned past forgiveness!" exclaimed Marton. "I seorn to answer! Will you go, sir?" retorted Agnes, with increasing vehemence. a"Know then, foolish girl, that you are in my power!" cried the, colonel, springing to his feet. "Do you see those soldiers? they are under my authority. You cannot leave this place without permission. No chain of circumstances which you could possibly imagine, could commit your destinies more fully to. my control. I am of high rank in the army. You are (not without reason) suspected of holding treasonable cor- respondence with the enemy. I can enhance the coloring of this supposed crime, or I can les- sen it, as I may choose.: A guard is placed over you-your natural protector is dead-your mother will soon follow him, and you will be left alone. I can come and go at all hours. What then remains for you but submission?" "Your perfidy is without parallel, but it does not astonish me. From you I expect neither honor, justice, truth nor mercy," replied Agnes. "You may expect me at any hour!" retort- ed the colonel. Agnes trembled at the fearful signification of these words. They showed her how much she was in the power of this man. "You are agitated, Miss Melville," he added, with a mocking laugh. "Pray compose your- self. Imagine that I cannot at any time intrude upon the sanctity of your chamber. Suppose that the sleep of innocence will not be broken '?" Terror deprived Agnes of the power of re- plying to this unfeeling sarcasm. Footsteps were now heard, and immediately. Dr. Mon- tague made his' appearance; the sentinels hav- ing been previously instructed to allow him to i enter the house. He appeared surprised at eee- ing the colonel there; and the grief and agita. i tion of Agnes seemed to astonish him still more. I He looked sternly at Marton, and -then made inquiries respecting his patient's health, and the cause of her own sorrow; while the colonel bowed with affected politeness and withdrew. Agnes answered his questions as well as her perturbed state of mind would admit. "You can consider yourself little less than a prisoner at present," he remarked,' thoughtfully. Then he added quickly, with a smile, "You must be a very dangerous person. The colonel. has good reasons, doubtless, for these extraordi-. nary cautions?" "I believe I am innocent of the charges pre- ferred against me," she answered. !"I should say you are, so far as I can judge of the symnptoms of the case," returned the doctor. "Be kind enough to show me the letter which announced your brother's death." Agnes placed the note in his hand. He-ran his eyes over it and returned it quietly. "If I were in your place, I should indulge iln the hope that there is some mistake about this matter," he said, calmly. ' "If I dared'to hope it were not true!" ex- claimed Agnes, looking earnestly at the doctor. "Iope will suit your case as well as any- thingS" he returned, with professional gravity. "I prescribe large doses of it." The doctor took a pinch of snuff, and wenton: "Have you told your mother about this news 7" "I have not; she is sleeping." "Perhaps it would be as well to say nothing about it. It wouldn't do her any good." :"My-dear sir, you inspire me with hopes, which--" "Your case requires it. Follow my direo- tions. Make no one your confidant, and see what will come of it. Should you be ill in the night, or should anything happen, scream as loud as you can; it will be the best exercise you can take. When your mother wakes, give her some of this." The doctor placed a bottle of cordial in the hand of Miss Melville, and left the house. \ page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] CHAPTER XI. THE PLOT THCKENS-DR. MONTAGUE. l N the morning after the battle, anxiety for Ai t the safety of Edward had induced Marion Day to apply to General, Gage for a pass to the American lines, -which she obtained without dificultyj having frankly stated her object. Alice forcibly represented to her mistress that ti go in her own attire would be only to expose herself to rudeness and insult; for the streets were. full of soldiers. Upon reflection, with con- siderable reluctance'she assumed the garments not legitimately her own; and the reader is al- readyacquainted with the result of her visit to Cambridge. , ,She had. started with a determination to ac- quaint him with all the details of her situation i:, regard to Grayson, in hopes to be\ benefited by his advice. J This design was frustrated, as we have seen; and she returned home with a desponding heart. Biutthe heaviest blow yet awaited her. "..'O, mistress Marion, you must be calm, in- deed you must!" were the first words of the faithful: Alice, as she entered the house. "What has happened?" exclaimed Marion. E "He's innocent-I'm sure he's innocent," continued Alice, weeping. A terrible suspicion crossed the mind of Marion. "Tell me without delay what has happened?" said she, taking Alice nervously by the arm. "O, ma'am, they've taken him to prison," sobbed Alice. "My father?" "Yes, mistress,. some savage looking men came and dragged him away." "' Did they accuse him of murder?", asked Marion, with .pale cheek and tearful eyes. "They said he had killed Mr. Hill, who was found dead on the Common night before last." "And how does mother bear this new mis- fortune?" "She's gone to bed, sick. I do believe it'll kill her quite. It's a terrible thing, ma'am, a terrible thing." "Has Captain Grayson been \here?" con- tinued Marion. "He came soon after you went away." "Did he inquire for me?" "Inquire fore you I I guess you'd thought so, ma'an, if you'.{ heard him. When I told him you were out, he was terribly excited, and walked the floor dreadful. It really frightened me to see him so spiteful like. And what made him look worse, was a great black and blue mark right over- his eyes, jest as though some- body lad give himn a blow with something hard." "Did he mention the battle?" "I heard bhim say to your father that they had -all been dreadfully taken in about the reb- els. He said they fought like regular demons; and then he straddled out awful kinder spiteful, holding up his lon weepon, which kept jinglin', jinglin' all the time, and then he slammed the door-jest as though lie meant to pull it 'down. I felt erzactly as though I wanted to take him l by the nose and tweak-it. And I know of a m feller as would do it for him if he was only here." "Who is it?" asked Marion, impelled by that i desperation which makes drowning persons i catch at hairs. '* O, he's not hereabouts, ma'am. le shoul- j -dered his bagnet,and took up his wcepons in de- ir fence of the continental Congress, long ago. He's a mounted ranger, ma'am-a regerlar 6 trump of the old school, as Dobtor Montague h says." r "Have you seen him lately?" "I suppose I might as well make a clean M breast of it, as the parson says, andconfess what I know. It was he as helped you about gitting tl that young man away from the' Britishers. He was the same man you saw when he got out of the carriage at Green Lane." "Is he a shrewd and cunning fellow, Alice, M and bold withal?" '"Them are the qualities as he prides himself fr the most on. He hasn't his equal nowhere in br this country, ma'am." "Do you think there is any way of commu- nicating with him?" c "I'll think of it, mistress Marion." G "Do so; and now I will go and -see mother a fel moment; then I will call at Mrs. Melville's." br "But you haven't told me nothing about young master Edward?" "He was, as nearly as I can learn, captured t at the redoubt." ' a "3Everything goes against us, I'm sure!" ex- d claimedAlice. "What'li come. next, Iwon- d der?" "e It's too true, Alice; but let us keep up e good courage, and try to meet our misfortunes i with firmness." Marion now visited her mother's chamber, and found her in great distress of mind. She wise- ly refrained from communicating, at that time, the news of Edward's captivity. Having con- soled her as much as was in her powerander such depressing circumstances, she waild to. Mrs. Melville's in order to give them the intel- ligence of Sherwood's safety, which she knew. would be very acceptable. She reached the house at the same moment Doctor Montague was leaving it. "You feel surprised, no doubt," he observed, in a friendly voice, " to see a guard placed be- fore your friend's door?" "I certainly do," replied Marion. "Will you be good enough to explain to me the mean- ing of what I behold?" "It is one of the results of war," he answer- ed, smiling. "Your fair friend is suspected of holding treasonable communication with the' rebels." "Who has preferred such a charge ageinest Miss Melville?" "Ibelieve Colonel Marton first discovered that she was dangerous to his majesty's cause!" "Infamous man!" exclaimed our heroine. "Very boldly expressed,"' said the doctor. "Are you a friend to this family?" continued Marion. "I am; and at an hour like this they need friends. Agnes has just received news of her brother's death." "How, and by whom?" "She received it, it would seem, by an ex- change prisoner, and it bears the signature of General Putnam. The missive states that he fell in the redoubt, yesterday, while fighting bravely." "Do you believe this report?" page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] "I acknowledge that I do not." 1 "I know it to be untrue." 1 4 That does iiot surprise me." 1 "One more question, doctor," added Marion. 1 "Do you pretend to be ignorant of the real pur- poses of Colonel Marton?" "I do not; I know his intentions well; but as you value the safety of your friend, keep this confession a secret. If it should reach his ears, I shouldbecome powerless to aid her. Friends are nearer than she believes. Vice, in this case, Ahall not triumph over virtue."' "Your words inspire me with hope and cour- age," rdplied Marion. "And'your pale cheeks and tearful eyes as- sure me that you have need of both." "( I have indeed." \ "Miss Day," resumed Doctor Montague, in alow voice, "I know of your father's imprison- meit, and what has led to that unhappy event. Do not fear. God will raise up friends for him where he least expects to find them." ( Do you know Grayson?" "I know him well, fair Marion. A more consummate villain never walked the earth; that as, if we except Colonel Marton. You need ex- pect no mercy from his hands. But heed not his threats, make no promises, and do not suffer yourself to be controlled either by menaces or persuie ons." "Then you know the circumstances in which J have been placed!" exclaimed Marion. "Yes, all is known to me," replied the doc- tor, mildly. "And have you good reason for advising me as you do?" "The very best." "You promise to be my friend!" "I promise nothing. Confide in me no far- ther than I prove worthy of confidence. Should you ever meet me with Grayson, or Marton, re- member, if -you address me, that I am a tory, and the friend of both." "I will. I feel assured that I am speaking with one- who will take no pleasure in my mis- ,fortunes." "I trust that your confiaence is not misplaced; but time, which puts all things to the test, will test my friendship also. Your brother is among the prisoners taken on the Heights of Charles- town. I have seen him." "And what do you think will be his fate?" ( He will be exchanged, doubtless." "And my father?" ( Let us hope for the best, Miss Day." While conversing with Marion, Doctor Mon- tague had laid aside that professional affectation which had characterized him during his inter- views with Colonel Marton; he had spoken in a calm, yet earnest and friendly manner. "Report says that you favor the royal cause?" observed Marion, timidly. (I am willing to encourage the idea," he answered, thoughtfully. "Yes, I am a true servant of his majesty, I suppose; but if I am not, he must not blame me for it. One thing is certain-the Americans can and will fight. I believe that there is in every human soul an innate love of liberty. "But see," he added, changing the subject abruptly, " it is quite dark. It is time for you to return. I will follow you at a short distance to see that no insult is offered you." Marion gratefully accepted this kind offer and walked towards home. She reached Long Acre without interruption, when she saw a man ap- proaching from the opposite direction. She needed not a second -glance to recognize the figure of Grayson. Wishing by all means to avoid a person whose presence was now so dis- agreeable to her, she turned to retrace her steps and go down School street which she had just. passed. But her design was instantly frustrated, for the captain had seen her. ITn a moment he was by her side. - So, Miss Day, you wish to avoid me!" he I exclaimed. "I desire nothing more fervently. Instinct, if nothing else, teaches us to fly from the serpent that lies in our path," replied Marion, resum- g ing her way homeward. I- "You have flattered yourself," answered Grayson, "' that I dared not fulfil my menaces. ; Now you perceive that you were wrong. To- night your father sleeps in a prison. But it is not yet too late to save him. Consent to my proposal, and not a hair of his head shall suffer. "I reject your base overtures with a scorn that I find it impossible to embody in words," replied Marion. "Then I solemnly protest that I will perse- cute you until your heart breaks, or until it re- lents. I tell you, Marion Day, that I will leave no means untried to conquer and \subdue -your proud spirit. I have the power to convict your father of a capital offence, and I will as- suredly do it. And if this is not enough, I will have your brother Edward hanged, also, for a ideserter. " "I feel that Heaven will punish such wicked- ness," said Marion. "Edward is not a deser- ter; he never espoused your cause." "Do you remember the manner in which he left us? Do you imagine he would have been chosen first lieutenant of the King's Volunteers, if he had not expressed some sympathy for the government. I shall attempt to prove that he is a deserter, and I have already met with such success that I know I shall accomplish my pur- pose. So you must understand that two lives instead of one are, depending 'upon your deci- sion." "Is it possible that there is a human heart J so depraved!" exclaimed Marion. "I wait your final answer," added Grayson, c unmoved. "And. you dare talk thus in the face of heav- en-when a just God hears every word you' utter?" "Maledictions on your puritanical notions! Say yes, or no." "Imagine that I have said no a thousand f times." l Carried away by his anger, Grayson caught i her by the arm, and -shook her roughly, em- ploying words which had never before fallen on r the chaste ears of Marion. At that moment a when our heroine was ready to faint with terror, a stout figure approached Grayson precipitately from the rear, and grasping a heavy cane in ti s both hands, aimed a tremendous blow at his 7 head; it took effect, and Marion's persecutor I measured his length upon the ground. "It is a case that requires prompt and active iremedies," said Dr. Montague, coolly. Taking 'Marion by the arm, he hurried her forward. "Yield nothing-promise nothing," he added. "Your kindness " I "Never mind that; follow my directions, and I may still be able to effect a cure. But never mention my name; do not allow Grayson to know who dealt him his lastmedicine." Mo6itague hold up his walking stick tri- umphantly. "It's a purely vegetable production," heo went on to say, " but it suits his case. Noth- ing in the Materia Medica could be better. It's the pure Zantloxylum Fraxineum (Prick- ly. Ash). He requires it in allopathic doses." "Permit me to thank you, good doctor-" "Keep quiet-don't. despair-comfort your mother, and trust the rest to Providence," inter- rupted the doctor. "Believe me I will-" But Montague did not suffer her to finish the sentence. "You will be a good girl, I have no doubt. But you must cease this weeping. The con-0. junctiva is already infected, and it would be ungrateful for you to add opthalmia to your other troubles. If you were as fair as the an- gels, crying would destroy your beauty." With many words of encouragement kindly spoken, Doctor Montague parted with Marion at the door of her father's residence. On the following morning, Captain Grayson Ovisited Edward in prison. , The day previous, for some reason not by him understood, he had been removed to ai separate cell and put in irons. "Not forgetting our former intimacy, I have made you a friendly call," said Grayson,. with a smile. "You are very good," said Edward, drily. "I am truly sory to see you in this condi- tion. I could not have imagined such a thing page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] a few weeks ago, when you were so friendly to the royal cause," continued the captain. "Pardon me, sir; I was never 'friendly to your cause," answered the young man. "Unfortunate boy!" exclaimed Grayson. "It was a rash, a fatal step when you left us " "I differ from you in opinion," said Edward. "When you deserted the volunteers, you went to aid a cause which is now crushed and lost past redemption. The rebellion 'received its deathblow on Bunker Hill. The poor de- laded colonists are returning to their homes dis- pirited and heartily ashamed of their late law- less conduct." "You jest!" cried Edward "Not at all. We made a great slaughter among them -after you were taken ; and indeed the American army, as they pompously called it, may be said to be completely dispersed. We drove them before us like a flock of sheep, quite into the country." "I cannot believe it, sir," replied Edward. "But I wander from the subject uppermost in my thoughts. I came hither to make knodwn to you the dangerous position in which you are placed.. I suppose you are -flly aware that de- sertion is a crime that meets with the severest punishment." "Certainly, Grayson. I know that death is the fate of the deserter, a doom richly merited; but what has that to do with me?" "Is it possible," replied the captain, solemn- ly, "that you are not aware that you will be tried by a court martial for the crime of deser- tion? Do you mean to say that you are igno- rant of this fact?" "I do say that I am wholly ignorant of such an unjust design," retorted Edward, astonished beyond measure. "You, sir, can vouch for my innocence." "No, sir! unfortunately I shall be one of the principal witness against you." "You?" "It is too true, my young friend," said Gray- son, with a sigh. "Do you call me a deserter, sir?" asked Edward, indignantly. "I am-forced to do s6, but it pains me, I as- sure you." "If my hands were at liberty, I would knock you down-!" "No doubt; but you see they are in dar- b/es." "A very fortunate thing for you." "Be calm, my dear Edward. Let us look at the case in all its bearings. A drumn head court martial will find you guilty of desertion; the consequence will be that you will be ;hot some fine day, which would be very unpleasant. It so happens, by a singular chance, that it is in my power to convict or save you. As all men are a little selfish, I unhappily partake of the same weakness. If I save your life, it will be to advance my own interest." "Go on," said Edward. "You, are not ignorant of the fact that I have long admired your fair sister Marion?" "Thank fortune she has never admired you!" exclaimed Edward. "The remark is very just. I cannot affirm that she loves me as I do her; but I trust she will learn that amiable trait of character after a time. Use all your influence to make her Mrs. Grayson, and I will save you- from the conse-. quences of desertion. Now you perceive where I am, and what is required of you -in the deli- cate position in which you are placed. Do not speak suddenly; take a little time." "Is that all you have to 'say?" asked the prisoner, with a smile. "No; it is but a trifle more than half. Your respected male progenitor is placed in circumstances very similar to your%6wn. He has a very encouraging prospect of entering a more exalted state of existence in a short time. In other words, it is very probable that your respected father will pull hemp in the last stages of his useful life." "What mean you, scoundrel!" cried- Ed- ward, 'darting a furious look at Grayson. "That Mr. William Day is at present an in- habitant of this very prison, charged with the crime of murder." "Iknow not whether to believe you!" , "I will call the jailor, if you desire me." "Iy father a murderer I It is false. He is the soul of honor." "It appears that for some political diff'erences with Mr. James Hill, he went into a violent passion, and ended by knocking him down and stabbing him with a sword cane." "And who witnessed this?" "Your humble servant," said Grayson, bow- ing with much gravity. ' Grayson," continued Edward, earnestly. "if you have a single claim to humanity, tell me truly, if this alleged crime has a shadow of proof?" "It can be proved to the jury beyond a doubt." "This is worst of all." "It is still in my power to save him. The conditions are already known to you." "And you can really save us both?" "I can." "And you make my sister's hand and hap- piness the price of our release?" "I do." "No other will satisfy?" "Decidedly not." "What do you wish me to do?" "To write such a letter as I shall dictate to Marion.") "I consent. Take these irons from my wrists, and order writing materials immediately. My * father must be saved." "With the greatest pleasure, my dear Ed ward." The captain opened the door and called to t the jailor, who instantly appeared and removed the irons from Edward's hands. Pen, ink and r paper were then produced and laid before him t "Leave us, and return in ten minutes," said s Grayson, to the turnkey. n Edward looked steadily at the pen and paper e until the steps of the jailor ceased to be heard in the corridor without. His eyes were flashing. to and his breast heaving with emotion. Sweep- e ing away the writing materials with his arm, he h sprang suddenly upon the captain, who sat eye- ca ing him very coolly. In an instant his nervous 31 fingers were clenched with iron- rigidity upon is his neckcloth., With a quick movement he threw him upon the floor, placed his knee upon s his chest, and took a turn in his cravat. t "Do not attempt to cry out," said Edward, d in a husky voice. "If you do, as sure as I am a living man, I will kill -you with--your own sword. I am dangerous-I am wild-- am a - madman--I am not responsible for my acts. If you had not freed my hands, I should have suf- focated with passion." I Grayson struggled frantically, but vainly. f The veins swelled up like whip cords upon his forehead; his cheeks became purple, his eyes a grew fixed and staring, and a hollow death-like sound came from his throat, Ediward relaxed his grasp a little that he might breathe more freely, and hear and understand what he had to say. "You thought, did you, that I would become a villain, to save my life. But you have deceived yourself; I prefer death to dishonor. You im- agined that I woul I sell my'sister to a scoundrel, to escape a fate I do not merit. You have out- raged my feelings beyond forgiveness, but- I will spare your miserable life. 'What you ask, in your bare-faced impudenceis too much, even, to pay for a father's life. He richly deserves to die who would sell his daughter, or Listt r, to dishonor; and-what would it be but the rankest dishonor to wed her to a wretch like you!" While Edward was speaking, he. drew the captain's sword from its sheath, and still retain- ing his grasp upon his throat, commenced chas- tisingt him with the flat side. "It is the most honorable punishment you merit," he added. "You deserve to be beaten through the world with the flat side of your own sword. I will not spare my strength. I iill mete out such justice as you can bear without expiring beneath the punishment." Grayson writhed, struggled, arid suffered in- tense corporeal pain. , Edward's blows descend- ed with terrible vehemence upon every part of his person. The weapon, being a heavy one, could not fail to inflict the desired amount of suffering, which was occasionally enhanced by page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] the substitution of the back for the flat side. Before the expiration of the ten minutes, our hero 'had nearly exhausted himself with his efforts. "Now I am ready to be shot for a deserter!" he exclaimed,' as he relaxed his hold upon the captain, and -arose to his feet. Bat the latter remained lying upon the floor, smarting with pain, and livid with rage and strangulation. Edward broke his sword and threw it from him. t "Now go and do your worst," he added, as the turnkey re-appeared. "I have punished a villain," he continued, in answer to the jailor's look of surprise, *" but bear witness that I have not attempted to escape. He offered me a gross insult, and I have retal- iated by administering corporeal chastisement. Take him away ; I would not^ see him more." The turnkey assisted Grayson to arise and leave the cell; but in a short time returned and placed Edward in double irons. CHAPTER XII. THE ASSISTANT SURGEONS. S 1"TEl1 Dr. Montague had left Marioh, he JSO& walked directly to the quarters of Colonel Marton. You are a man full of ingenious devices," said the former. "Such wonderful persever- ance must certainly meet with some reward." "You allude to Agnes Melville, no doubt, doctor," he answered, with much sang froid. "How can you ask?" "Well, I am doing the best I can. How did she appear when you left her?"' "Very miserable indeed. The news of Sher- wood's death grieved her deeply." "It was rather a cruel deception, but I wish her to think herself wholly, unprotected." 't Such really seems to be the case at present. She is, in fact, wholly in your power." "I know it; but her dislike increases mo- mentarily. I hope you spoke a good word for me, doctor." "I never forget my duty, colonel. But what if she should learn that the report is false?" "How can she, my dear sr I Is she not un- der restraint? All communication with her friends is strictly forbidden. I shall probably visit her, in a friendly way, before the rosy morn appears! Eh, doctor" . "You are not a person to lose an opportunity, I see." "Here is some excellent old port; drink to my success. By-the-way, I must not forget to say that General Gage desires your services, having frequently heard of your skill." "Explain." "The rebels (with more courtesy than might have been expected) have sent word to the general that he wad at liberty to send his own surgeons to dress the wounds of the prisoners which they have taken, among whom are sev- eral British officers of rank. The regular sur- geons of the army have as much business as they can attend to here -at present, and you have been mentioned to General Gage, as a suitable person .to go to the rebel camp and see that the wounded be suitably cared for in a pro- fessional way. Will'you perform this duty?" Doctor Montague hesitated a moment, and appeared lost in reflection. "I will," he answered, at length. "-But I require two assistants such as I may choose." "You shall have them. Written passports shall be ready for you in the morning. If you have an opportunity to assist me any, Hknow you are the man to do it. Tell young 5Mel- ville, if you should meet him, just what you think will subserve my purposes the best." "Trust me, colonel; I know what your case requires. Believe me, I will not be idle. Strange that the girl does not like a man so highly favored by capricious nature as yourself. A fine martial figure--a noble expression-a good address-and a mind sparkling with wit and humor." "Ah, doctor, you flatter me." "I'll be hanged if I wish to," replied Mon- tague,. rather equivocally. "Let us drink suc- cess to the deserving, colonel." They touched glasses. "Success to' the deserving," repeated Mar- ton, and drank off the wine at a single draught. The conversation grew more lively. The col- onel drank large quantities of wine, and ere long gave evidence of being tipsy. "Help me to get that young scamp of a Melville into my power-that's-that's a good fel-fellowl" he exclaimed, with drunken hesi- tancy. "I say, doc-doctor, this here wine is cap-capital--but rath-rather too-too strong." Marton's head sank upon his breast, and in a few moments he was breathing very hard. "Iy fine lad, you wont be likely to know anything till morning," muttered the doctor,.as he looked at him attentively, and felt his pulse. "A little knowledge of drugs, I hope, will do some good, in this case. Halloa! Tom, come and put your master to bed!" A servant appeared, and with Montague's assistance, Marton was comfortably laid aside for the night. 3 "May Heaven forgive that man's sins," said the latter to himself, as he walked slowly away. r Early on the morning of the 19th of June, ] 'three persons approached the ferry-way at Hud- . son's Point. The eldest of the trio was Dr. Montague. His companions were students in ' medicine. One of them was very tall and very thin in person; the other about the average stature; and much more personable than his fellow student. These two individuals were to act in the capacity of assistant surgeons, and, like the i doctor, were duly provided with passports. General Gage had already informed General Ward that his kind offer was accepted, and a surgeon would be sent to see that the wounds of the captive officers and privates were - properly i dressed. I A barge was waiting at the ferry in charge of a midshipman. Montague and his assistants stepped in, the men settled back upon their oars, and the boat shot out into Charles River, and in ten minutes touched at Moulton's Point. A walk of half an hour took them to the American camp, where they were received with much courtesy. General Ward, and the doctor, had a long interview; but whatever the subject of their conversation was, it was kept a profound secret: As for the prisoners, they, in fact, needed no better attendance than they already had. The humanity of the Americans was equalled only by their bravery., The skill of the provincial surgeons was in no respect inferior to that of the saw-bones of the royal army. Having satis- fied himself that he had little or nothing to do in a professional way, Montague lost no time in finding Sherwood. "I am a friend to virtue, beauty, truth,' and justice," said the doctor, taking Sherwood's arm within his own. "No matter whether I am friendly to your cause or riot; that does not' concern my present purpose. But however much I may sympathize with the suffering and the wronged, I cannot act openly to relieve them. Policy points out a course which ulti- mately will not be without its results, My blood may boil with indignation, but I am obliged to keep down its hot- pulsations. The time has now arrived when bold hands and willing hearts must be ready to save the good and the fair from the power of remorseless villains. There is some risk to be incurred, but it must be in- curred were the peril ten times as imminent. You and Dixon must go to Boston." "Is Agnes in danger?" asked Sherwood. "The word danger does not express a hun- dredth part of the horrors of her situation. She is in the power of Colonel Marton." "I have feared this!" cried Sherwood. "Not page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] a day has passed that I have not trembled for her safety." "There is another, also, in whom, I believe, you feel'an interest, who is also equally perse- cuted. I mean your gentle benefactress." "[ will fly to her aid. To save her from sorrow and shame, I would barter-my life." Dr. Montague, in a clear and distinct manner now related-what had occurred at Boston, not forgetting to describe minutely the condition of Edward Day and his father, and the part which Grayson was playing, in the unjust proceedings. Everything in connection with the parties in whomn the kind reader is interested, was made known. The indignation which this veritable relation aroused in the bosom of our hero will not ad- mit of description, and it required all the habit- ual coolness and self-control of the doctor to prevent him from committing some rash and dar- ing act To know that two beings so dear to him as Agnes and Marion, were so cruelly persecuted by such men as Grayson and Marton, nearly drove him mad. ' Find your friend, Davie Dixon," resumed the doctor. "* He must hear all this, and from what I have learned of his character, he will be the very man to assist you." "He is shrewd, and can be safely relied upon," said Sherwood. "t And here he comes." "Come up, 'Congress! Eyes front!" said the object of these remarks, as he gallopped up to our hero, musket in band. "* Friend Dixon, I am glad to see you. We were just speaking of you," added Sherwood. "He's allers near when you're talkin' about him," said Davie, alluding' to the old proverb. "Hold up your head, Congress. Fire away, boy." The facts already stated were circumstantially rehearsed to Dixon, who listened with marked r inmpatience, frequently interrupting by calling K upon some benevotlent person to conme and "l hold a him, ' to keep him from doing some mischief to a the " 'tarnal critters." When he had heard all. he flouri hed his musket and caused Cogress i to execurte ome desperate evolutions, which he r was thought incapable of performing, admonish- ing him all the while to " hold up his head, to keep his eyes on the inlemy, to face the music,. - etc., terms only understood by the quadruped himself. "The two assistants which accompanied me have been chosen with especial reference to a rplan of mine, for getting you safely into the be- sieged' town," added the doctor. "One of them, you observe probably. is very tail in per- son, and resembles your friend Dixon not a lit- tle; the other is about your size and age. Both of these young men have passports which will allow them to return to thhe town at any time. You can change clothes with them, take said passports, pass without difficulty the British sentries, and be rowed over the river Charles in one of the royal barges. What do you think of that?" "I think the plan is feasible, and I owe you-" "Nothing," interrupted the doctor. "Etarnal gratitude!'" said Davie. "Con- gress,: face the music." "-How shall we get the passports? asked Sherwood. "Take them by -force," said Montague. "Perhaps they wont be so much surprised as you might imragine. Entice them to your tent; cause them to drink freely, and get the pass- ports in the best way- you can. it is possible that they may become drunken, and lose all memory of events. They carry their passports in their vest pockets." "Whatever your political views may be," said Sherwood, with a smile, "you are at least a gentleman and a hu aane man. Your head is somewhat older and cooler than mine, and I shall follow your counsel." We will not dwell upon the events that im-. mnediately followed. Just after dark the en- suing hight, two persons, supposed to be assist- ant surgeons to Dr. Montague, were rowed across Charles River in a barge. Thir pass- ports appeared to be in due form, and their ap- pvaranco excited no suspicion' - The friendly assurances of Montague had, in a great measura, assuaged the grief of Agnes Melville. She--no longer wept for Sherwood, firnly believing that the letter announce his death was a forgery. But night and darknes- brought with' them fears of another nature. The threats of Marton were still ringing in ter ears. Guarded by. armed men, the creatures of her persecutor, Doubtless, no avenue of escape left open, a sick mother near, claiming all her attention, "herself a weak and defenceless girl, she hadl indeed ample cause for disquietude. Happily the night passed without inerrup tion, for the senses of Marton were paralyzed by a powerful narcotic, and it was broad daylight when he opened his eyes. It may well be sup: posed:that Agnes would be harassed by the same fears upon the following night. "I feel better, and you must try and get some sleep," said Mrs. lMelville. Agnes re- plied that she was not weary and needed no i rest. "Not weary, my dear! your eyes tell a dif E fercnt tale," replied Mrs. Melville. "Lay aside your fears; retire to your chamber, and remember that God himself keeps watch of the b innocent. Where. is your faith, my child '! Have you forgotten that your Heavenly Father Y slumbereth not? A sparrow cannot fall to the a ground without his notice. A bruised reed he st will -.ot break." "Mother. I will obey you," said Agnes, with a a trusting smiile. We are commanded to cast our care upon him, for he careth for us." " He has cared for me many years," resumed mn Mrs. Melville;, "and he will not forsake me bu now I ant growing old. Go and sleep the sleep ir of innocence." Agnes went to her chamber, but did not re. pu tire. A sentse of her unprotected situation kept ha her wakefdl and anxious. She was about to lie ewe down without undressing, leaving her lamilp .till wri burning ,Ln the table, when she thought she tail heard the street door open softly. It was not the work of her ignagilnation. She heard the A door close as gently as it had been openetd. All' l was still for a moment; then the sound of foot- air. step s reached her ears; they crossed the floor, io., and-now they were upon the stairs. Cnes Agnes stood paralyzed with fear. The blood ,od, forsook her face and neck, leaving her pale as a his marble statue. She bad only strength to clasp tesS' her hands and raise her eyes to heaven in a tre. mute appeal for assistance, since all ea thly help 6er was denied. She was in that attitude when of Colonel Marton made his appearance, holding ipe in his hand a dark lantern. "er I have come," he said, inz a low tone, and rl, closed the door. Agnes appeared neither to see nor hear him. 1p Marton paused and gazed at her. The calm and ra almost holy expression of her face, together ,hr with the mute terror which her' whole attitude p- -xpressed, awed him. It was some moments be before he could break the spell which her ap- pearance had cast over him. et "Miss Melville," added Marton. e- Agnes did not heed him. The cold, design- o ing, wicked man of the world felt abathed in the presence of a pure woman, whom he was con- f scious he had wronged. Y. "Dear Agnes,'" continued the colonel. d Agnes recoiled suddenly, and waved him e back with her hand. "It is useless to struggle with fate," resumed r Marton. "My plans have been well matured and deeply laid. 1 bave approached step by step toward my object, until it is within my grasp, and I 'have only to stretch forth my hand i and take it." Agnes still pointed to the door without reply. "Some' men, it may be possible, might be movei at the sight of your mute agony of spirit; but not so -with me. The contemplation of your inatchless beauty of person, and the conscious- ress that your soul is enshrined in a temple of purity, more than rewards me for the exetionsI have made to procure a moment like this. Agnes, -we are alone. Were you to look from your window, you would see that even the stars shine faintly to-night." "Go. orPI will cry out," said Agnes. "The silver moon sheds a softer effulgence. I'rhere breathes a lrelath of happiness thrlough the air. There is joy in being near you I ;ip pioach you as the devotee approaches the shrine page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] of his visible deity. My heart beats with trans- port. I stretch forth my hands. O, Agnes, Agnes!" Agnes screamed. There was a rapid movement without ; the door was burst open and shivered at -a blow, and the tall figure of Davie Dixon formed a third party in the room. "Face the music!" cried Davie, seizing Marton by the collar and shaking him violently. "Eyes front! Look at the inemy!" he added, each exclamation being accompanied by a blow upon the face with his flat hand that made the colonel's jaws rattle, and produced an unpleas- ant roaring sound in his ears. "How do t]e stars look now? Happy, ain't ye? Heart beats with transports, don't it? Perhaps you don't know me; I'm the deinder of the continental Congress, and human rights ginerally. 'You've come to the wrong shop to talk about moonshine, sir. Taking advantage of that genteel little angel, were ye? Down on your knees! Hold up your head! Face the music!" - During this outhurst of indignation, Dixon did not cease to shake the colonel, and to strike him blows that threatened to demolish his face entirely. This exercise'he continued for some minutes, Agnes, overjoyed at this sudden re- vulsion in her favor, sunk into a chair and in- dulged in the luxury of tears-a sure relief when the heart is full. When Dixon had punished Marton to his sat- isfaction, he kicked him down stairs, while his friendly admonitions to "face the music, and look at the inemy," still rang in his ears.. - At the foot of the stairs new misfortunes awaited the colonel. A man stood there with cocked pistols, and near him lay the two sentinels bound hand and foot. "You are a prisoner," said Sherwood; "attempt no resistance. Your plots are overn thrown, and the innocent have found protection at a moment when least expected. Enter that' closet." The colonel sullenly obeyed. Sherwood locked him in and put the key in his pocket. "Go down," said Dixon to Agnes. "Per- haps there's somebody below who'd like to look at you." Miss Melville lost no time in acting upon this suggestion, and was most agreeably surprised at thus unexpectedly meeting her broher. 1He embraced her tenderly, and spoke many words of encouragement. Mrs. Melville seemed to gather new strength from his presence, and pro- fessed herself quite restored to health. "Let us hasten to leave this place," said Sherwood, when each had recovered a portion of their self-possession. "This dwelling can no longer be a place of safety for you." "But where shal we go?" asked Agnes. He pointed towards the closet, and the now powerless sentinels, saying in a lower voice: !"Remember that other ears are listening. A place of safety is already prepared for you. Trust it all to me and my friend." "I am ready," replied Mrs. Melville. "The more speedily we can leave the scene of so much suffering the better." "Right, ma'am; this is no place for you," said Davie. "What will you do with these men?" asked Mrs. Melville. "Leave them where they are. When the sergeant of the guard comeq to relieve them from duty, their situation will be discovered. The worthy colonel will be obliged to remain a close prisoner for two hours. Let us hope that before the expiration of that time, we shall-bei beyond his reach." Taking such indispensable. articles as thiey, could conveniently carry, the parties were now ready to depart. Mrs. Melville took her son's arm, and Agnes Davie Dixon'O, -and walked away as rapidly as possible. CHAPTER XTTL. A VISIT TO THE PRISON-PROSPECT OF ESCAPEB. BR. MONTAGUE being n the confidence of several of the British officers, it- was easy for him to obtain access to Edward Day. Having procured permission to visit him in prison and matured his plans, on the day fol- lowing the scene of the last chapter, he was ushered into the cell of the prisoner. They had always been on excellent terms, and the doctor was not a little grieved to see him reduced to such a condition. "I regret to see you wearing those heavy chains," said Montague. "How much more convenient it would be if you could slip them off and on at your pleasure.". "Very true, my good friend; but I can scarcely expect such a favor," replied Edward, with a sorrowful shake of the head. 6C "Hold up your hands," resumed the doctor. Montague took a small saw from a case of in- struments which he had brought with him, and in a few moments the handcuffs were in such a condition as to be removed by the prisoner, or resumed at will. "I shall leave this saw," continued the doc- 5 X tor, " and if you are so disposed, you can try its edge upon those iron grates. When the hand- cuffs are inconvenient, you can lay them aside; but be sure to have them on when the turnkey makes his visits." , "Doctor, I thank you for this proof of your good-will, with all my heart!" exclaimed Ed- ward. "The saw you must secrete somewhere dur- ing the day, and use it mostly in the night. Your time is short, and you must improve it. Two hours labor with this implement will enable you to remove a bar. If you should think it prudent to work-my before night, be careful to make choice of such time as would be free from' interruption. To deaden the sound which you will naturally make, wrap your handkerchief about the instrument in this way. If the night should prove favorable, some friends will be ready to assist you to scale the prison fence." Edward expressed his gratitude-in eloquent terms. Having made such suggestions as the case seemed to require, the doctor left the prison, page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] while a ray of hope once. more gladdened the heart of the prisoner. He beheld before him a prospect of escape, and resolved to leave no means untried to baffle the purposes of Grayson. Soon after the departure of Montague, Ed- ward was visited by Marion, she having -with some difficulty obtained that privilege. She made known to him the difficulties of her situa- tion in as brief and distinct a manner as pos- sible. "What an unhappy fortune is mine!" he exclaimed. -"I behold you surrounded with danger without the power to aid you." "Tell me one thing without reserve : is it in thei power of Grayson to convict you of the crime of desertion?" "I fear that he may be able to do so. If it be in the power of designing knavery to accom- plish my ruin, he will succeed." "The possibility of such an event fills me with horror," said Marion. "I beg you not to think of it. But let me ask before I forget it, if Dr. Miontague is not a singular man?" -"He puzzles me not a little. He is a prob- lem which I ;cannot solve. I believe there is a dee, undercurrentin -his character with which we are not acquainted. How such a man can be friendly to the royal cause, I cannot imagine. I have been most agreeably disappointed- in him." "I confess as much, Marion. I have not ap- preciated the man. Now I begin to know him better. Let us be very careful not to compromise him. In regard to our father, we will trust that his innocence Will be proved on trial. Such - ickedness as has been displayed by Grayson, cannot Ultimately be successful. A kind Providence will befriend the cause of justice." "When will your fate be decided?" "Soon, no doubt; but they have plenty of business on hand at present. The battle of Bun- ker Hilj has made a great deal of work for them. When their-hurry and consternation has in some measure abated, they will attend to me. If I cannot escape before that time; my- situation will indeed be critical; but I will not anticipate. I will even try to content myself with h]oping for the best. It is for you, Marion, that I fear." "Cease to perplex yourself for my safety. The same hand that has been stretched out over me from childhood, will not forsake me now, when my natural protectors have been taken from me by the machinations of a wicked man. This faith cheers and sustains me. I cannot- I will not lose my confidence in God.- I feel that the time will come when we shall be re- united and happy." "Thanks, gentle sister, for the example you set me. In this dark hour I begin to see your true character, and to prize you as I ought. It is adversity that proves the worth of friendship; and may I yet live to say how sweet are its uses." "Ah, Edward, your noble sentiments endear you still more to me. We will eachstrive to do our duty; more we cannot do." When Marion had left him, Edward examined the gratings of his prison. By means of the saw he was; quite sure that the bars could be remov- ed. It not being 'the uual -hour of the turn key's visit, he commenced operations at once. The action of the instrument upon the ironmade more noiso than he had anticipated; and he- concluded to discontinue his efforts -until night. But even that seemed an unfavorable time; for it is generally the case'that the - hours of night are the most quiet of the twenty-four. While he paused irresolute, he heard the sound of approaching -footsteps. Hastily con- cealing the saw beneath his mattress, he re- sumed his handcuffs. The key grated harshy in the lock, the door swung open, and Grayson entered. His -face bore unequivocal evidence of the-.punishment which he had received, being discolored and bruised. "I have come to tell you that I have not for- gotten you," he said, pasting a malignant glance at-tie prisoner, and speaking in a voice of eond. centrated fury. "The day of .trialapproaches ; I will make you feel my power. The indig- nity which you' have offered me; has aroused all the faculties of my soul to vengeance. '- You will not be able to escape; death looks you steadily in the face. You are a doomed man, and I shall be the cause of your destruction." "Should you fulfil your threats," replied Edward, "the conviction that Marion knows your true character would smooth down the rug- gedness of death." "Do not tempt me to run you through with my sword!" retorted Grayson. "What I have already suffered at your hands has stung me to madness. Do not provoke me farther." . . I perceive that you have procured a new sword," added Edward, contemptuously. Grayson drew his sword partly from its sheath, thrust it into its place again, and with low breath- ed imprecations strode from the cell. It is now time that we should look after Mr. Day, the father of our hero. Although he had J entertained some vaggue fears that he might be 3 suspected of some agency in the death of Hill, I he bad not seriously apprehended any danger of I an arrest. The blow fell upon him with over- I whelming force, though he knew -not from whence it came. That .'Grayson had been in- . strumental in his arrest, he did not imagine. Soon after his imprisonment the latter had visit- s ed him, an event which cheered the heart of the unsuspecting old man not a little. fi "This is very kind and considerate on your n part," he said, pressing the captain's hand a warmly. "Many professed friends forget their I1 neighbors, in the day of adversity." w Grayson had marked out, in his own mind, tA the course he was to pursue, and replied with much apparent sincerity: "My old friend, it pains me past expression of to see you reduced to this dreadful condition. I am overwhelmned with sorrow and grief." ca "Let the thought that I am innocent console sh you," replied Mr. Day. of "Heaven: knows how hard I have striven to think so," cried the captain, clasping his hands, me and looking upward. of '"And have you not succeeded?" asked Mr. chi Day, with a look of real anguish[ "Sir, do not force me to answer you." due "I swear to you that I am innocent!" ex- dea claimed Day. ou "If you knew the dreadful alternative to n, which I am reduced, I know you would pity me." ad "Is it possible that you believe me guilty?" vs asked the prisoner, in a low voice. g- , "Between the hours of eight and nine, on the sixteenth of June, I crossed the Common," Ih returned Grayson. e "Well!" o ' I saw a man standing over a dead body; I saw him stoop and take papers from the dead w man's pockets. The moon was shining, and I had a chance to observe him well. Need Iy sa , -more?" " - The old man buried his face in his hands and looked the impersonation of despair. "I am placed in a dreadful situation," he I said, at length. "Even my best friend be- ] lieves me a murderer; that I laid in wait like a midnight assassin and slew my neighbor in cool ? blood. Captain Grayson, do you not know me - better?" "I thought I knew you to be an honorable man. "But you no longer think so. I under- stand?" "However much I may have disliked the un- fortunate Hill as a man, or however much I may have detested his political views, I did not and could not have wished him such a, fate. He has left a wife and children, who, perhaps, will soon feel the want of his care, and suffer for the common necessaries of life." "I deeply regret his fate,' replied Day. "And you cannot pity his wife and helpless offspring more sincerely. than I do." "You are the father of Marion," added the captain. "Alas, that of all men living, I should be condemned to convict you of the crime of murder." "And shall you indeed bear witness against me?" asked the prisoner, with a slight tremor of the voice, while his chin quivered, and his cheeks grew more deathke in their paleness. "To that dreadful necessity I am indeed re- duced. I am the only eyo-witneps to the mur- der." page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] "Grayson," said Day, sternly, "have I not already declared my innocence? You could not have witnessed that which never transpired." "I shall appear in court; but they may tear me in pieces with wild horses, before I will tes- tify a word against you!" cried Grayson. Calm yourself, captain. Listen to me pa- tiently. I am guiltless in this matter. It were hard, methinks, to convict an innocent man of murder." "Nay, sir, do not persist in this. I am a witness, I tell you, to the deed. Your protesta- tions wound me more than your silence. I will leave the country in order not to be the means of your destruction; but I would take Marion - with me. Give me a writing expressive of your wishes on this subject, and in twenty-four hours, if nothing unforeseen prevents, I will be beyond the requirements of the unforgiving law; your child also will have a protector. No person ap- pearing against you, you will be acquitted; for bare suspicion will not hang a man. I will for- feit my name-my rank in the army, and all that has hitherto been my ambition to attain in a military point of view." "I appreciate your motives, but an innocent man does not wish to allow for a single moment the possibility of being guilty." "It is your only chance." "I regret it, but Marion shall be yours, she is worthy of you." "I have not told you all; your son Edward is among the prisoners taken at Bunker Hill. He is to be treated as a deserter, as a kind of wholesome lesson to others. General Gage thinks that something of thekind is required." A most painful expression passed over 'the face of Mr. Day. For a time he remained silent. "I had thought," he said, at length, "(that I had stifled the voice of nature in regard to that unhappy boy; but I find it is not so. Nature is not so easily set at defiance. My heart still turns with something of its former fondness to- wards the offspring of its love. My poor, poor boy l' Grayson sighed. "t And, as if cruel fate'feared that my cup was t not full, I am obliged to appear against him also." "Where will this end!" exclaimed the old - man, in tones of deepest anguish. "Every hope is being rudely torn from me. I have not a prop - left to support me in my trials. Every drop of ' comfort is emptied from the cup of my existence. f Nothing remains to mo. I have only to say my prayers, and die." "You have one friend left," said Grayson, 'feelingly. "Take my Marion, and be .to her a good, 3 kind husband," added Day. "She has'been ten- derly reared ; she never knew a want which has. not been gratifed. Let it be your care to make her happy. I will give you a letter to her." Writing material was placed before Mr. Day, and he wrote the following lines. "Boston, June 20th, 1775. "MY DEAR MARION,-Misfortunea 'which I' did not and could not anticipate, have nearly overwhelmed -me; but the consciousness of in- nocence supports me still. Captain Grayson has told me all. I know the dapger which menaces myself and Edward. I conjure you by all that you love, to pursue the course I am about to point out to you. I know Grayson's character well. He is a high-minded and noble man; at least, I esteem him. as such, although he entertains doubts of my-innocence. I am anxious that you should have a lawful protector. Become the wife of the captain, and be govern-' ed by him. He has resolved to wed you, and leave the country immediately, and forego rank, honor, and all the glory he expected to win in this war, for the purpose of saving Edward and myself. He is deeply afflicted at the thought of testifying against his old friend and the fath- er of Marion. "How generous in this conduct. I begin to feel that I have. never truly known the man. He has so many high qualities of character! Your mother will attend to all the preliminaries of the ceremony, and I do enjoin it on her in the most earnest manner, to see that all my *i , ' wishes are fully carried out. As a dutiful wife and mother, she cannot oppose me in a matter upon which so much is pending. A man was never placed in a more embarrassing and pain- ful position than-the captain at this very moment. The very idea of appearing against us in court, seems to lacerate his heart beyond measure. It is rarely that one finds so much sensibility and manliness combined. "In conclusion, let me say, as you value my life and happiness; as you value the life of Ed- ward; as you value paternal authority, and all that is sacred to the soul, do not refuse to com- ply with my wishes. Praying for you and your mother, daily and hourly, I remain "Your affectionate father, ' WILLIAM DAY."' "This kindness, and the many compliments you are pleased to pay me, really overcomes me T" exclaimed the captain, after reading the letter. "This is good--excellentwith the one exception, that it places too high an estimate upou my character." "-Not so, sir. I begin, as I have said, to, know you better-to appreciate you, as you in justice deserve to be appreciated." "In the event that your fair daughter refuses to listen to this earnest, and I may say, touch- ing request, what course shall I pursue?" "But she cannot refuse such an appeal; es- pecially when her father's fife is in danger; and not mine only, but Edward's.. How fortunate it is that we have fallen into the hands of such a man." "I think she will refuse." "She cannot be so ungrateful." "I differ with you. I think she can be. She has never yet favored my suit." "A sense of what is depending upon her ac- quiescence will-do away, with all her former 4 scruples."' "Suppose, for a moment, that such should ; not be the case. Would it be justifiable in me 4 to resort to any little ruse, or subterfuge, to ac- complish a purpose so desirable, for the happi- ness of all of us?" "I certainly do not wish to sacrifice the hap- piness of my child:; but I am quite assured that she will love you after you are comfortably masr- ried, and she has an opportunity to know your noble qualities of heart and mind. Influenced by such feelings as these, I have no hesitation in saying that a ruse would not be morally wrong.- The nature of the affair I leave to yourself, knowing you to be a man of honor. My blessing will go with you wherever you go." Promising to viEit him again, and obtain per- mission for his wife and daughter to see him, Grayson took his leave of the deluded old man. How often is it that an honest eoul confides in the professions of a villain, who neither has the will nor ability (or, if he has the latter, has not the former,) to fulfil the expectations he has raised. With a lightened heart the old man paced up and down his narrow cell, and congratulated himself on the possession of such a friend. Extremely mortified at his recent defeat and punishment, Grayson had conceived another plan for the consummation of his base purposes, which he meant should serve him, even if all others seemed likely to faiL By following him to the residence of Mr. Day, and listening to a conversation which ensued between him and Mrs. Day, we shall get some glimpses of his real designs. Mrs. Day was a well meaning woman, but not characterized by that strength of mind which distinguished her daughter. Knowing this to be the case, he hoped to -make her the agent of consummating his villanous schemes. He ex- pressed in appropriate terms to Marion's mother the regret he felt for her situation, and assured her he would do all in his power to assist her. These professions she received with some sur- prise. Marion had said some things in her pres- ence not very flattering to him; for she had not yet deemed it prudent to relate all she knew of the captain, or of the power which he possessed over her father. She had withheld this knowl- edge because she feared it would render her mother still more wretched. The captain was very glad to perceive- that his character had not page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] been displayed to Mrs. Day in its true light. He proceeded to communicate the fact that he had just visited her husband; and would shortly obtain permission for her to do so. This infor- mation, and offers like this, raised Grayson in her estimation not a little, and she was 'soon ready to believe him the honest and faithful friend he professed to be. He led her on step by step in the most artful manner, until he reached the point which was favorable to his de- signs, and then produced the letter which he had received from her husband. "This," he said, after reading it in a very serious style, "is the honest expression of your husband's sentiments. You perceive by thisi that I shall have an important though very pain- "fil part to act in the trial of your husband, and son. I was, most unfoftunatelgy, placed in a po- sition, in regard to the former, which made me cognizant of what I would give worlds if I had not witnessed. The liaw, with relentless hand, ,would wrest my secret from me; but I am re- solved to thwart its requirements. Asa reward for the loss of my rank in the army, and other advantages which I should secure by remaining, I ask the hand of your daughter. Let her ac- company me into other lands, and I am content to go; if she refuses, I must stay." ' You have spoken to Marion on this subject,. I believe?' 'remarked Mrs. Day. "I have; I find no favor in her eyes, neith- er can I expect any. She understands me en- tirel y. I wonder that she has not ialready de- i priveda me of your good opinion. But I will: h hot reproach her; I love too well to bestow 1 ,upon her one ungentle word. She:calls what"I 1 propose, selling herself to dishonor, and is ready. to believe me a real monster. She will thus t represent the ase to you; and I do beg of you, lady, hot to be influenced against me. I can- s not' iv without her;: she is my sun, my sky, d my sta,' my life. When she is gone from me: v forever, and there shall be no hope of her re- n turn, there ill be no music for me in the songi ti of birds, or in'the thousand voices of nature:; c no sweetness in the breath of spring, or in the! I odor of every fragrant thing son earth. Tiheo s t. morning will be hailed without pleasure, and e the evening greeted without joy. O, say, lady, y that you .will listen to me; .-that you will be my - friend; that you will soften the heart of Marion; a or at least that her aversion will not cause you n to become my enemy. You see in what esteem 1 your husband holds me.; you know that I am p called a man of honor." e As the captain went on, his tone and manner - grew pathetic. He gracefully knelt at'her feet, I took her unresisting hand, pressed it to his lips, and even appeared to weep. Mrs. Day was much moved. 'Whatever pre- r judices she might have entertained against- the captain, passed completely from her iind. S-he felt only pity and admiration, for the fine-looking l man at her feet, and mingled with that pity was another consideration outweighing all other things. Her husband and son must be saved at all hazards; and the man before her-the hum- ble and respectful supplicant-had power to avert their impending doom; and he was will- ing tordo it, if her daughter would consent to share his voluntary exile. What reasons more powerful than those which pleaded for him in her bosom! She resolved to aid him, to soften down what she now considered the unjust prejudices -of Marion. "Dear madam," continued the captain, "your kind heart softens. You contemplate my mniise- ry with compassion; you are ready to assist me. I have not reckoned too much upon your good- ness. How can I express my gratitude! I will still continue at your feet. I will maintain this humble attitude until I hear from your own lips that you will not lean to despise me when you hear the accusing words of Marion. I do pro. test I am not the wicked man she" professes to believe me to be. I am open as the day; I scorn to conceal my purposes, as much as dis. dain to stoop to meanness. I am not, I never was a plotting man. I am ready at any mo- ment 'to sacrifice all my hopes of promotion in the British army for the sake of weddig that cruel girl. O, Mrs. Day, I'shall go distractead I cannot longerremain calm and tranquil. The sight of so much lovelinesa beowlders me. When I see her fair face, and divine figure, I forget all else , 'name, fame, honor. Lady, do you not pity:me?" It is impossible to describe the consummate art with which Grayson played his part. He brought, to his aid language, oratory, and' acting. "I will-I promise to aid you!" exclaimed Mrs. Day, completely -unnerve and carried away with the eaptains eloquence. "As Mr. Day has already given his consent, and even enjoined it upon me to assist you, I think I may do so without scruple." "You are. aware, lady, that all ordinary means will fail. We must resort-to something a little out of the common -course. But to use Scripture phrase, what we do must be done quickly.. Time is flying; the day of trial ean- not be far off. Human life is at stake." "Lose no time, then; proceed at once to tell me what you propose. I will hear you to the end without impatience: only speak to the point." Y' our merest wish shall- be to me as a com- mand. I hasten to obey. I have, dear madam, -your husband's consent to accomplish the object under consideration, by resorting to a ruse, or something of that nature, if ordinary means fail. I -have a clerical-friend who has a singular gift; it is the gift offascdation." "I Ihave heard -that the snake sometimes fas- cinates the bird," said Mrs. Day. ', The comparison conveys the idea I wish you to understand, but is not felicitous in all res- pects. But to resume, the serpent does some. times fascinate the bird. It is a wonderful faculty thatfis possessed by that reptile. My friend has a similar power, but his power -isover the human subject. In appearance he is much lke other men; yet the expression of the -face, and the- formation of theeye, seem to be :dif-. ferent. He has a good address, has been a i greattraveller, knows something of the habits f of all nations, is easy and graceful in conversea tion, and above all, a good Christian-a pecu- i liarity which I know will be pleasing to you. i I wil- now speak of his strange gift. He has sharp and piercing eyes, land still there is a j deep dreaminess in their depths. He fixes them upon the person he desires to- influence; but he does not cease to converse. His conversation grows more agreeable, and flows on without seffort, fresh, brilliant, and sparkling. The sub- ject is interested, chained, bewildered, and can- not and wishes not:to break the spell. -The eyes of the enchanter grow more bright and dazzling, until they seem like stars set in a sky of fleecy clouds. The subject loses sight of the man; she sees only those glowing -orbs; she listens only to notes -of soft music. 5he loses her-.in dividuality, and becomes personified in the will- of the fascinator, and obeys the impulse of hi unuttered thought." "And you propose to try' this man's power upon Marion? Is there not something terrible in it? Does it not continually remind you of the serpent and the poor bird? O,' there is something in the idea that makes me shudder." "Because it is strange and new to you. There is nothing terrible about it. It appears to me a very interesting science-if it be a science." "And you say this is a good man?" "Deeidedly evangelical in his charactei." "In what manner do -you propose to intro- duce him into our house without exciting the suspicions of Marion?" "Your husband's arrest-has really made you quite ill, and you heed a spiritual adviser. Mr. Santon is just the man. He can be with you often for this purpose, and his presence excite no suspicion. When she is once fully /under his control, the great diffieulty will be passed; she will no longer have the power to oppose our mutual wishes. We will join hands, ardMr. Santon, being a clergyman, shall unite s. Then with my precious treasure, my darling wife, I will seek some rural retreat, and bid adieu to the ' pomp and circumstanee of war ' forever. No one appearing:against our friends, they will be set at. liberty I Marion will soon reconcile herself to her lot, and ia little time will be -content and happy.-" "Your plan appears reasonable, -aF you re. present it; yet there is omethittg repulsive inv page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] it. I cannot divest my mind of a certainfeel- ing of repugnance and fear when I think of the strange gift which your friend possesses." "Remember your husband and son," said Grayson. "I consent; how can I do otherwise? Let him come." "I am grateful for this kindness; but would it not be well to say nothing to your daughter in relation to the subject of this conversation?" "I will think of the expediency of so doing. Perhaps it will be the bes policy to act -upon X your suggestions." "Be sure to have her present when Mr. San- ton viits you. You will soon learn whether he possesses any real power over the, human will, by that species of fascination which I have attempted to describe. I think it will be best to say nothing of the letter; it would only serve to awaken a-more decided spirit of opposition." Everything being arranged to the satisfaction of Grayson, he left Mrs. Day, very well pleased with his success, promising to call on Mr. San- ton on the way to his quarters, and inform him of the part he was to act in the innocentruse, and that Mrs. Day desired him to call at his earliest convenience. CHAPTER XlV. A NEW CHARAOTER-MORKE PLOTTING--THE MARRIAGB. ^I^ARION had made several attempts to d'S^ visit her father in prison, but had al-- ways failed to obtain permission of the proper authorities. The reason of her failure to pro- aure that favor was attributed (and justly) to Grayson, who had taken good care. to prevent such an event; as she mightr make representa. tions that would influence her father, and fius trate his views. When. she returned from -her visit to her brother, she was surprised upon entering her mother's chamber to find a stranger there. Her mother introduced him as a Mr. Santon, a manI of eminent piety, who, hearing of her misfor. tunes, had called to offer her the consolations of bs holy faith. There was something so singular in the ap- pearaice of the man, that Marion could not help noticing him particularly. -He had reached,I probably, the age of thirty-five. His figure, c though not wanting in height, was far from ro- ] bust, and his carriage was not erect but slightly i stooping. His features were the most remark- 1 able. His complexion was very dark, his eyes restless and penetrating. The lower portion of the face was covered with a thick black beard, which he ad -the. habit df stroking with his hand. His hair was short, curly and -coarse. In conversation he had the power of making himself very agreeable, though he might have been deemed egotistical. Marion sat down and listened to him with an interest she had rarely felt in the conversation of a clerical man. He talked of religious sub.- jects, of other countries and nations, of men and manners, and grew more warm and free, easy and eloquent, as he proceeded. Marion thought she would go several times, but still lingered to hear him. She grew uneasy, arose and sat down again. As Santon became more interest- ed in his subject, he drew his chair nearer to her, and directed his conversation more parti- cularly towards her. She: was conscious (for a-- moment) only of the' speaker, and saw only his fashing eyes. Emotions, new and strange, had birth in her mind. Pleasing fancies went flit- ting through the brain. A dreamy pleasure pervaded her being. She experieneed a lucidity of thought hitherto unknown. A: soft, luminous mist gathered before her and seemed to enter her forehead. She appeared to be floating in an -atmosphere of ether. A revolution took place. A' feeling of unutterable horror and fear swept through her frame. She would have cried out, but could not; she would have arisen from her seat; she would have passed her hand over her burning eyes, but was powerless to do so. The perspiration appeared in great drops upon her forehead; while her blood, as it went coursing though her veins, chilled her like ice. All objects were fading from her vision, and yet she appeared to be all sight, all hearing, all thought, all sensation. The physical appeared to be disappearing, while the spiritual was be- coming more real, apparent, tangible. She called up all her strength 'to shake off that-icy spell; vain attempt 1 Her dread and suffering: increased, and she believed herself on the point 1 of falling from her chair, like one frozen with ] horror, when the door was opened and Alice s made her appearance. . The spell was broken. She moved; she was e herself again; she recovered the use of her facul- 1 ties; she looked joyfully at Alice, and was l ready to fall at her feet, and bless her for her e timely appearance. Santon was still talking. a Marion blushed deeply, appeared confused, h pained, bewildered. Begging to be excused, h she arose and left the room. . She ran to her own chamber, filled with a g nameless terror, an overwhelming consciousness M that she had, escaped- some terrible calamity. She sank on her knees, bowed her head, and a prayed fervently; then arose trembling in every st limb and threw herself upon the bed. She be- b came more calm; a sort of stupor followed, and th she finally relapsed into a heavy and troubled a] sleep, which was: crowded with disagreeable fo dreams and strange phantasies, unknown be. th fore. to we A few days after'the disappearance of Mrs. va Melville and her daughter, an old man might re have been seen as-ing alms from door to door. ty Hle was well stricken in years, and leaned upon as a staff. His figure was bowed, and his strength er feeble. Hairs whitened by age and suffering, in fell upon his brow and seemed to bear reliable ok testimony to the assertion that he was "past Id labor." re The war had already reduced many (and n among them those who had been reputed wealthy) d to poverty, and it was not a strange sight to see o a begger in the streets. The old man told the is same tale at many a back door, and peered into It many a kitchen, took many a cold lunch with the servants, and we may add asked them many t questions. 1 He passed into Green Lane, and then into i Lyna street in pursuit of charitable people. He - entered a gate and stood before a door of a low, 3 wooden house. He linocked with his staff, and a young woman came in answer to his summons. I He professed to be weary and hungry. Struck ; by his venerable aspect, the domestic allowed i him to enter the kitchen unquestioned. He seated himself, and told his tale of sorrow and want. While he was speaking, a young lady entered the room, listened a moment; then placing a small piece of silver coin in his hand, hastily withdrew; it was Agnes Melville. The eyes of the mendicant sparkled 'with pleasure, and when Agnes disappeared he was expressing his gratitude in eloquent terms, and invoking heaven's choicest blessings upon her. He ate sparingly of food that was placed before him, grew less talkative, and soon took his staff and went his way. The reader will remember that we left Agnes and her friends in the street, seeking a place of safety. It being a late hour at night, they saw but few people abroad, and reached Lyna street, the place selected for their retreat, without any apparent observation., They found the house formerly occupied by Mr. Hill, open to receive' them. Certain apartments were appropriated to the use of Agnes and her mother, where they were to remain completely shut out from obser- vation. They were not to venture forth upon any con- page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] sideration, or allow themselves to be seen by say person not an inmate of the family. Sher- wood and ,Dixon were to be concealed about the premises. until the fate of-Mr. Day and Edward was, decided, or they had assisted them to escape. There was much danger in the execution of a resolution like this,. for they were well aware ,thatthe malignity of Marton and Grayson would leave no means untried to discover their hiding- place, and retaliate upon them in the severest manner; hence, the greatest caution was neces- Pary to seure their safety. -If they failed, to accomplish their worthy ob- ject, they believed they still had the means of escaping to the American camp. The assistant surgeons, having been previously instrueted by Dr. Montague, had not returned, consequently the deception had not been discovered; there. fore when Sherwood and -Dixon wished to join the continental army, the doctor would procure their passports from General Gage, in the same way that he had done in relation to the assist- ants. Yet it was highly necessary, in order that this might be accomplished :safely, that what they contemplated doing, should be done with- out delay. The anxiety which all experiencedj in this critical emergency, the indulgent reader will imagine. Each passing day brought with it in- creasring danger. That Colonel Marton had good reason to believe them within the precincts ofthe town, there could be no doubt. That he Iai most powerful incentives to discover them was equally certain. His proud and arrogant nature had been deeply mortified, as well as ex- asperated by the treatment which he had re- ceived on the night he had flattered himself Wrould witness his triumph over Agnes. His, nmnlmly : eheme had -been frustrated, on what he i maied the eve of its consummation. The manner in which he ad been discovered by the ( relief gutrd had transpired, and subjected him too onsiderable rallying and ridicule among his : brother QSffore; a state of things which had no tendency to a 'olWy his anger. The colonel's honor had also suffered gome, i in eertain 'qurter, on account of this transa- ? r tion, which did not seem fully understood -by his 'friends. The colonel and the captain of , the King's Volunteers could truly sympathize .with each other in their misfortunes. They met often and confided in each other fully. They "had many interviews, andtiresolved to aid each , other as much as possible in the furtherance of their mutual designs. To find Agnes and her brother, -was the first step that Marton desired to take towards the gratification of those revengefil feelings which his want-dof success, and the pun. ishment he had received, had called into being, So that he now had two leading motives in the 'prosecution of the search--the possession of Agnes, and the destruction of Sherwood and Dixon, though the latter was not personally known to ;him. The :reader will now:be able to form some just idea of the peril which hungiover our friends, and the necessity -of their remaining;closely con- cealed from human observation, 'In those troublous times, and under those circumstances, it was impossible in all cases to discriminate friend from foe. Agnes and her mother seldom left the apart, ments which had been assigned them. Onithe occasion to which we have alluded, the former had entered the room without being conseious that any person was present not belonging to the house. When she saw an old and poverty stricken man, and heard him relating the story of his penury and sorrow, she forgot her own danger and thought only of him. After depositing her trifling ffering in his hand, she hastened to -her own chamber, regret- ting the. many evils which always follow in the track of war. "You appear thoughtful, my child," said Mrs. Melville. "I have just seen an object of charity which excited my pity,^ she replied. ",I hope you have not suffered yourself to be seen, 0- addec Mrs. Melville, quickly. "Only by a poor old man," said Agnes. "Have you so soon forgotten Sherwood's ad- vice "- returned her mother. "Assuredly not; but what danger can be apprehended from a feeble old man, who can with difficulty drag himself .from door to door? Should we close our hearts against the claims of gentle compassion because we are placed in cir- cumstances of danger? O, no I Let us .en- deavor to forget our owmisfortunes in relieving as much as in our power the miseries of others. It is but little that we can do; yet even that little may do much good, and be acceptable in the sight of heaven." "Selfishness," answered Mrs. Melville, tak- ,ing her daughter's Aand in hers, " is no part of my nature. Ham keenly alive to the sufferings of others; but we are commanded to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves; and in our sit- uation, no advice could be more appropriate,. We are beset by danger on every hand. Your own safety and the life of -Sherwood and the brave man who is with him, depend upon our discretion. Let us not give them occasion to regret coming to our aid. We should do well to remember,that every person who enters this dweling, may be in the employ of our enemies. When the place of our retreat is once discov- ered by our enemies, adieu to all thoughts of safety. You would be torn from my arms, to ] become what I dare not think of; while my boy i would receive no mercy from our pitiless oppres- ( sors. His bravery would excite no admiration, a his youth no compassion, his innocence no re- i morse." "I am too much the creature of impulse," i replied Agnes, more thoughtfully. " I may s have acted imprudently; in future I will strive to be ore discreet. I will inform Sherwood ti of phat has taken place, though it does seem oz unreasonable to expect any danger from an old cc man who asks charity from door to door., and y can have no motive to bring misfortune upon pI those who-befriend him." Agnes descended a flight of steps to the base- ment of the dwelling. She struck lightly upon ev the floor with her foot, and soon a trap door of de small size was cautiously lifted. to "Has anything happened?" asked Sher- wood. "Nothing of importance," replied Agnes. dr "Let me descend.". / a Miss Melville now descended a flight of steps r? and found herself in an apartment, the walls of of which excluded all light from without. It was ir- faintly illuminated by a small lamp which was ,n- placed upon the floor. Two chairs, a mattress, ng a few books, a brace of horse pistols, a pair of s. duelling pistols, and a sword, were the only ar- at ticles the room contained. in "What a dark place," said Agnes. "iIt's lighter now since you've come down," k- said Davie, gallantly. f "I believe you would be quite as gallant in ;s love as in battle," added Agnes, smiling. is "In battle I allers-calkerlate to face the mu- t- sic," returned Davie. "And that queer horse, Congress, I have r heard Sherwood say, partakes of the same e spirit," said Agnes. "r "He's a critter as'knows how to hold up his o head and look at the inemy. When the case 1 requires, he is a beast as can straighten up." 3 "Well, my dear girl," said Sherwood, " what would you say, to me?" "Why, really nothing at all of consequence. f I went to the kitchen a short time ago, not knowing that any person was there not compos- ring one of the family ;'but a beggar was pres- ent. Affected by the story of his sufferings, I. approached him, and put a small piece of money in his hand. Mother thinks I was imprudent in showing myself, and thought it best for me to inform you of the circumstance which really seems very unimportant to me." "It is not easy Ao know how much impor- tance to attach to such a circumstance. Time only can prove whether the event is one of real consequence or not. I regret, however, that you suffered yourself to be seen by him,"' re- plied her brother. "Since you regret it, I do," returned Agnes. "Colonel Carton -will unquestionably cause every portion of the town to be searched in or- der to find us; and what- have you or myself to hope from his mercy?" At the mention of -Marton's name,;/Agnes grew pale and trembled. The horrors of that dreadful night when she seemed abandoned by page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] heaven, were recalled with fearful vividness. She clasped her brother's arm, and involuntarily cast her eyes about the room, as if expecting that the figure of her persecutor would rise up be- fore her. '; Cease to tremble and afflict yourself "with imaginary terrors," said Sherwood, tenderly. "Nothing dreadful can happen while you are here, and I am near you." "I know it! I know it!" exclaimed Agnes, still trembling. "And yet I am so foolish as to feel a sense of imminent danger; a danger which you seem to have no power to avert. The image of that man is ever before me. I cannot, even in sleep, forget him. He pursues me in dreams, and I awake terrified and mis- erable. Perhaps I do wrong to mention it. I know I ought to be grateful for protection hith- erto, and try to bear up with firmness under our trials; but I cannot divest myself of this horror of Marton. He is like a phantom, which, evoked by some neophyte, cannot be laid, but haunts the unhappy exorciser perpetually." "Such feelings are natural, yet I would ad- vise you to struggle with all your strength to overcome them. While our retreat remains un- discovered, we are comparatively safe. Grat- itude to one whom I love with every faculty of' my soul, induces me to stay here and dare every danger." "And that one whom you love is- Marion Day6-the fairest of her sex," said Agnes, more cheerfully. "True, 'my dear girl; anul you have as much reason to love her as myself." "I have; she saved your life, and my honor. I pray for her welfare nightly, before I close my eyes in sleep. It were shame to desert her brother in the hour of danger, though I know of no means by which you can save him. I will not attempt to dissuade you from making an effort, but I will entreat you to fie careful of your own safety." Having given the reader some idea of the sit. nation of these parties,:we once more return to Captain Grayson. He had waited with the greatest impatience the return of Santon from Mr. Day's. Be drank much wine, paced his room, and cursed. the tardiness of his accom- plice many times. At last (and it seemed an age to Grayson) he made his appearance. "What success?" he immediately asked. "As good as I could have wished, better than I might have anticipated for the first trial. A lovely creature indeed." And Santon ap- peared lost in thought. "Did you succeed in affecting her in the ma nner you have spoken of?" "My triumph was complete. That wonder- ful condition, resembling in many ;respects the phenomena of somnambulism, was produced. I succeeded in attracting her attention; I drew away her thoughts; caused her to lose sight of her own individuality; to lose sight of herself; to hear, to see, to be conscious of me only. I saw her struggle with the unknown power; I saw her tremble and grow pale. I knew at what instant the temporary light and joy gave place to uneasiness and horror; I read in her swimming eyes the history of the nameless dread which"was freezing up her blood. While she sat there, like the fascinated bird that approaches the serpent's mouth without the power to resist the impulse that urges it to destruction, she re. sembled something purely spiritual-angelic, I might perhaps say. The cheeks Were pale, the lips slightly parted, the eyes glowing with a soft light, while the heavy lids trembled above them, as if desiring to close, but fearing to obey." "What next?" "The -servant came in; the charm was bro- ken, and she appeared ready to weep with joy. I tried my power no farther. Blushing deeply, and not ,knowing what had affected her so strangely, she arose and withdrew. To-morrow your wish can be accomplished. I have 'ar- ranged it with the too credulous mother. I shall visit her again at a given hour. Madam Day will be carefaulto have Marion present, When I have succeeded in fascinating her, and her individuality is lost, and she knows and obeys only the motions of my own will, then will be the moment to sacrifice her to your brutality." ",What?" asked Grayson, tartly. "Brutality," replied Santon, with a sneer. "Satan rebuking sin," said Grayson, shrug- ging his shoulders. "When all is ready for you to appear, I will raise one of the front windows of the chamber, and wave my handkerchief, and you will, of course, take the best of care to be near." "And do you really believe that you can control the volitions of human beings and com- pel them to act contrary to what they would in the- normal condition?" asked the captain, seriously. "I know that I have that singular faculty." "But Marion Day has a strong mind. I have scarcely dared to hope that she could be brought under the influence of your power. If you suc- ceed, I will give you five hundred pounds." "It is a bargain. Marion Day shall beyours; I promise it. Rely upon me. But Grayson, villain as I know myself to be, I do feel some- thing like remorse in-sacrificing such a divine piece of workmanship." "I presume it is the first time, then, that you ever experienced such an emotion. I shall be ready; and may some friendly demon help you. I shall be the happiest, the most fortunate of men. How slow- the time will pass. How 4 many hours are there between this and to-mor- row? I must seek forgetfulness in wine-the ( only drug that can drown the stings of con- science, and render us agreeably unconscious of t the flight of time." j "What a pleasant task will be mine," added E Santon, with the same sneering expression, " to c unite two persons so admirably calculated for a each other I So much congeniality-so much I reciprocity of sentiment!" "You are pleased to be sarcastic; but I care n not. Sneer on, if you will; ,but devil or man, t only serve me, and I will reward you." X " Devil or man! Good I that suits me! I s am flattered, complimented, honored. Go on, v captain." h Santon ceased, and an expression truly satanic v was seen upon his face. His eyes flashed and ru sparkled with an unnatural light. A smile w which seemed to mock and set at defiance all mankind, played about his thin lips. There g- was something in his face that appeared to laugh at all the claims of humanity, and to declare "boldly that he- lived and cared for himself alone, r, If he served others, he did it in his own way, If and to please himself, and despised them while he assisted them to attain their ends. n - Grayson involuntarily drew back. Santon l- smiled more bitterly,. and then with a slight a wave of the hand, walked away, leaving the , captain half bewildered, and scarcely conscious of what he was doing. When Marion awoke from the sleep into which 3 she had fallen, she was strongly disposed to, t doubt the reality of what she had experienced. She felt inclined to attribute all those strange sensations to the imagination alone. Of that ; power possessed by Santon, and common enough in our day, she had no knowledge. The-facul- * ty of controlling the volitions of another person ; by the force of the will, had scarcely been recog- nized among mankind, and had it been known, would doubtless have been classed among the forbidden arts. Demonology would probably have been the softest term applied to the pheno- mena of magnetism. The puritanical notions of our ancestors would have caused them to shrink with horror from the mysterious influences and developments of that strange science. And we are not quite sure that such feelings are not proper, and such a verdict just. Marion reasoned with herself; and though reason as- sured her that she had experienced nothing out of the common order, she could not divest her- self of a sensation of dread in connection with Santon. She shuddered when she thought of him, and most ardently hoped that she might never see him again. :She knew, by intuition, that his visits would be productive of no good. At first, she resolved to avoid him and to dis- suade her mother to'have him discontinue his visits, if he came again. But when he repeated his visit the following day she had a sudden re- vulsion of feeling in regard to the subject; she resolved to enter the room boldly and learn whether the same sensations would be produced. When she reached the door of her mother's page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] chamber, her courage failed. She turned from the tIreshold with an' emotion of terror wholly undefinable. Soon her mother sent for her, and she reluctantly obeyed the summons. Santon scarcely noticed} her when she entered. His- manner had changed somewhat since his first visit. He spoke in a' hoft and subdued voice, and was much less presuming and egotistical. He appeared, in fact, more like,one who sought advice than one who came to give it. If he pronounced the name of his Maker, it was spoken as though he feared to profane it. Marion was agreeably surprised at beholding this favorable change. Her fears vanished. She seated herself and listened attentively, and soon with interest;. What had she to fear from a man so pious, so humble, so devoted to heaven? Nothing; she smiled at her former fears. But her mother appeared more unhappy than usual. She sighed often, shed tears,- and fixed. her eyes upon her compassionately. The musical tones of' Santon again had their effect upon -Marion-; but his unpretending man- ner, subdued and even submissive, disarmed her of her former terrors. A pleasing, calmness stole over her senses. Complaisance gave place to delight; an ecstasy which she had never felt took possession of her.- Again did she seem to become all hearing, all sight, all thought, all sensation, but in a degree immeas- urably surpassing all that she had experienced before. She had no longer the will or the pow- er to control her own faculties. Santon arose, smiling, and approached her. He pressed his i hand lightly upon her forehead, and passed it ' slowly down over her eyes. The lids fell upon ] the gentle orbs, a convulsive movement shook her slight person, and sighing deeply, she clasp- 1 ed her hands meekly upon her breast. Again 'Santon touched her eyes; they open- g ed calnly, and she raised theml towards heaven. l A light aimoat divine in its sweetness was re- flected from her countenance, A soft and deli- e cate paleness succeeded the rosy carnation of the cheeks. A serene smile came to her lips, a and she seemed more a being of heaven than n earth. ( ' Mrs. Day held up her hands in mute wonder. y A superstitious feeling crept over her. She be. I gan to regret what she had done, and to feel a that'she was sacrificing her child. But she s thought of her husband's danger, and of Ed- t ward, and truly believed that it was her duty to , save them thus. "What are your emotions?" asked Santon. ; "I have ceased to exist within myself. I 3 experience only those sentiments which you de- i sire me to feel," replied Marion. "You are calm and happy?" added Santon. "I think I am," returned DMarion. "What sentiments do you entertain towards your fellow-creatures?" "Love, fidelity, and truth." "Is there any human being towards whom ; you do not entertain these sentiments?" Marion did not-immediately reply. "I think not," she said, at length. "Do you know Captain Grayson?" "I do." "Do you love him?" A convulsive movement passed over the figure of Marion. She shivered as one suffer- ing from a sudden chill. She replied' slowly, and with- difficlty, still shivering: "I believe I do." "For heaven's sake, desist!" exclaimed Mrs. Day, seized with a sudden remorse at hearing sentiments so unusual from the lips of one who was all truth and goodness. "There is some- thing awful in those answers," she added, turn- ing from her daughter with a feeling of terror which she could not disguise. Santon again passed his hand over Marion's eyes. "I desire you to love the man I have men- tioned," he continued. Marion breathed hard, and appeared no lon- ger happy. She lifted her hands toward her head and then let them fall agin. "shall try to obey you," she said, with an effort which was evidently painful. Santon now stepped to the window, raised it and looked out. Before the expiration of two minutes, steps were heard upon the stairs, and Grayson entered. He looked hurriedly at Marion, whose whole manner had now changed. The moment she had heard his footsteps, those slight convulsive movements assumed: the form of real convulsions., Santon strove to calm her. "I desire you to be calm. Fear nothing. esad my will, and obey. Mr. Grayson is here. He' is my friend. Arise to your feet." Marion sighed. Large drops of perspiration appeared upon her brow. Although she was passive, and still followed the dictates of the controlling will, she could with difficulty stand upon her feet. Grayson approached and took her hand. She recoiled and drew it away. Santon then took it, placed it within Grayson's and held it there a moment. / "I wish this man to be your husband," he continued. "You have confessed that you love him. Shall I proceed to pronounce the mar- riage ceremony?" Marion was fearfully convulsed, and breath- ed like one in the first stages of suffocation. 1 "She consents," added Santon. "There is a no need of delay. I will perform the marriage i ceremony." i "In pity spare her!" sobbed Mrs. Day, who had entirely lost her self-possession, and was e hardly conscious of what was going forward. \ In a clear and distinct voice, Santon- pro- I ceeded to pronounce the ceremony. When the proper response was required, no sound came rl from the ashy lips of Marion. She inclined her n head slightly, and then went into strong con- vulsions. I Mrs. Day could no longer control her fears he for her daughter's life; she sprang forward, caught her in her arms, and laid her upon her own bed. w "Go," said Santon to- the captain; " she is yours, but your presence will not contribute to her restoration." he " Without kissing the bride?" he asked. mg " Begone, I tell you!" added Santon, an- grily. sa "You are monsters you have killed my child?" cried Mrs. Day, frantically. gr "She will recover. Cease to doubt; tran- quillize your fears," said Santon. WO kd. "Why have I lived to see my Marion die se before my eyes! Where is Alice? Ring the rm bell." r. "You sent the servant away," replied g. Santon. ' e. Mrs. Day rang the bell violently. Alice had - just returned, and' immediately answered. the n summons in person. The moment she entered as the room, Santon lost all control over his sub3 le jest. She was more violently convulsed, and the d alarming symptoms increased. The habitual k self-possession of the operator seemed to be for- r. saking'him. as "This is your work!" cried Alice, angrily. And without farther remark, and despite the re- e monstrances of Santon, she took her beloved e mistress in her arms, and carried her to her :- chamber. The mother followed, weeping and uttering the most bitter self-reproaches. -. "Don't presume to step your foot over this threshold 1" exclaimed Alice, as Santon was about to enter. ^ The fascinator paused irreso- e lute. The faithful domestic laid -her mistress upon the bed, shut the door and locked it. D ", that a mother should allow her own bless- s ed daughter to be bewitched by that black de- mon," she added, looking reproachfully at Mrs. Day. "Don't, Alice," sobbed the now thoroughly repentant woman. "You make me despise myself." * "You ought to despise yourself; I would if I were you. Just look at her! See what you have done," continued Alice. "I'have killed her.!" said Mrs. Day. "I saw Grayson go out of the house; what was he here for?" Mrs. Day made no answer. "Speak, woman!" screamed Alice, taking her by the arm and shaking her in no gentle manner. "It was to save them, Alice; yes, it was to save them." "What was?" added Alice, tightening her grasp upon Mrs. Day's arm. "The marriage," groaned the unhappy woman. page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] "What marriage!" shrieked Alice. Mrs. Day could not speak; she had only strength to point at her unfortunate child. "-/ers?." asked Alice, painfully excited and indignant. Mrs. Day inclined her head, and covered her face with her hands. "You are a wretch of a woman!" screamed Alice, flinging her arm from her with a force that made the relenting mother fall to the floor. "You had better have died than have done this. O, you will be punished for such monstrous wickedness I Don't think I'll pity you, ma'am, for I wont!" Santon had departed; Alice ran hastily down stairs and despatched a lad for Dr. Montague. He came, and pronounced the case wholly of a nervous character. The hints of Alice, and the distress of Mrs. Day, made him aware that something uncommon had taken place, in which Grayson had been concerned. He prescribed such remedies as appeared the most likely to soothe and quiet her nervous system, and she grew more tranquil. He asked but few ques- tions in regard to the cause of Marion's illness, resolving to learn all from her when she was sufficiently restored to converse. Beforehe left the house, he, addressed Mrs. Day, as follows: "You may imagine that Captain Grayson has some influence over the fortunes of your husband. Allow me to assure you that he has not that power to convict him of a heinous crime that he assumes to possess." Comfort yourself with this assurance. Trust in the Being who dispenses impartial justice. .Let me repeat what I have said to one. whose name I will not mention. Yield nothing to the de- mand of Grayson. Treat his bare-faced asser- tions as idlUr words. Do not suffer him to poi- son the air of your once happy home with his presence. Cease to regard With complacence the author of your present wretchedness. Soon the mask will fall, and the man stand revealed in all his .deformity of heoart." The power of articulation forsook Mrs. Day. She could only look at the doctor in mute sur- prise. She had sacrificed her daughter to -one who had no power to do what he had repre. sented. Her bosom was lacerated with the keenest and most pitiless remorse. She repent- ed with, deep sincerity her own, weakness and credulity, when it was too late to repair the mis- chief she had done. But she did not yet com- prehend the character of Grayson-; nor did she exactly know why she feared him, or regretted what had taken place. She believed Montague a man of truth and integrity, and therefore sup- posed that what he had said was entitled to much consideration. Promising to repeat his visit early on the fol- lowing morning, the doctor gave some farther directions to Alice and departed. CHAPTER XV. TH ESCAPE--THB TABLES TURNED. ]DWARD DAY had improved some por- tions of the time, such as were most fav- orable to his purpose, in working at the bars of his prison with the instrument which had been placed in his hands. The fear of discovery had prevented him from continuing his operations long at a time; and as more than one bar had to be removed before his escape could be effected, his progress was necessarily slow. As the work went on, he carefully removed all the dust which it occasioned, and filled up the cuts which he had made with the saw, with bits of bread, made to resemble the iron in color as much as possible, by rubbing them upon the rusty bars. X Upon' the day in which the scene described in our. last chapter transpired, Edward's task was t nearly completed. Two bars had been so far c severed at each end, that a few minutes' applica- . tion o f the saw would remove them. He now 5 only waited a favorable opportunity for escape. t To leave the prison would not be difficult, but to c scale the walls of the court would not be easy, if h he were not assisted by friends from the outside. e He scarcely knew what course to pursue. A t4 6 * , - ^ . \ premature movement would frustrate all, and - render hope of escape out of the question. Dr. f Montague had spoken of those who would be i ready to help him ale the walls; but on that Ipoint he had not been definite. What then should he do? . This important question was more speedily answered than he had anticipated. To his u. speakable satisfaction, Montague oame again, at the very time his advice was most needed. "Lose no time in telling me what you have accomplished," said the doctor, hurriedly. "The bars are nearly ready for removal," replied Edward. That is good news. Between the hours of twelve and one, some friends will be in the rear of the prison, prepared with ropes which they will throw over the walls of the court, to aid you when you have effected your escape from the prison. Be perfectly cool and you will suo- ceed. If fortune is propitious, I hope to shake hands with you in a place of safety. before the expiration of twenty-four hours," said Moo tague. ' . page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] "Stay one moment, doctor; speak to [me of Marion and the rest of my friends." "Things are going badly. Your charming sister is very miserable, and your mother com- pletely bewildered. Grayson is plotting, Mar- ton aids him, and unparalleled knavery seems to be the order of the day. I feel that I eannot wear the' mask- much,longer. A crisis is ap- proaehing, and there will soon be a change, for better or for worse. When I look upon the face of your fair sister, knowing as I do all' the mischief that threatens her, all the villanous schemes that have been concocted for her ruin, it is with difficulty that I can -contain myself, or keep my resentment within bounds. But I will bide my time. We shall be even with them yet--I know we shall, my boy. Courage- courage 1" "You will forgive me, I know, if I venture to repeat the old saying, ' that a friend in need is a friend indeed.' Your disinterested con- duet makes me feel most sensibly the. truth of the adage," said Edward.- Time, upon which important events are pend- ig;, al iysippeas to fly- onlazy wings. Min-, utAd extend thamselves to. the length -of hours; hourd assume 'theweariness of days, and days appear to beseintermnable; even Seconds become pfribsirksomefPortheir tardiness in joining the; i past. Edward suffered all the agony of imps- tise e. ,Didthe 'hear a& step in the corridor; he' trmbledi and grew pale; 'the turnkey or some ole tmight be comiug to interrupt his plans.- He wasinot acowat, or;a timid man, but the i fear ihat ofe qtintnresesn event- might frustrate ( his intAtions, had -a 6ontrolling influence over I aii forygiaatioi vtaturally sensitive. Life is 1 sweet to all; but he- had more than one miotive 1 for wishing to esape,. Not only was he desirous I ttlhwa-t 0Gtr;yEi's! schemes, and evade the i dnbr *whioh thieatened his own existence, but X tA:save Minion, in some rway, rom the 'uffian- ism' of hWri persecutor, aid from the grief which j hiasimpris ent naturlly eansede her and;hiMs mo^thr. - i - -, he f re ie titehedness of Edward as he 1 paoeE uplandaowthis narrow cell, may not be l ' readily imagined. Though he had parted from his father with anger on his part, he did not for- get his duties to him as a parent, and his cruel arrest for a crime of which he was sure he was not guilty, pained him to the very heart. "How much will my escape lighten the sor- rows of my mother and sister," be said to him- self. "And how much," he added, "will it mortify Grayson." "It grows darker," he continued. "As the night advances, a deeper obscurity- falls upon my prison. No intruding beams of moon- light come stealing in at the grated window. The stars cannot glimmer through the overhang- ing clouds: Friendly moon, propitious stars! ye speak to me of hope. Stride on, old man, Time. Crowd your minutes and hours more rap- idly into the past. Befriend me now, dame Fortune, if you forsake me hereafter." Im'penetrable darkness reigned in the cell of the prisoner. The voices of those in adjoining cells ceased to be heard. Steps no longer echo- ed along the corridors. It was past the hour when the turnkey made his visits. It was the hour of midnight.. Edward had laid off his handeuffs. :He now stood by the grated window with the saw in his hand. A few strokes were needed to finish the work. He drew the ser- rated edge of the instrument across the iron. It made, a harsh and dissonant sound, which struck terror to the heart of Edward. The saw had never sounded so loudly before. 'He de- sisted and stood in- breathless silence, in -the piomentary expectation of hearing the' footsteps of the turnkey. 'He heard nothing save at in- tervals a faint murmur in a distant cell, or the low wailings of a gentle wind. To proceed might be dangerous, to delay might be fatal. Be wrapped those portions of the implement not in actual contact with the iron, in his handker- chief. He recommenced his labors: The dis- sonance was less harsh, but still sufficiently so to put him in great fear. He worked with caution, and paused momentarily in the expectation of discovery. His hands trembled with excite- ment. tHe felt large drops of perspiration upon his brow. One end of a bar was severed. He ' laid down the saw, grasped it and wrenched it away; but the aperture was not yet sufficiently wide to admit his body. As he drew nearer the accomplishment of his object, his trepidation increased. The softest sound that reached his ears filled him with in- describable. apprehensions. 'The noise .of his own labors worked up his imagination to the highest pitch. - The second bar was cut through. Edward's bosom throbbed with hope and joy. He wrenched .away the last bar with all the strength which these emotions could impart. The space was large enough. Offering a silent prayer for success, he attempted the passage from the prison to the court. The aperture easily admitted his body. In less than a minute he stood upon the ground. But the high walls of the court still presented an obstacle. If the friends -of which mention had been made were not there, he might well despair of escape. H. e approached the last barrier between himself and liberty; he knocked upon it softly; it was an- l swered from the outside; a pause followed; a ' rope was thrown over; he seized it, drew him- self up, reaohed the top, leaped down; ,two men took him by the arms and hurried him: aay without apeaing. , They walke. some distance in silencee, hoo- 1 ing the most unfrequented streets. They. en-. tered a dwelling, closed, locked the- door, and ai struck a light. Sherwood Melville and Davie Dixon stood revealed; and aongratuations wre S exchanged with anesarnestess whichadmittWd of no doubt onming their Ainerity. Wbil tho parties were conversing in rega:d to the-be$t A course to be pursued in relation to their ftture ti s0fety, Agnes entered the room. - .he moment her eyes rested upon Edward, she blushed and, a appeared confused, while the other was equally T disconcerted. - fo ' My sister, Mr. Day, of whom you -hve heard me speak," said Sherwood. . . " I think I have head the ,happinss of seeing liw her before," replied Edward, advanmg towards e Agnes. ^ , . v it "You have," said Agnes, coloring deeply. ly "You rendered me an important service. I take this opportunity to thank you for your gal- is lantry." st While she was speaking, she gracefully offer- i- ed, her hand to Edward, who took it respectfully, is held it a moment in his own, and bowed, much te embarrassed all the while; ". This is strange, I must confess," added r. Sherwood, with a smile. "I never knew that e you had met."' ". It was once my good fortune to save Miss t Melville from the rudeness of an intoxicated sol- a dier," replied Edward. "I have ever regarded y that moment as the happiest in my life." a "Bravo!" exclaimed Sherwood. f "Face the music!" said Davie. "Eyes B front!" B Edward cast a furtive glance at Miss Mel- ' y le; i er face was rather too red to be gazed I at without annoyance; so Edward kindly look- - ed down at her feet, which happened to be two ' of the smallest imaginable. Sherwood laughed und Dixon said something bo ut ." lipn' at the inery.,' .sYo hae- esoped from, pri on," added hBerwood, in a whisper, "but I see you are likely to be oapredagainu immediately." wa-r ad .iled,. but prudently remined $silent, though, evidently considerably abashed. "You were clm enough -at Bunker Hill" sid Daie. "Brave as the brSveat," o ntinued Sherwood; "AM' d now let us go below to our hidinplae 'A gn e.f"aol be our jiqr, and, I hope you, wont, try toesepe. . "If I -m to be: your jailor," replied A e , arokly, "I shave you put under retraint. To your cell, sir' Davie, 'fetters and wardr' for this fellw." . ^ "Va.. the music," aid Daie, puVhing her.- woodalong by the soulders. A 1nd theat#i"e kwent to the place of- their:: concealment in ,tle 6best of fpirits. ' . . page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] CHAPTER XVI. nCCBSEI OPF GBAYfON'S VLflANUY I, ouCoXSS oF aRABON:8 VILLAY. ARION D AY grew more tanliuil, and Mi befdoro mornimg Slept with tolerable domposure. -The nervous crisis had passed, and left the system , much- enfeebled Though she appearedto rest with a caImness :approximating to healthful tlumbers; her mind had by no means resined its wonted composure. The most dis- agreeable fancies intruded themselves upon her diams, Imagination, with fearful awtivity, w-k busy in calling up visionary terom, which outd be surpased in ,horror only by the reality. The image of Grayson pursued her in all her entfit vagaries. ' It Was in vain that she at- tempted to elude him; he was oever present and ever dreadful. She fled, and sighing, breathed a name she had seldom spoken. Who was in hrtlioughtsl? -What nobl form- stepped forth f ethre;owd of dark' phantoms that suimouhd-, d lher,; to oaseh her from destruction? She must not think of him,- for she has a vague- and indistinct recollection that something- has transpired which will render it a crime to cherish his memory. In all her dreamy vagaries, there was one idea of which she could not divest her- self; thd idea of a marriage which had taken place somtewhere, and under some circumstances not well understood, or but imperfectly remem- bered. This single fancy made her the most miserable of all. It was late on the i following morning when she awoke from sleep. She arose upon her elbow and looked inquiringly around the room. The faithful Alice was sitting beside her bed. "Where am I?" asked Marion. ' "Here in your own chamber where you ought to be, my dear Marion,'" said Alice, soothingly.' S"Something has happened; what is it, Alice t' continued Marion, passing her hand slowly over her eyes. Alice began to, sob. "Speak, my friend," added Marion, gently. i"I fear you arenot strong enough to hear it,' 0 replied Alice. "I am sure that something dreadful has talken place; but I do not remember exactly what. \ ! now recollect tat. that man they call Santon Ws here,'" replied Marion, with a shudder. Y"You'd better .oall him Satan, mistress Marion, and done- with it,"' added Alice. "A strange influence came over me; I was calm and even-happy," resumed Marion. "I recall it distinctly. But those emotions passed away. I suffered-suffered horribly-and could not struggle with my fate. Come nearer, Alice; you seem my only safeguard." "I wont leave you, my darlin'," said Alice. "Nobody shall come near you, or do anything for you but me." "I hear some one coming up the stairs!" exclaimed Marion, grasping the hand of Alice, nervously "Who can it be? What can he want?" In a moment the door was pushed open and Grayson ywalked in. ," They told me you were sick-very ill- near dying, and I have come to see you," he cried, pausing in the middle of the room. "They would have kept me from you--the wretches-they told me I should agitate, des- troy you; but I heeded them not. My life, my love, my wife, look upon one who would give his- life to save you!" "What does that man say?" asked Marion, clinging more closely to Alice, Band shivering with horror. "His presence chills me; I am cold." "I am your husband, dear angel--your best t and only friend-the preserver of your brother- the adorer of yourperson. I come with news. Listen; turn those gentle orbs towards me; i cease to be terrified at my presence. Your v brother lives-has escaped-is free, and all i through my agency. Do you not hear-do you not comprehend? do you nothehold your hus- J band at your feet?" "Husband-wife," repeated Marion, slowly, D looking wildly at Alice. "This man is mad." I "If I am, your beauty has made me so; but v mad, I am not. I am in truth your husband. r Recall your scattered senses; it was only last night; you married me by your own free will; w by'heaven, it is true." n Marion looked inquiringly at Alice again, t I X :"I remember," sheSaid, faintly, , that Aome- thing dreadful transpired; that I was made s wretched for life; that a' man called Santon, was here." "Call it not something dreadful ; it was the happiest moment of ty existence. You gave me I your hand without being twice asked; you I stood up beside me; you spoke the fitting ; vows," answered'Grayson. "Alice, open the windows; give me air; I am suffocating!" exclaimed Marion. Grayson , fell upon his knees, and raised his hands in earnest entreaty. "Go, sir,!' added Marion, suddenly recover- ing herself somewhat. "Leave my chambie. If you have indeed consummated your atroeious villany, allow me a few hours to myself; but it - cannot be true. Heaven has not so far for, saken me as to accord me such-a fate." '? "Do you hear my mistress!" cried Alice. "She commands you to leave her chamber; How dare you come here, :sir?" "This is the chamber of my wife," rejoined the captain, in a calm voice. "I have cone to watch over her illness; to minister to her slight est wants; to be her slave." "You have come to be what you always wele.; a monster of wickedness!" retorted ASite. "You have brought ruin upon this family; it has never prospered since your figure darkened the door;"- "I have proved my friendsphip," replied Grayson. Edward is at liberty. It was my act that set him free; does this appear like the work of an enemy? O, Alice, you wrong your best friend." "If he's at liberty, it's by no good -will f yours; so march; there's the door." "Mrs.' Grayson," said the captain, turning -to Marion, with a smile of peculiar meaning; but before he could proceed with the sentence, he was interrupted. by a piercing shriek from Ma- rion. "Mrs. G(raypon," he resumed, "for so yo will be called in future, I shall comply in some measure with your request; but you- will do,- e- the kindness to rrrmember that the place for the page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] defed Sband i8s beside the couch of his sick Wife; her hambher is:a Spot ev6r open to- hi viits. Divesbyourelf of those silly prejudices. Yield gracefully to your destiny. You -ar legay minein ie'in the sight ,of God, and so awill be such in the sight of the world. Be masonable. I. will be a kind and indulgent hWbndr. Al your wishes shall be gmtified, and even your whims and caprices. When gon are sufficiently recoveredi I ;shall asume that authority over you which the law Aceords ne. : Yw ill see me daily." "Leave me-I will think-I will reason-e! wi traggle t0--"Marioft oild not finish the wntewseB. She pressed her white hand to her hea3 and became unconscious. Ai Alie seized the captain by the shoulders, plUhed him violently from the chamber, threw his hat after him and elosbd the door. Her at- tentionus oo itestored Marion to life amid an- imationt . "Request my mother to come to me," she artlate, ini a voice nearly inaudible. Alice obeyed, and Mrs. Day appeared, looking like a eiinal, and afraid to meet the gaze of her daughter. ; :Mxothief," aid Marion, speaking with great d4if6alty, andin a low tone, "were you a wit-, aes dfwhiat I am told took place last night?" 1 was," replied her mother; averting her face. - "It, is ru, then,th that ths is all real?" she ooQuued. , 8:':I is, and I feel that you cannot forgive me. BnutI thought! was acting for the best, and i according to your father's wishes. Here is-a i lsitri:wrriiohMi. -Grayson received fromnihim. ] Read it, and try to forgive me." ] Wk a tremulous hand Marion took the -let- ter! whih her mother held out. A mist went E 'aoiing before lor eyes, and it was with dif- f fiefty thiat she eould distinguish one word from f another. She paused more than once in its v pea bt ftisBed it at length. . r ? Thb9l'-Bhypderis y of that man!" she ex- dti^ ;?'4 ^Motehe, you do not krow half his bsenem t Iad my father been acquainted with- i h} trit e character, he wuld have: suffered d s score of deaths, 'rather thafi hae written this unfortun ate letter. Who caused him to be Im- e prisoned? Who flsely aeuscld him? Gfrayseo I Who is most active to procue-thr e t ondemnation'. i of Edwartd?- Who would have d ared toall ; him a deserter but him?" "He has assisted Edward to escape," said Mrs. Day. "Believe it not, mother. If my brother is at iliberty, it is not by any agency of Grayson's. Some other hand has been put forth; his only brings unhappiness and misery. rust him aot; he deceives most when he seems most sincere. To compel me to a union which every faculty of my soul instinctively shrunk from, he has brought ruin upon us." Overcome by her feelings, Marion paused. You judge him too sevre"ly, \ child," said Mrs. Day. "Santon, it appears, is a clergyman?" added Mariion. ;' He is," replied her mother. "This 'man, then, has a I gal right to con. tro my actions?" resumed our heroine. "Tell me, mother, did I really assent to this odious marriage?" "You did-you did!" answered Mrs. Day, in a subdued voice. "I can't believe it, ma'am," said Alice. "It- isn't like her at all, and I should have to see it with my own eyes, and hear it with my own - ears first." "You do not, you cannot know the wretehed; ness to which you have sold me," continued Marion. "From this moment I bid adieu to all hopes of happiness which the future has hitherto held out. I resign those anticipations natural . to the hearts of the youthful, and in so doing stifle the last regrets which a broken heart may feel. If this great sacrifice could h-av e saved a father,or a brother, it might have been made with less repugnance and wretchedness than I now experience; but I am sure that f I accom- plish no saoh thing. "You tell me that I am married; I do not know; I doubt whether a contract made uider such circumstances would be legal ; though if I, uttered the ;proper responses before witnesses, it might be, difficult and even impossible to prove that I did not act according to the dictates of my will and judgment. If I believed in demon- opathy, I should say that some demon had taken possession of me, to assist that bad man in car tying out -his designs." "You'd be obleeged to have more on 'em than Mary Magdelene, ma'am, to do that," said Alice, promptly. "One demon would not have been strong enough to make you stand up and throw -yourself away upon they wickedest and most despisablest wretch as walks the earth., If he was a husband of mine, I'd pour hot lead in his ear; that's what I'd do, ma'am!" . !"Since I am so much forsaken by heaven as to ,be placed in the'power of this man, I sup, pose that it is my duty to obey without offering useless resistance. What avails the faint flut. terings of the bird when it becomes involved in the meshes of the fowler's net; its feeble wings cannot break a single thread. It may struggle, exhlaust itself, and break its heart with no other effect than to hasten its fate. Leave me, mother; I must endeavor to gain strength to sustain me in the resolution I have taken." "You were always a. good, dutiful, consid- erate creature," said Mrs. Day. "Iknow you'll do all you can to keep up the credit of the family.' It would be a dreadful thing to have one of its members executed." Alice curled her-lip contemptuously as Mrs. Day passed -slowly from the room. "Do not blame her, good Alice. I fear her . mind is unsettled. Our misfortunes have prov- 'ed too much for her," said Marion. "I must say, mistress, that you are rather too angelic. '0, you're too easy with 'em ; that's l what's you are!" exclaimed the domestic. "When Dr. Montague,visits me," rejoined s Marion, " say nothing about what has happened. Although I have done no wrong' that I am res- r ponsible for, yet I shall feel like a criminal be- fore him;" t "Just as you like, certainly. If you wil a [, throw yourself away, it's all the; same to me," ; answered Alice, reproachfuily.. 3 "Oome here, Alice," said her mistred, f gently. Marion placed her arms softly aIout Alice's neck, and kissed her cheek. is ten- derness seemed to render her more miserable, and set her to weeping violently. "I wish Davie had bee here, m'am; or even that handsome young fellow you helped out of prisoh." ' Marion sighed. "Davie would make 'em face the mus=iW ma'am." "Regrets are useless now, Alice." { But resistance asin't. Wy people resiisted - the Post Bill, but that wasn't nothi' to thi. ; Define your position, ma'am; say I won0t, and abide by it; set down your foot and don't take it up. If he comes and says, ' youre my wife,' hold up your head, and declare boldly thatyou don't train in that company. Sar it like this- ' I don't belong to the King's Volunteers, sir.' Then pint towards the door and say, ' pquldei arms-double quick time-march! face the music I'" t "You mean well, Alice; but you do not quite understand my feelings. Will you bring me some coffee?" When Dr. Montague visited his fair patient, he was agreeably surprised at the favorable change which had taken place. Hoe found her much calmer than he had anticipated, and thought it prudent not to agitate her with question& Freedom from excitement and rest, he recom- mended as the best means of restoring her to. her usual health. It was near the hour of noon, when, a man of venerable aspect was shown intothe parlor by Alice. His figure was somewhat bowed, and his temples covered with gray hair. "I wish to see your mistress," he said, as soon as he entered the apartment. "If you mean Miss Day, she's ill and adot receive company, sir," replied Alice. 'Beg of her to allow he one hmoment's in- terviow. Tell her that I have seen her iFbthoer,! and would speak of him," added the stranger. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] "If you bring any news of Mr. Edward, die'lly e gadi to see you, I've no doubt. 'll go to her at 0oe0."' Alice left the room; ten minutes elapsed before she returned. : S "oesf b qn 'quite sick, ;sir, but you can walk up to her chamber. I hope-you bring gooadnews, for all has gone wrong here lately." Without making any reply, the stranger was oniducted to the chamber of Marion. She had arisen and sat 'in an easy chair, enveloped in a graceful morning gown. She was looking very pale and anxious. The visitor paused on the very thieshold of the door, and bowed low. Marion motioned him to enter and be seated. " Pardon me,' fair -lad, for seeking to in- trude myself into your sick chamber. Your pa lei chees;assure me that you have been very ' ari Ion started and changed color. The voice of the tager thriilled to her heart. ' You heintione'd my brother, I believe, sir." "Idiad. He has escaped from prison, and his place of concealment yet remains a secret." "i:Heaven be praised VP" she exiclaimed. "He is with friends who will never desert him,". continued the visitor. Tlose tones again [! how' strangely they fell 4 upon the ear of Marion. "Lady," he resumed, ' there is something I I muW syway wieoh: you alone must hear." Alice , wdirow,6lut by her mistress's order remained 1 near the door. t Thetranger passed his hand hastily to his face and head, tore away a gray wig and false I whiskers, and revealed to the eyes of Marion, I the eatures of a young gentleman of about h twenty-two. i *iir. /MelvilletI exclaimed Marion. "This is" indeed ;imirudent. Why have you come p here?' What strange madness has tempted you h to inour suoh a risk!" "It:is that gentle madness,- lady, with which I your goodness and beauty have infected me," aiiiswerei herwood. "I have come because I hi could not say away; because I wished to look upin yoiUonu e more; to repeat the story of my wl lo1e0;io kneel at your feet." th a,' "Nay, sir, this must not be. Lose not a "moment's time; resume your disguise, and ,n hasten hence. There is danger here. You know not what you say or do, or to whom youl ;n speak!" cried Marion, in tones of touching g earnestness. "Lady," resumed Sherwood, "there is no ts human heart so cold and hard that it loves not d something. There is no creature upon earth a that does not turn with- fondness towards some y object.- Life without some sweet affection e would be but a leafless desert; an earth with- out a sun; a sea without one white sail to break its monotony. Condemn me not for loving; - reproach me not, because my heart owns the r power of your beauty.:" I "You distress and embarrass me, sir, beyond measure," replied Marion, raising her hands to e her forehead, and pressing it tightly. "It is true, then; too true that I have failed ' to awaken in your gentle bosom one tender senti- L ment," returned Sherwood, sadly. "O, this is misery indeed!" "You have not failed to touch my heart," ; replied- Marion, with singular calmness. "Of all men living, you would have been my hoice." ' "Dear Marion," said Sherwood, taking her hand, " this frank avowal makes me hope in spite of myself. To feel that I am remembered with kindness by you, will indeed be a pleasant thought." "We must meet no more, sir. To-day, we part forever. I know you are a man of honor; I feel sure that you will keep the secret which I, have confessed," added Miss Day, vainly striv. ing to suppress her emotions. "Explain this terrible mystery! Speak! pity my impatience!" cried Sherwood, still holding the small white ,and. "Spare me, I beg of you! I am very, very miserable," and Marion wept. "Who is this Grayson, whom your brother has mentioned? What is he to you?" "He is my husband!" said Marion, in a whisper which fell like the knell of death upon the ears of Melville. A.. He dropped Marion's hand; he recoiled a few steps, lookei wildly into her face, threw himself at her feet, caught her hand, kissed it and pressed it to his forehead. "Fair divinity that I have worshipped; gen- tie star whose hallowed light I have gazed at for a moment; sweet being whom my every thought has followed; dear angel whose goodness has charmed -me like a spell; fairest, best of your sex, farewell. In whatever land I may wander, on whatever sea my bark may float, whatever changes time and the vicissitudes of fortune mtay make, I will still cherish you in my soul's most secret places as my idol, my pure ideal, my divinity still." Marion's tears fell fast; it was the most bit- ter moment of her existence. She looked sad- ly at Sherwood. Her lips refused to speak. He drew her towards him; he held her in his ' arms; he pressed her to his heart; he called her endearing names; he pressed his lips to hers; it was the first, and was to be the last time. Suddenly Marion disengaged herself. She pushed her lover from her, trembling with emotion. "This is not as it should be. I forget my position.. Leave me. Attend to your own. 1 safety, and remember' that we must meet no I more." . "One question before we separate forever. c Why did you consent to unite yourself to one so obnoxious to you-one whom you shrink from s with such evident terror?" ( "That I cannot answer. Ther e is something v so strange about it, that it overwhelms and t confounds me. More I cannot tell you. If you "indeed love me, go, and endanger your life no longer by remaining here." "I obey you. I depart the most unhappy of t men. May your guardian angel be the bright- 3 est in the galaxy of heaven. For the last time, , farewell." Sherwood caught his hat, rushed precipitate- ly down stairs, and in a moment was in the street. "What a handsome young man!" exclaimed Alice, who had stood near the door, and heard. nearly all that- had passed between the parties. "If I were you, ma'am, I'd run away with him, in spite of fate. le reminds me of Davie; I'm sure he does; so tall and ginerous like, and 'talks so nice. Here's a note a boy brought while you was talkin'." "Open and read it; I have not the strength or inclination," said her mistress, who had scarcely the power to speak in an intelligible voice. Alice opened and read as follows: a"Boston, June 29th,!775. "MY DEAR MARION,-If your health shall be sufficiently restored, I shall do myself' the pleasure to call for you, 'with a- carriage, to- morrow. Sincerely hoping that you will en- deavor to reconcile yourself to your lot, I remain, "Your loving husband, "GEORGE GERAYSON." page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] CHAPTER XVII.; a TAE DENotlikENT. EHEN Sherwood left the house; in his excitement he had forgotten his dis- guise, nor was he sensible of this oversight until he had reached Valley Acre. Danger, despair, death,- all had faded from his miad; the beauti- ful Marion only occupied his thoughts. He heard only her thrilling tones; he saw only her peerless face, and her figure of unsurpassed ex- cellence. Her loveliness bewildered him; her goodness won his respect; her grief penetrated him to the heart. Sherwood dashed on, reckless of his own safe- ty, vowing that justice should overtake Grayson, and his sins be visited upon his head. Steps echoed in his ears; he was conscious that he was not alone. He looked up mechan- ically; a British soldier was regarding him at- tentively. For the first time the conviction that he had not resumed his disguise since he had thrown it off at Mr. Day's, occurred to him. He thought of the danger to which he was ex- posing his companions, 'and reproached hiiself for his imprudence. The soldier approached, still scanning him closely. Sherwood east a furtive glance at his face; he had seen it before. But- where--u n- der what circumstances?. At the door of his, prison--he had 'passed. the man, leaning upon the;arm of Marion Day; it was the sentinel. Sherwood walked boldly on. The man sprang forward and seized him by the collar; It was a critical moment; there was no time to be lost; he was in a public place where a score of per- sons might pass in a moment. To suffer him- self to be captured, would be to ruin himself, and perhaps his friends. Sherwood was a man of powerful frame, and possessed of much personal strength. He acted quickly, and as the emergency required. He aimed a blow with his fist at the assailant; it fell with tremendous force upon his forehead; his hands relaxed their vigorous grasp, and he fellsenseless and stunned at Sherwood's feet,-- -The rebel spy did not pause for him to re- cover; but ran as fast as he was able. Fortu-, nately this scene had no witnesses, and our hero reached his hiding-place in safety. Agnes met him upon the threshold, pale and breathless. Good heavens, Sherwood!" she exclaimed. "What have you done? Where is your dis- guise? What imprudence is this?" "Be calm, my dear Agnes.- Nothing very serious has happened; at least, I -hope not, for your sake. I was recognized'by a soldier. He seized me; I knocked him down, and fled with- out being pursued." "You are terribly excited-your eyes look wild and glaring, and your whole manner is changed," continued Agnes. Sherwood took his sister by the hand and led her to the apartment which had proved thus far a secure retreat. . Edward and Davie sprang up in alarm, when he appeared, looking so wild and haggard. "Sit down, my friends, and I will explain all," he said. "But first you had better read this note," t said Agnes. "It was brought soon after your t departure, by a little girl." ^ Oilr hero tore open the paper and read: "Boston, 'June 29th, 1775. "MY DEAR SI& :-Your retreat has been dis- r covered I Spent the evening with Marton, and heard the whole from him. Persons in various disguises have been seekingyou and your friends w ever since your mother and sister left their re- e sidence. . A man in the guise -of a beggar traced a you out at last. To-night, men in his employ t] wifll silently surround the house' where you are ill concealed; the doors will be forced, and you si will be thrown into the power of Marton. I t} need not say that your sister Agnes is the ob- I ject which the colonel has in view; he vows, S also, to revenge the insult which he believes his' honor reeeived on the night when you so oppor- wr tunely appeared to baffle his wicked designs. of "You will naturally ask, what' shall we do? Whither shall we fly? tWhere shall we find fo t A - safety? Who will befriend us? Who will e- shield the gentle Agnes from wrong? I will. u- Trust everything to me. Remain where you are. ro It shall be mine to frustrate the diabolical wick- edness of your enemies. I am in their confi- Id dence. I will crush them down, down into the dust. They have played deeply; they: have i. plotted cunningly, but I have- counter-plotted s- more cunningly. Let us see who will prove the winner. I have just learned something that y causes my blood to- boil with indignation, and ,r hastens the explosion of the -mine which I have ie laid. My plans are verging rapidlyto their-con- t- summation. Calms follow storms; day succeeds to night, sunshine to clouds. All things have k their crises. There is for all things a time. Let s this truth comfort and inspire you with hope. Does the darkness of despair settle down over I you? A sun shall arise to dispel its blackness. r Does the storm threaten to engulph you? The calm that follows shall be the more tranquil. "Stay where you are. If you see shadowy forms in the darkness, heed them not; they i shall be my care. Does Agnes sigh and' trem- ble? Tell her she is safe. The breath of Mar- ' ton shall never sully her'purity. He, who in r the munificence of his kindness numbers the hairs of her head, has not forsaken her; and her angel beholds ever the face of her Father. "Bidding you to be hopeful and happy, I remain Yours truly, "H HENRY MONTAGUE." Sherwood handed ttis singular letter to Ed- ward, who read it aloud. The parties looked at each other in silent amazement. What did these assurances mean? Not one of them knew; therefore the question remained unanswered. "I have something strange and incomprehen-' sible to tell you," said Sherwood; " something that strikes me dumb with wonder. Edward, I have knelt at your fair sister's feet, and have spoken impassioned words of love." "And did she prove unkind?" asked Ed- ward, earnestly, and with an observable tremor of the voice. "She is married," replied Sherwood, with forced composure. page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] Edward Day leaped tfom his seat with an ex- clamation of indescribable surprise. He looked a moment at Sherwood, and said, in a husky voice, "I You are mad." "I solemnly aver that she told me so with her own lips, not three quarters of an hour since," added our hero. "Explain! when, how, to whom ', [cried Edward. A"To George Grayson, Captain of the King's Volunteers," said Sherwood, struggling man- fully with his feelings. "The man least worthy of her!" exclaimed Edward. "I had rather have heard of her death. I will go to her at once; I will fathom this mystery. Do not attempt to detain me." "S6ay!" said Sherwood. "This is folly. You will bring destruction upon us all ; though I care not for myself; but there are those Who look to me for protection." "Don't go," added Davie, taking Edward by the arm. "Dr. Montague wants you to stay, and it would be kind of ungrateful like to do different. He's a man as knows what he's about, and can face the music." "Your advice is good," replied Edward, 1 after a moment's reflection. "I But I assure you d all that I cannot delay the investigation of this v 'natter after to-morrow." "The time shall come when you shall look at the inemy," said Davie, solemnly. q The morning of the thirtieth of June dawned clear and bright. The radiant sun gilded the i roofs and steeples with a pleasant light. De- spite the ravages of war and the dilapidated ap- i pearance of the town, an a;r ofIcheerfulness seemed to diffuse itself spontaneously through -its streets and lanes. Marion had arisen, dressed herself with her i usual care, and descended to the parlor. Her ( cheeks had lost their soft carnation; but not their beauty. , Her step Was less elastic, and t her manner more languid than usual. Every 2 look and action witnessed that a struggle was going on within her. te She gazed out upon the sunshine and bright- - ness. Several acres of ground covered with u :- delightful verdure' was spread out before her,* d and upon which she-had often looke!d Withpjeas- y ure; but the contemplation of nature now p&o- ducetd no pleasurable emotions. She sighed, r and ceased to look at the scene. :Atithat' me: ment the sound of wheels Was* heard in rapid motion. Marion shuddered, and appeared on I the eve of fainting. A carriage drew up at the door, and two per- sons alighted. Scarcely a moment elapsed, be- -fore Alice, with evident reluctance ushered in Captain Grayson and'Colonel Marton. ' Our heroine had endeavored to fortify. her rmind for this ordeal, but nowr found that she had i-succeeded but indifferently. "I am glad,- my dear Marion," said Grayson, blandly, "I to see you so much improved.: Mrs. Grayson, suffer me to introduce you to my friencd, Colonel Marton; Colonel Marton, my wife." "This is mockery," replied Marion, with dig. nity. "In the sight of heaven, I am not your wife." "But in the sight' of the law, my dear." "There is a possibility of that; but I am by no means certain. I feel that I cannot be res- ponsible for anything that I might have said or done, while under the influence of that bad man whom you had for a coadjutor in this dishonor- able business. I declare to you that I regard you with the deepest repugnance, with uncon- querable aversion. I couple your name with all that id mean and contemptible, all that' is re- garded with abhorrence among mankind. If you indeed have .any claimns upon me, after hear- ing such words from my own lips, you must be willing to release me from them." "You mistake my-disposition entirely, my good little wife. No earthly consideration could induce me to such a foolish step," answered Grayson. "Indeed, Mrs. Grayson, you should endeavor to ,overcome this absurd prejudice," . said Marton. Sir!" - replied Marion, with a look of con- tempt. * A spot at that time Called Acosta's Pasture,. sib uated on Summer street., "The captain is an excellent man-a very excellent man "-resumed Marton, much abashed. * "'You are the only, one .as thinks so t" ex- claimed Alice, who was' with difficulty trying to appear indifferent to. this scene. "I have come to give you an airing in my earriage," added the captain.' ' Take an airing yourself, sir!" said Alice. "I hope you will protect me from the imper- tinence of your servants, Mrs.. Grayson," re; sumed the captain. ' Miss, leave the room." "There sits. the woman as commands here, sir. I don't stir a step-not a single step'with- out her orders. I shall face the music, sir!" cried Alice, bridling up. "Face the devil!" exclaimed Grayson, an- grily. "That's what'I'm doin', sir," returned Alice, looking unflinchingly at the captain. "Captain Grayson, I appeal to you as a man of honor, will you release me from any engage- ment which might have been entered into while I was unconscious of my acts?" asked Marion, firmly. "I positively assure you that I will not." "And if I refuse to acknowledge the authority thus usurped, what will you do?" "Compel you to be reasonable, as the'law is on my side. Will you put on your bonnet and c shawl?" "Not to-day; give me until to-morrow to re- fleet," remonstrated Marion. I "Not an hour will I give you. Alice, bring your mistress's things." "8ir, I've defined mhy position. I stand here It and I can't be moved. You may consider me a fixture, sir." J "Indeed!" t "And my mistress is a fixture, too." "Is it possible!" "We are all fixtures, sir." "I can't wait." i t i If she attempts to go, I will hold her, sir. I will seize her by the waist and cry murder- n murder, as loud as I can scream." h " You wil" f - "-I've got good lungs, I tell you.' s y 7+"You're a vixen I You'll lose your place, l. I foresee. I shan't keep you, depend on' it." "' If I wa a colored woman, sir, you shouldn't ' o keep me, I'd be the servant of servants, sir, afore I'd wait upon you. 'Twould disgrace my r family, sir. If Davie -was here, sir, he'd throw you out of that winder, sir!" "Your bonnet and shawl!" said Grayson, -authoritatively. "Don't-you stir," resumed Alice. "Your daughter refuses to obey me, madam," e continued Grayson, to Mrs. Day, who had just entered the room. "To-morrow, my evidence will be required against your husband." Mrs. Day began toweep, but said nothing. At that juncture another arrival took' place. The door opened, and Dr. Montague entered., Grayson immediately introduced-him to Marion, as his wife. "When did this marriage take place V" asked the doctor. "Day before yesterday," said the captain. "What witnesses have you?" "Mrs. Day, and the clergyman who offi- ciated." "Andahe refuses toyield to your authority?" "She does."' "It is unaccountable," added the doctor, calmly. . "It is indeed," responded the captain. "You will enforce your rights, of course?" resumed Montague. "I shall be obliged to; but being the friend andprotector of the family, it will grieve me to -take such a step.)" "No doubt," said the doctor. "Perhaps you had better send for the clergyman, and have the affair settled on the spot." "Your advice is good," answered Grayson. "Colonel Marton, will you oblige me by taking my carriage land going for the Rev. Mr. San- ton?" An awkward silence reigned for some fifteen minutes. Marion, with her face buried in her handkerchief, wept unceasingly, and: her mother followed her example. Not so with Alice. She still remained a " fixture "' in the middle of the page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] room, her arms folded, her face suffused with anger, and her eyes, flashing indigi'antly. , "I thought better things of you, Dr. Mon- tague,'! she said, spitefully, as Santon appeared. "You married Miss Day and Captain Gray- son?"' said Dr. Montague. "I did," replied Santon. "She gave the-proper responses?" "She did." "You consider her his lawfully wedded wife?" "I do." "The case seems to be very plain," added the doctor. ' Mrls. Grayson, you will be obliged to confess the authority of your husband." "H have; resolved to do so, and no person knows what an ffort it cost. me; but my cour- age fails; the task is beyond my strength. I cannot reconcile myself to my fate." "Perhaps your friend, the clergyman, can exert some influence upon her mind," resumed the doctor. "Can you not employ some strong arguments to convince her of her duty?" he added, turning to Santon. Marion shuddered with horror. "O, take away that fearful man!" she cried, in an agony of terror. "I think I might," said Santon, piously, fixing his serpent gaze upon Marion. "Wait one moment," said Montague. "I have thought of another expedient which may succeed in bringing your wife to a sense of -lier duty." While the doctor was speaking, there E was a burst of muqic in the street. Captain Grayson, and the others looked out and beheld, i to their surprise, the King's Volunteers parading! in front of the house. "What means this?"- exclaimed the captain. 1 " A pleasant surprise, captain; they wish to : pay you a compliment, doubtless." - A large and splendid carriage now drew up to the door. The music immediately ceased, 1 and the King's Volunteers formed two lines be- tween the vehicle and the door of Mr. Day's residence. Several persons then alighted; but o who they were covld not be distinctly seen. 1 The parlor; door was thrown open, and. the t i following persons entered:, Mr. Day ancd Ed- ward, Sherwood Melville, Davie Dixon; Mrt. - Melville and Agnes. A man followed them wrapped in. a light cloak, which was drawn up, - over his face in a manner to conceal it frQio view. Captain Grayson and Colonel Marton looked at each other, in alarm, and attempted to leave the apartment. - "Stay " cried Dr. Montague, "and hear what remains to be said. Captain Grayson, your consummate hypocrisy, your unheaid of villany, is unmasked. -Behold before you the victims of your wicked and nmnanly scheming. You turn pale- and tremble at hearing these words. from one whom you believed your ac- complice in villany, and your friend Marton, winces beneath my words, I have not sufficient power over human language to tell you how' much I despise such despicable meanness, hor- rible malignity, and cold-blooded atrocity. You are scoundrels, both. I have watchede you in all your devious windings and turnings, in all your criminal duplicity, and stand here to wit- ness against you. The measure of your sins is fall and running over. Here must your career end. "This fair. young creature is not your wife, Captain Grayson, as you knQw, as Iknow, and as that man can testify (pointing at Santon). He is not a clergyman. The only thing he can claim is infamy, which "you can both go -and share together like brothers. The marriage was no marriage at all; and the lady is free, This": is not half. You caused her father to. be accused of a crime 'of whieh he was not guilty. And why? To gain an ascendancy (which an honest man would scorn to possess, or use) over this angel of purity and beauty. A few days ago, I was called to dress the wounds of one who -re- ceived a gunshot wound at Bunker Hill. RHe had something on his conscience which. he wish- ed to free himself oft He confessed the murder of James Hil. He had witnessed the .payment of the money by Mr. Day, and was tempted'to kill him in order to possess it. Before he had time to rifle the dead man's pockets, he heard footsteps and fled. Mr. Day was-on his return hBome. H e vaw a dark- object upon the ground. It wasthe body of Hill. tHe bent over it to see if life was extinct. You, Captain Grayson, saw him in this portion, and conceived the hor- rible scheme which you have attempted to cany out, Heaven has frustrted your plans. Jus- tice stands up and confronts you. Edward Day was taken at Bunker Hill. You were not con- tent; you were anxious to increase your power over Marion. Desertion was a orime punish- able with death. You resolved to make this imaginary crime subserve your purpose. He was not guilty, as you were well aware; but that mattered not. You could render Marion ad her mother more wretched by this ingenious device. That failed the prisoner essaped. He is here. Look upon the father, the son, the mother, the daughter; you have wronged them all past the power of reparation. The story of their wrongs has been told to one in authority. He has acted humanely, generously, Marton is your accomplice. He has sought the ruin of another innocent and worthy family. He persecuted a fri4dless girl. He took ad- vantage of his position to oppress her and make her wretched. He would have destroyed one most dear to her by the ties of blood. All failed; you both were thwarted; God is just." Dr. Montague ceased, and the man in the ecloak stepped forward. ( You are rogues, both," he said, slowly. "And who are you?" exclaimed Grayson. The man threw off his cloak and hat, crying in a voice like a trumpet; "I am Thomas Gage, Captain General of his Majesty's troops in America. I deprive you l both of your command, in the service of King r George, He who oppresses women, and has no respect- for innocence and virtue, is not worthy r to wear the sword. Give yours to me. I will i bestow them on those more true and loyal-more honest and brave. Tear off those badges upon your shoulders." Burning with shame, rage, and disappoint- i ment, Grayson and Marton gave up their swords, 1 and the insignia of their rank in the British 1 Army. a "Gentlemen," added the general, " will give you passports to the American camp, and to all others of this omlppy, -save; those three , (pomntig a;t Grayson, Marton and 8anton), who * esteem it a favor." r "Before you go, general, I would introdue - one more person to this company," said Mon- r tague. The general bowed assent. The doctor step r ped to the window, and tapped upon the glais. Steps were heard approaching. A tall man opened the door and stepped in. A cry of as- thnishment escaped the lips of all. - The tomb had given up its dead,-James Hill stood before them! I Dr. Montague spoke again. "Mr. lHill was foupd at Valley Acre, at about nine o'cloeok on the evening of the six- teenth of Jue. The body evinced no signs of life; I pronounced him dead and attended him home. By the earnest solicitations of his wife, I used the means usually resorted to in such cases, for his resuoitation. Contraryto my ex- pectations, I was successful. I walked directly to Captain Grayson's quarters.! was ready deeply in his confidence. He sat, down and told me the plan he had jest formed, and how he would make the tragical fote of Hill subserve his purpose. I kept 'my secret. I told him nothing of the resuscitation. I attendzed to his wounds daily, until he was fully restored as you see him now. I have kept him concealed-I have waited my time-my satisfaction is com- plete." 1 M irton and Grayson were now permitted to withdraw. With bowed heads, biting their lips with vexation and shame, they left the apart- ment. The moment they reached the door, the Volunteers gave three groans, and the band struck up the "Rogue's March," and played it in'fine style. The infamous pair crept into their carriage and drove away furiously-humbled and disgraced men. Santon followed' on foot, Davie Dixon help- ing him, with hisfoot, to get a fair start, ex-. horting him earnestly to "face the music." The trio soon after disappeared from that por- page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] tion of the country, and were never seen there afterward. General Gage in the most bland and graceful manner congratulated the company on the suc- cessful termination of their grievances; and ex- pressed a wish that Marion Day and Sherwood Melville might shortly be united. Dr. Montague was thanked and caressed to his heart's content; but in the conviction that he had " done to others as he would that others should do unto him," he found his most ample and fitting reward. Passports were procured, and all the parties worthy of the reader's interest, went over to the : American camp. The same day that the British troops evac- i uated Boston, Marion Day and the Rebel Spy, 1 Agnes Melville and Edward, were happily wed- c ded. It was a joyful occasion, not only for r them, but for the American army, and the b townspeople; the latter having become heartily t tired of being shut up in the town, and prevent- ed, by military law, from holding any commu- v nication with the country. t( It was a day of general rejoicing; but to the v fortunate lovers, such a day as we will not at. si tempt to describe. Davie Dixon followed the example of his friends, soon after, and married al Alice. Their courtship had been a long one, S Fe having known each other before the breaking out of the colonial difficulties. Dixon was the d first to enter the besieged town after the British 3- left it. He rode "Congress" on that memot - :- able occasion, and was heard to say more than 1 once: "Eyes front! look at the inemy; face the ) music," &. t Dr. Montague always remained a firm friend 3 of the parties; not till some time after, did they ; discover that he was a true friend of the revolu- tion. During the siege, he had kept up a cor- respondence with the American commander, and had frequently rendered essential service. The King's Volunteers, many of them, went with the British troops. The few that remained behind became the supporters of the patriot cause. The fair Marion, and the gentle Agnes, never regretted their choice; they made their husbands the happiest of men, and considered themselves the most fortunate of wives. Mr. Day, though he could not fully agree with his brave son-in-law on all points, ceased to find fault with the whigs, and thought it was very possible they might be right in their oppo- sition to the ministry. Thanking the kind reader for his indulgent attention, the author takes -leave of the REBEL SPY and the KING'S VOLUNTEERS. THE END.
