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  CHAPTER V.

  DUNWOODIE'S INVESTIGATION.

  After sufficient time had passed to make a very comfortable meal, atrumpet suddenly broke on the ears of the party, sending its martialtones up the valley, in startling melody. The trooper rose instantlyfrom the table, exclaiming:

  "Quick, gentlemen, to your horses; there comes Dunwoodie;" and,followed by his officers, he precipitately[49] left the room.

  [Footnote 49: very hastily.]

  With the exception of the sentinels left to guard Captain Wharton, thedragoons mounted, and marched out to meet their comrades.

  In the advancing troop, one horseman seemed to be distinguished inparticular from those around him. Even the steed of this youthfulsoldier seemed to be conscious that he sustained the weight of nocommon man. The dragoon sat in the saddle with a firmness and easethat showed him master of himself and horse, his figure uniting thejust proportions of strength and activity, being tall, round, andmuscular. To this officer Lawton made his report, and side by sidethey rode into the field opposite to the cottage.

  The officer gave a few hasty orders to his second in command, walkedrapidly into the lawn, and approached the cottage. The dragoonascended the steps of the piazza, and had barely time to touch theouter door, when it opened to his admission.

  Frances silently led the way into a vacant parlor, opposite to theone in which the family were assembled, and turning to the soldierfrankly, placing both her hands in his own, exclaimed:

  "Ah, Dunwoodie, how happy on many accounts I am to see you! I havebrought you in here to prepare you to meet an unexpected friend in theopposite room."

  "To whatever cause it may be owing," cried the youth, pressing herhands to his lips, "I, too, am happy in being able to see you alone.Frances, the probation[50] you have decreed is cruel; war and distancemay separate us forever."

  [Footnote 50: trial.]

  "We must submit to the necessity which governs us. But it is not lovespeeches I would hear now: I have other and more important matter foryour attention."

  "What can be of more importance than to make you mine by a tie thatwill be indissoluble![51] Frances, you are cold to me--me--from whosemind, days of service and nights of alarm have never been able tobanish your image for a single moment."

  [Footnote 51: never to be loosened.]

  "Dear Dunwoodie," said Frances, softening nearly to tears, "you knowmy sentiments. This war once ended, and you may take my hand forever;but I cannot consent to tie myself to you by any closer union, so longas you are arrayed against my only brother. Even now, that brother iswaiting your decision to restore him to liberty, or to conduct him toa probable death."

  "Your brother!" cried Dunwoodie, starting and turning pale; "Frances!what can I do?"

  "Do!" she repeated, gazing at him wildly; "would Major Dunwoodie yieldto his enemies his friend, the brother of his betrothed wife? Do youthink I can throw myself into the arms of a man whose hands arestained with the blood of my only brother!"

  "Frances, you wring my very heart; but, after all, we may be torturingourselves with unnecessary fears, and Henry, when I know thecircumstances, may be nothing more than a prisoner of war; in whichcase, I can liberate him on parole."

  Frances now led the way to the opposite room. Dunwoodie followed herreluctantly, and with forebodings of the result.

  The salutations of the young men were cordial and frank, and, on thepart of Henry Wharton, as collected as if nothing had occurred todisturb his self-possession.

  After exchanging greetings with every member of the family, MajorDunwoodie beckoned to the sentinel to leave the room. Turning toCaptain Wharton, he inquired mildly:

  "Tell me, Henry, the circumstances of this disguise in which CaptainLawton reports you to have been found; and remember--remember--CaptainWharton, your answers are entirely voluntary."

  "The disguise was used by me, Major Dunwoodie," replied the Englishofficer, gravely, "to enable me to visit my friends without incurringthe danger of becoming a prisoner of war."

  "But you did not wear it until you saw the troop of Lawtonapproaching?"

  "Oh, no!" interrupted Frances, eagerly, "Sarah and myself placed themon him when the dragoons appeared; it was our awkwardness that led tothe discovery."

  The countenance of Dunwoodie brightened, as, turning his eyes infondness on the speaker, he listened to her explanation.

  "Probably some articles of your own," he continued, "which were athand, and were used on the spur of the moment."

  "No," said Wharton, with dignity; "the clothes were worn by me fromthe city; they were procured for the purpose to which they wereapplied, and I intended to use them again in my return this very day."

  "But the pickets--the party at the Plains?" added Dunwoodie, turningpale.

  "I passed them, too, in disguise. I made use of this pass, for whichI paid; and, as it bears the name of Washington, I presume it isforged."

  Dunwoodie caught the paper eagerly, and stood gazing on the signaturefor some time in silence, during which the soldier gradually prevailedover the man; then he turned to the prisoner with a searching look, ashe asked:

  "Captain Wharton, whence did you procure this paper?"

  "This is a question, I conceive, Major Dunwoodie has no right to ask."

  "Your pardon, sir; my feelings may have led me into an impropriety.This name is no counterfeit. Captain Wharton, my duty will not sufferme to grant you a parole; you must accompany me to the Highlands."

  "I did not expect otherwise, Major Dunwoodie."

  "Major Dunwoodie," said Frances, "I have already acknowledged to youmy esteem; I have promised, Dunwoodie, when peace shall be restored toour country, to become your wife; give my brother his liberty onparole, and I will this day go with you to the altar, follow you tothe camp, and, in becoming a soldier's bride, learn to endure asoldier's privations."

  Dunwoodie seized the hand which the blushing girl extended towardshim, and pressed it for a moment to his bosom; he paced the room inexcessive agitation.

  "Frances, say no more, I conjure you, unless you wish to break myheart."

  "Then you reject my proffered hand?" she said, rising with dignity.

  "Reject it! Have I not sought it with entreaties, with tears? But totake it under such conditions would be to dishonor both. Henry must beacquitted; perhaps not tried. No intercession of mine shall bewanting, you must well know; and believe me, Frances, I am not withoutfavor with Washington."

  "That paper, that abuse of his confidence, will steel him to mybrother's case. If threats or entreaties could move his stern senseof justice, would Andre have suffered?" As Frances uttered thesewords, she fled from the room in despair.

  Dunwoodie remained for a minute nearly stupefied; and then hefollowed with a view to vindicate[52] himself, and to relieve herapprehensions. On entering the hall that divided the two parlors,he was met by a ragged boy, who looked one moment at his dress, andplacing a piece of paper in his hands, immediately vanished throughthe outer door of the building. The soldier turned his eyes to thesubject of the note. It was written on a piece of torn and soiledpaper, and in a hand barely legible; but, after much labor, he wasable to make out as follows:

  [Footnote 52: free from blame.]

  "The rig'lars are at hand, horse and foot."

  Dunwoodie started; and, forgetting everything but the duties of asoldier, he precipitately left the house. While walking rapidlytowards the troops, he noticed on a distant hill a vidette[53] ridingwith speed; several pistols were fired in quick succession, and thenext instant the trumpets of the corps rang in his ears with theenlivening strain of "To arms." By this time he had reached the groundoccupied by his squadron; the major saw that every man was in activemotion. Lawton was already in the saddle, eying the opposite extremityof the valley with the eagerness of expectation.

  [Footnote 53: a mounted sentinel.]