Marlowe.

THE evening repast, in the good old times, was not one of your empty shows, such as it appears at present. It consisted of goodly solids of several descriptions. Meats shared the place with delicacies; and tea or coffee was the adjunct to such grave personages as Sir Loin, Bacon, Beef, and Viscount Venison. Balfour and Cruden were both strongly prepossessed in favor of all titled dignitaries, and they remained in goodly communion with such as these for a longer period than would seem reasonable now to yield to a supper-table. Captain Dickson naturally followed the example of his superiors; and our loyalist leader, Furness if he did not declare the same tastes and sympathies in general, attested, on this occasion, the sharpness of an appetite which had been mortified by unbroken denial throughout the day. But the moment at length came which offered a reasonable pretext to the ladies for leaving the table. The guests no longer appealed to the fair hostess for replenished cups; and, giving the signal to her excellent, but frigid and stately aunt, Mrs. Barbara, Katharine Walton rose, and the gentlemen made a like movement. She approached Colonel Balfour as she did so, and laid the keys of the house before him.

"These, sir, I may as well place at once in your keeping. It will satisfy you that I recognize you as the future master here. I submit to your authority. The servant, Bacchus, will obey your orders, and furnish what you may require. The wines and liquors are in the sideboard, of which you have the keys. Good-night, sir; good-night, gentlemen."

The ease, grace, and dignity with which this communication was made, surprised Balfour into something like silence. He could barely make an awkward bow and a brief acknowledgment as she left the apartment, closely followed by her aunt. The gentlemen were left to themselves; while Bacchus, at a modest distance, stood in respectful attendance.

"By my life," said Cruden, "the girl carries herself like a queen. She knows how to behave, certainly. She knows what is expected of her."

"She is a queen," replied Balfour, with quite a burst of enthusiasm. "I only wish that she were mine. It would make me feel like a prince, indeed. I should get myself crowned King of Dorchester, and my ships should have the exclusive privilege of Ashley River. 'The Oaks' should be my winter retreat from the cares of royalty, and my summer palace should be at the junction of the two rivers in Charleston. I should have a principality—small, it is true; but snug, compact, and with larger revenues, and a territory no less ample than many of the German princes."

"Beware!" said Cruden, half seriously. "You may be brought up for lese-majeste."

"Pshaw! we are only speaking a vain jest, and in the presence of friends," was the reply of Balfour, glancing obliquely at Captain Furness. The latter was amusing himself, meanwhile, by balancing his teaspoon upon the rim of his cup. A slight smile played upon his mouth as he listened to the conversation, in which he did not seem to desire to partake. Following the eye of Balfour, which watched the loyalist curiously, the glance of Cruden was arrested rather by the occupation than the looks of that person. His mode of amusing himself with the spoon was suggestive of an entirely new train of thought to the commissioner of sequestrated estates.

"By the way, Balfour, this looks very suspicious. Do you observe?"

"What looks suspicious?"

"Do you remember the subject of which we spoke before supper?—the plate of this rebel Walton? It was understood to be a singularly extensive collection—rich, various, and highly valuable. You remark none of it here—nothing but a beggarly collection of old spoons. The coffee-pot is tin or pewter; the tea-service, milk-pot, and all, of common ware. I am afraid the plate has followed the jewels of the young lady, and found its way into the swamps of Marion."

A scowl gathered upon the brow of Balfour, as he glanced rapidly over the table. The next moment, without answering Cruden, he turned to Bacchus, who stood in waiting with a face the most inexpressive, and said—

"Take the keys, Cupid, and get out some of the best wines. You have some old Jamaica, have you not?"

The reply was affirmative.

"See that a bottle of it is in readiness. Let the sugar-bowl remain, and keep a kettle of water on the fire. This done, you may leave the room; but remain within call."

He was promptly obeyed. The conversation flagged meanwhile. Cruden felt himself rebuked, and remained modestly silent, but not the less moody on the subject which had occasioned his remark. Balfour referred to it soon after the disappearance of Bacchus.

"It is as you say, Cruden; there is certainly no display before us of the precious metals. I had really not observed the absence of them before. In truth, everything was so neatly arranged and so appropriate, that I could fancy no deficiencies. Besides, my eyes were satisfied to look only in one direction. The girl absorbed all my admiration. That she has not herself gone into the camp of Marion, is my consolation. I shall compound with you cheerfully. You shall have the plate, all that you may find, and the damsel comes to me."

The cheeks of the loyalist captain, had they caught the glance, at that moment, of the commandant of Charleston, would have betrayed a peculiar interest in the subject of which he spoke. They reddened even to his forehead, and the spoon slid from his fingers into the cup. But he said nothing, and the suffusion passed from his face unnoticed.

"I am afraid that you would get the best of the bargain. But it may be that the plate is till in the establishment. It would scarcely be brought out on ordinary occasions."

"Ordinary occasions! Our visit an ordinary occasion!" exclaimed Balfour. "Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, my good fellow. These Carolinians never allow such occasions to escape them of making a display. The ostentation of the race would spread every available vessel of silver at the entrance of stranger guests of our rank. Nothing would be wanting to make them glorious in our eyes, and prompt us to proper gratitude in theirs. They would certainly crowd sideboard and supper-table with all the plate in the establishment."

"Ay, were we guests, Balfour; but that were no policy, if we came as enemies. Would they tempt cupidity by ostentatious exhibitions of silver? Scarcely! They would be more apt to hide away."

"As if they knew not that we are as good at seek as they at hide! No, no, my dear fellow; I am afraid that your first conjecture is the right one. If the woman gives her jewels, it is probable that the plate went before. But we shall see in season. Meanwhile, I am for some of the rebel's old Madeira. Come, Captain Furness, let us drink confusion to the enemy."

"Agreed, sir," was the ready answer. "I am always willing for that. I am willing to spoil the Egyptians in any way. But to see how you do things here below, makes one's mouth water. We have mighty little chance, in our parts, for doing ourselves much good when we pop into an enemy's cupboard. There's monstrous small supply of silver plate and good liquor in our country. The cleaning out of a rebel's closet in 'Ninety-Six' won't give more than a teaspoon round to the officers of a squad like mine; and the profits hardly enough to reconcile one to taking the pap-spoon out of a baby's jaws, even to run into Spanish dollars. But here, in these rich parts, you have such glorious pickings, that I should like greatly to be put on service here."

"Pickings!" exclaimed Balfour, lifting his eyes, and surveying the loyalist from head to foot, as he held the untasted goblet suspended before his lips—"pickings! Why, sire, you speak as if the officers honored with the commission of his majesty, could possibly stoop to the miserable practice of sharing selfishly the confiscated possessions of these rebels."

"To be sure, colonel; that's what I suppose. Isn't it so, then?" demanded the loyalist, not a whit abashed.

"My good sir, be a little wiser; do not speak so rashly. Let me enlighten you."

"Pray do; I'll thank you, colonel."

"To distress the enemy, to deprive them of the means to be mischievous, alone causes the sequestration of their goods and chattels. These goods and chattels must be taken care of. It may be that these rebels will make proper submission hereafter, will make amends for past errors by future service; and, in such cases, will be admitted to his majesty's favor, and receive their possessions at his hands again, subject only to such drawbacks as flow necessarily from the expense of taking care of the property, commissions on farming it, and unavoidable waste. These commissions are generally derived from mere movables, silver and gold, plate and jewels, which, as they might be lost, are at once appropriated, and the estate credited with the appropriation against the cost and trouble of taking care of it. That the officers in his majesty's commission should employ this plate, is simply that his majesty's service may be sufficiently honored and may command due respect. Selfish motives have no share in the transaction. We have no 'pickings,' sir—none! Appropriations, indeed, are made; but, as you see, solely for the equal benefit of the property itself, the service in which we are engaged, and the honor of his majesty. Do you comprehend me, my young friend?"

"Perfectly, sir; perfectly. I see. Nothing can be clearer."

"Do not use that vulgar phrase again, I pray you, in the hearing of any of his majesty's representatives. 'Pickings' may do among our loyalist natives. We do not deny them the small privileges of which you have spoken. You have emptied, in your experience, I understand, some good wives' cupboards in Ninety-Six. You have grown wealthier in tea and pap-spoons. It is right enough. The laborer is worthy of his hire. These are the fits with which his majesty permits his loyal servants to reward themselves. But, even in your case, my young friend, the less you say about the matter the better. Remember, always, that what is appropriated is in the name, and, consequently, for the uses of his majesty. But no more 'pickings,' if you love me."

An air of delicate honor always accompanied the use of the offensive phrase. The loyalist captain professed many regrets at the errors of his ignorance.

"I see, I see; 'appropriations' is the word, not 'pickings.' There is a good deal in the distinction, which did not occur to me before. In fact, I only use the phrase which is common to us in the up country. Our people know no better; and I am half inclined to think that, were I to insist upon 'appropriations,' instead of 'pickings,' they would still be mulish enough to swear that they meant the same thing."

Balfour turned an inquisitive glance upon the speaker; but there was nothing in his face to render his remark equivocal. It seemed really to flow from an innocent inexperience, which never dreamed of the covert sneer in his answer. He tossed off his wine as he finished, and once more resumed his seat at the table. So did Cruden. No so, Balfour. With his arms behind him, after a fashion which Napoleon, in subsequent periods, had made famous, if not graceful, our commandant proceeded to pace the apartment, carrying on an occasional conversation with Cruden; and, at intervals, subjecting Furness to a sort of inquisitorial process.

"What did you see, Captain Furness, in your route from the Congarees? Did you meet any of our people? or did you hear anything of Marion's?"

"Not much, colonel; but I had a mighty narrow escape from a smart squad, well mounted, under Major Singleton. From what I could hear, they were the same fellows that have been kicking up a dust in these parts."

"Ha! did you meet them?" demanded Cruden. "How many were there?"

"I reckon there may have been thirty or thirty-five—perhaps forty—all told."

"You hear?" said Cruden.

"Yes, yes!" rather impatiently, was the reply of Balfour. "But how knew you that they were Singleton's men?"

"Well, it so happened that I got a glimpse of them, down the road, while I was covered by the brush. I pushed into the woods out of sight, as they went by, and found myself suddenly upon a man, a poor devil enough, who was looking for a hiding-place as well as myself. He knew all about them; knew what they had been after, and heard what they had done. His name was Cammer; he was a Dutchman, out of the Forks of Edisto."

"What route did they pursue?"

"Up the road, pushing for the east, I reckon."

"And you want rifles and sabres, eh?"

"And a few pistols, colonel."

"Do you suppose that you have much work before you, after this annihilation of Gates at Camden?"

"Well, I reckon there was no annihilation, exactly. The lads run too fast for that. They are gathering again, so they report, pretty thick in North Carolina, and are showing themselves stronger than ever in our up-country. The fact is, colonel, though Lord Cornwallis has given Gates a most famous drubbing, it isn't quite sufficient to cool the rebels. The first scare, after you took the city, is rather wearing off; and the more they get used to the sound of musket bullets, the less they seem to care about them. The truth is, your British soldiers don't know much about the use of the gun, as a shooting iron. They haven't got the sure sight of our native woodsmen. They are great at the push of the bayonet, and drive everything before them: but at long shot, the rebels only laugh at them."

"Laugh, do they?"

"That they do, colonel, and our people know it; and though they run fast enough from the bayonet, yet it's but reasonable they should do so, as they have nothing but the rifle to push against it. If they had muskets with bayonets, I do think they'd soon get conceited enough to stand a little longer, and try at the charge too, if they saw a clever opportunity."

"That's your opinion, is it?"

"Not mine only, but his lordship, himself, says so. I heard him, with my own ears, though it made Colonel Tarleton laugh."

"And well he might laugh! Stand the bayonet against British soldiers. I wonder that his lordship should flatter the scoundrels with any such absurd opinion."

"Well now, colonel, with due regard to your better judgment, I don't see that there's anything so very absurd in it. Our people come of the same breed with the English, and if they had a British training, I reckon they'd show themselves quite as much men as the best. Now, I'm a native born American myself, and I think I'm just as little likely to be scared by a bayonet as any man I know. I'm not used to the weapon, I allow; but give me time and practice, so as to get my hand in, and I warrant you, I'd not be the first to say 'back out, boys, a hard time's coming.' People fight more or less bravely, as they fight with their eyes open, knowing all the facts, on ground that they're accustomed to, and having a weapon that's familiar to the hand. The rifle is pretty much the weapon for our people. It belongs, I may say, to a well-wooded country. But take it away from them altogether, and train them every day with musket and bayonet, with the feel of their neighbor's elbow all the while, and see what you can make of them in six months or so."

"My good friend, Furness, it is quite to your honor that you think well of the capacities of your countrymen. It will be of service to you, when you come to confront our king's enemies in battle; but you are still a very young man—"

"Thirty-two, if I'm a day, colonel."

"Young in experience, my friend, if not in years. When you see and hear more of the world, you will learn that the bayonet is the decreed and appointed weapon for a British soldiery over all nations. He may be said to be born to it. It was certainly made for him. No people have stood him with it, and take my word for it no people will."

"Unless, as I was saying, a people of the same breed—a tough, steady people, such as ours—that can stand hard knocks, and never skulk 'em when they know they're coming. I've seen our people fight, and they fight well, once they begin—"

"As at Camden."

"There they didn't fight at all; but there was reason—"

"Let us take a glass of wine together, Captain Furness. I feel sure that you will fight well when the time comes. Meanwhile, let us drink. Come, Cruden, you seem drowsing. Up with you, man. Our rebel, Walton, had a proper relish for Madeira. This is as old as any in the country. What would they say to such a bottle in England?"

"What! can't they get it there?" demanded the loyalist captain, with an air of unaffected wonderment.

"No, indeed, Furness. You have the climate for it. You see, you have yet to live and learn. Our royal master, George the Third, has no such glass of wine in his cellar. Come, fill, Cruden, shall I drink without you?"

"I'm with you! Give us a sentiment."

"Well! Here's to my Altamira, the lovely Katharine Walton; may she soon take up arms with her sovereign! Heh! You don't drink my toast, Captain Furness?"

"I finished my glass before you gave it, colonel."

"Fill again! and pledge me! You have no objection to my sentiment?"

"None at all! It don't interfere with a single wish of mine. I don't know much about the young lady; but I certainly wish, in her case, as in that of all other unmarried young women, that she may soon find her proper sovereign."

"I see you take me. Ha! ha! You are keen, sir, keen. I certainly entertain that ambition. If I can't be master over Dorchester and the Ashely, at all events, I shall aim to acquire the sovereignty over her. Cruden, my boy, you may have the ancient lady—the aunt. She is a gem, believe me, from the antique! Nay, don't look so wretched and disgusted. She is an heiress in her own right; has lands and negroes, my friend, enough to make you happy for life."

"No more of that, Nesbitt. The matter is quite too serious for jest."

"Pshaw! drink! and forget your troubles. Your head is now running on that plate. What is it is gone, there are the lands, the negroes, and a crop just harvesting—some nine hundred barrels of rice, they tell me!"

A sly expression passed over the feature of the loyalist captain, as Balfour enumerated the goods and chattels still liable to the grasp of the sequestrator; but he said nothing. Balfour now approached him, and putting on an air of determined business, remarked abruptly—

"So, Captain Furness, you desire to go with me to Charleston for arms?—"

"No, indeed, colonel; and that's a matter I wish to speak about. I wish the arms, but do not wish to go to Charleston for them, as I hear you've got the small-pox and yellow fever in that place."

"Pshaw! They never trouble genteel people, who live decently and drink old Madeira."

"But a poor captain of loyalists don't often get a chance, colonel, of feeding on old Madeira."

"Feeding on it! By Jove, I like the phrase! It is appropriate to good living. One might fatten on such stuff as this without any other diet, and defy fever and the ague. Afraid of small-pox? Why, Captain Furness, a good soldier is afraid of nothing."

"Nothing, colonel, that he can fight against, to be sure; but dealing with an enemy whom you can't cudgel, is to stand a mighty bad chance of ever getting the victory. We folks of the back country have a monstrous great dread of small-pox. That was the reason they could get so few of the people to go down to Charleston when you came against it. They could have mustered three hundred more men if it hadn't been for that."

"It's well they didn't. But there's no need of your going to the city if you don't wish it. You can stay here with Cruden, or in Dorchester, till I send on the wagons."

"that'll do me, exactly; and now, colonel, if you have no objections, I'll find my way to a sleeping place. I've had a hard ride of it to-day—more than forty-five miles—and I feel it in all my bones."

"We can spare you. Ho, there!—Jupiter!—Cupid!"

"Bacchus, I think they call him," said the loyalist.

"Ay! How should I forget when the Madeira is before us. Come, sir, captain, let us take the night-cap;—you, at least, I mean to see these bottles under the table, before I leave it."

Furness declined; and, at that moment, Bacchus made his appearance.

"Find a chamber for this gentleman," said the commandant; and, bidding the British officers goodnight, Furness left the apartment under the guidance of the negro. When they had emerged into the passage-way, the loyalist captain, to the great surprise of the former, put his hand familiarly upon his shoulder and, in subdued tones, said—

"Bacchus, do you knot know me?"

The fellow started and exclaimed—

"Mass Robert, is it you?—and you not afear'd?"

"Hush, Bacchus; not a word, but in a whisper. Where am I to sleep?"

"In the blue room, sir."

"Very good: let us go thither. After that, return to these gentlemen, and keep an eye on them."

"But you're going to see young missus?"

"Yes; but I must do it cautiously."

"And you ain't fear'd to come here! Perhaps you got your people with you, and will make a smash among these red-coats?"

"No. But we must say as little as possible. Go forward, and I will tell you further what is to be done."

The negro conducted the supposed loyalist—passing through the passage almost to its extremity, and from thence ascending a flight of steps to the upper story. Here another passage, corresponding in part with that below, opened upon them, which, in turn, opened upon another avenue conducting to wings of the building. In one of these was the chamber assigned to Furness. To this they were proceeding, when a door of one of the apartments of the main building was seen to open. The loyalist paused, and, in a whisper, said—

"Go, Bacchus, to my chamber with the light. Cover it when you get there, so that it will not be seen by the soldiers from without. Meanwhile, I will speak to your mistress."

The negro disappeared, and Katharine Walton, in the next moment, joined the stranger.

"Oh, Robert, how can you so venture? Why put your head into the very jaws of the lion?"

"Let us follow this passage, Kate. We shall be more secure. Balfour and his companions sleep in the chamber below, I suppose?"

"Yes."

"Come, then, and I will try to satisfy all your doubts, and quiet all your fears."

And the speaker folded his arms tenderly about the waist of the maiden, as he led her forward through a passage that seemed equally familiar to both the parties.

CHAPTER VI.

                  BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

"AND now, Robert," said Katharine Walton, "tell me the reason of this rashness. Why will you so peril yourself, and at a moment when the memory of that dark and terrible scene in which you rescued my father from a base and cruel death still fills my eyes and heart? What do you expect here? What would you do?—which prompts you to incur this danger?"

"Ah, Kate," replied her companion, fondly clasping her to his bosom, "were it not a sufficient answer to boast that my coming provokes such a sweet and tender interest in you? The gentle concern which warms the bosom of the beloved one is surely motive enough to stimulate the adventure of a soldier; and I find a consolation from all toils and perils, I assure you, in a moment of meeting and satisfaction to precious as this. If you will censure my rashness, at least give credit to my fondness."

"Do I not, Robert? And is not this farther proof of your attachment, added to so many, which I never can forget, as dear to me as any hope or treasure that I own? But there is some other motive, I am sure, for your presence now. I know that you are not the person, at a season when your services are so necessary to the country, to bestow any time even upon your best affections, which might better be employed elsewhere. Surely, there is a cause which brings you into the snares of our enemies, of a nature to justify this rashness."

"There is—there is, dear Kate; and you are only right in supposing that, precious as it is to me to enjoy your presence, and clasp you in fond embrace, even this pleasure could not have beguiled me now from the duties of the camp."

"But how have you deceived these people?"

"How did I deceive you, Kate? You did not see through my disguise; you, who knew me so well, any more than Balfour and Cruden, to whom I am so utterly unknown."

"True—true; and yet, that I did not detect you, may be owing to the fact that I scarcely noted your entrance or appearance. I took for granted that you were one of the enemy, and gave you scarce a look. When I knew you, I wondered that I had been deceived for a moment. Had I not been absorbed by my own anxieties, I should have seen through your disguise without an effort."

"Yet Bacchus knew me as little as yourself."

"For the same reasons, doubtless. But what is the history of this disguise, Robert? And is there a real Captain Furness?"

"There is. We surprised him yesterday on his way to the city, and soon after I had separated from your father. His letters and papers suggested the deception; and I did not scruple to employ the contents of his saddle-bags in making my appearance correspond with his. We are not unlike in size, and there is something of a likeness in the face between us. A ruse de guerre of considerable importance depends upon my successful prosecution of the imposture. We shall procure a supply of arms and ammunition, which is greatly wanted in camp; and possibly effect some other objects, which I need not detail to you."

"But the peril, Robert."

"You have become strangely timid and apprehensive, Kate, all on a sudden. Once you would have welcomed any peril, for yourself as well as me, which promised glorious results in war or stratagem. Now—"

"Alas! Robert, the last few days have served to show me that I am but a woman. The danger from which you saved my father brought out all my weakness. I believe that I have great and unusual strength fro one of my sex; but I feel a shrinking at the heart, now, that satisfies me how idly before were all my sense and appreciation of the great perils to which our people are exposed. Robert, dear Robert, if you love me, forego this adventure. You surely do not mean to visit the city?"

"Not if I can help it. The small-pox furnishes a good excuse, which Balfour is prepared to acknowledge. But heed not me. At all events, entertain no apprehension. I am not so unprepared for danger as you think. I have a pretty little squad in the Cypress, and can summon them to my side in an hour. True, they are not equal to any open effort against such a force as is now at Dorchester. But let Balfour disappear, and your father but get the recruits that he expects, and we shall warm the old tabby walls for them with a vengeance."

"Whither has my father gone?"

"To the southward—along the Edisto. He may probably range as far as the Savannah. He has ten of my followers with him, which straitens me somewhat. But for this, I had been tempted to have dashed in among these rascals here, and taken off the commandant of Charleston, with his mercenary commissioner of sequestration. If you only had heard their discussion upon the division of your plate and jewels! the beasts!"

"You must have laughed, surely?"

"Knowing, as I did, to what market the plate and jewels went, it was certainly hard to keep from laughing outright."

"Alas! Robert, this reminds me that the evil so long anticipated, has come at last. You hear that I am to be dispossessed. 'The Oaks' must know a new proprietor, and the servants—that is the worst thought—they will be scattered; they will be dragged off to the city, and made to work at the fortifications, and finally shipped to the West Indies."

"I can laugh at them there too, Kate;" and her companion could not entirely suppress a chuckle.

"How?"

"Never mind; better that you should know nothing. You will know all in the morning."

"Can it be that you have got the negroes off, Robert?"

"Ah! you will suffer me to have no secrets. They will all be off before daylight. many of them are already snug in the Cypress, and a few days will find them safe beyond the Santee. The house servants alone are left, and such of the others as our British customers will be scarcely persuaded to take. Our venerable 'Daddy —Bram' is here still, with his wool whiter than the moss; and Scipio, who was an old man, according to his own showing, in the Old French War; and Dinah, who is the Mrs. Methusaleh of all the Ashley, and a dozen others of the same class. Balfour's face will be quite a study as he makes the discovery. But this is not all. We have taken off the entire stud—every horse, plough, draught, or saddle, that was of any service, leaving you the carriage horses only, and a few broken-down hackneys."

"This must have been done last night?"

"Partly; but some of it this very day, and while Balfour was dawdling and drinking at Dorchester."

"Were you then here last night, Robert?"

"Ay, Kate, and with an eye upon you as well as your interests. You had a visitor from Dorchester, Kate."

"Yes; Major Proctor, he came in the afternoon—"

"And is disgraced for coming! Your charms have been too much for him. it is already over Dorchester that he has been superseded in his command for neglect of duty, and is to be court-martialed for the affair of your father's rescue."

"Ah! I am truly sorry for him! He was an amiable and courteous gentleman, though an enemy."

"What! would you make me jealous? Am I to be told that he is a fine-looking fellow also—nay, positively handsome?"

"And what is it to me?"

"No woman, Kate, thinks ill of a man for loving her—no sensible woman, at least; and pity is so near akin to love, that the very disgraces that threaten this gentleman make me a little dubious about his visits."

"He will probably pay no more."

"What! do you mean to say, Kate, that you have given him reason to despair?"

"No, Robert, not so"—with a blush which remained unseen—"but this disgrace of his removes him from Dorchester, and carries him to Charleston—"

"Whither you go also?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Why, what do you propose to do?"

"To fly with you to the Santee, if I cannot remain here."

"Impossible, Kate! Who is to receive you on the Santee? Was it not thence that my poor sister hurried to find refuge with you in the last moments of her precious life? Our plantation was harried, and our dwellings burnt by the Tories, before I sent her hither. Besides, how would you escape hence—how travel, if you did succeed in making your escape—and in what security would you live in a region over which the ploughshare of war will probably pass and repass for many weary months?"

"And do you counsel me to go to the city—to place myself in the custody of these mercenaries?"

"You are in their custody now. You can do no better. The city is, at all events, secure from assaults. Were the French to help us with an efficient fleet, and could our army be rallied under an efficient general, we might do something against it; but of this there is little present prospect. The same degree of security could attend you nowhere else in the South at present. Our war must be a Fabian war—irregular, predatory, and eccentric in regard to the region in which it will prevail. No, Kate, however much I would rejoice to bear you away with me, even as the knight of olden time carried off his mistress from the very castle of her tyrant sire, I love you too much to make such an attempt now, when I know not whither I could bear you to place you in even partial security."

"The mountains of North Carolina?"

"But how get there? We cannot hope that you should travel as we are constrained to do; for days without food; riding sometimes day and night to elude the enemy, or to find friends: with neither rest, nor food, nor certainty of any kind, and with the constant prospect of doing battle with an enemy as reckless and more faithless than the savage. You must submit, Kate, with the best possible grace, to the necessity which we cannot conquer."

A deep sigh answered him.

"You sigh, Kate; but what the need? Apart from the security which the city affords, and which was always doubtful here, you will find yourself in the enjoyment of society, of luxuries, gay scenes, and glorious spectacles; the ball, the rout, the revel, the parade"—

"Robert Singleton!" was the reproachful exclamation. It was a moody moment with our hero, such as will sometimes deform the surface of the noblest character, as a rough gust will deface the gentle beauties of the most transparent water.

"You will achieve new conquests, Kate. Your old suitor, Proctor, will be again at your feet; you will be honored with the special attentions of that inimitable petit maitre, the gallant Harry Barry; * 'Mad Campbell' and 'Fool Campbell,'† who, in spite of their nicknames, are such favorites with the Tory ladies, will attach themselves to your train; and you will almost forget, in the brilliancy of your court, the simple forester, whose suit will then, perhaps, appear almost presumptuous in your sight."

"I have not deserved this, Robert Singleton."

"You have not, dearest Kate; and I am but a perverse devil thus to disquiet you with suspicions that have really no place within my own bosom. Forgive something to a peevishness that springs from anxiety, and represents toil, vexation, disappointment, and unremitting labors, rather than the thought that always esteems you, and the heart that is never so blessed as when it gives you all its love. It is seldom that I do you injustice; never, dearest cousin, believe me, when I think of you alone, and separate from all other human considerations. It is the, indeed, alone that I love to think of you; and in thinking of you thus, Kate, it is easy to forget that the world has any other beings of worth or interest."

"No more, Robert—no more."

But, as she murmured these words, her head rested happily upon his bosom. With all around her apprehension and trouble, and all before her doubt, if not dismay, the moment was one of unmixed happiness. But she started suddenly from his fond embrace, and, in quick accents, resumed—

"I know not why it is, Robert, but my soul has been shrinking, as if within itself, under the most oppressive presentiments of evil. They haunt me at every turning. I cannot shake off the feeling, that something crushing and dreadful is about to happen to me; and, since the decree of this Commandant of Charleston, I associate all my fears with my visit to that city. This it is that makes me anxious to escape—to fly anywhere for refuge—even to the Swamps of the Cypress; even to the mountains of North Carolina, making the journey, if you please, on horseback, and incurring all risks, all privations, rather than going to what seems my fate in Charleston. Tell me, Robert, is it not possible?"

"Do not think of it, Kate. It is not possible. I see the troubles, the dangers, the impossibilities of such an enterprise, as they cannot occur to you. Dismiss these fears. This presentiment is the natural consequence of what you have undergone, the reaction from that intense and terrible excitement which you suffered in the affair at Dorchester. It will pass away in a few days, and you will again become the calm, the firm, the almost stoical spirit—certainly in endurance—which you have shown yourself already. In Charleston, your worst annoyance will be from the courtesies and gallantries of those you will despise. You will be dependent upon them for civilities, and will need to exercise all your forbearance. Balfour will be the master of your fortunes; but he will not presume to offend you. You will need to conciliate him, where you can—where it calls for no ungenial concessions. We have many friends in that city; and my venerable aunt, who is your kinswoman also, will support you by her steady sympathies and courageous patriotism. You will help to cheer some of our comrades who are in captivity. You will find full employment for your sympathies, and, in their exercise, gain solace. Fear nothing—be hopeful—our dark days will soon pass over."

"Be it so. And yet, Robert—"

"Stay! Hear you not a movement below?"

"The British officers retiring, perhaps. They sleep in chambers below, and will not come upstairs at all. Bacchus has his instructions."

"You were saying—"

"The case of my father, Robert—"

"Hush! My life! these feet are upon the stairs! What can it mean?"

"Heavens! there is no retreat to my chamber! The light ascends! Surely, surely, Bacchus cannot have mistaken me! Oh, Robert, what is to be done? You cannot cross to your chamber without being heard, nor I to mine without being seen!"

"Be calm, Kate. Let us retire as closely as possible into this recess. Have no fears. At the worst, see, I am armed with a deadly weapon that makes no noise!"

He grasped the hilt of a dagger, which he carried in his bosom; and they retired into a dark recess, or rather a minor avenue, leading between two small apartments into the balcony in the rear. Meanwhile, the heavy steps of men—certainly those of Balfour and Cruden—were heard distinctly upon the stairs; while the voice of Bacchus, in tones somewhat elevated, was heard guiding them as he went forward with the light.

"Steps rather steep, gentlemen; have to be careful. This way, sir."

"Why do you speak so loud, Hector? Do you wish to waken up the house? Would you disturb the young lady—the Queen of Dorchester—my—my—I say, Cruden, come along, old fellow, and take care of your steps!"

Katharine trembled like a leaf. Robert Singleton—for such was his true name—put her behind him in the passage as far as possible, and placed himself in readiness for any issue. At the worst, there were but two of the enemy within the house; and our hero felt himself—occupying a certain vantage ground, as he did—more than a match for both. Let us leave the parties thus, while we retrace our steps, and return to the tow whom we left fairly embarked on their carousals. Captain Dickson, it should not be forgotten, had gone back to Dorchester as soon as he had finished his supper.

(To be continued.)

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