"You forget what you boasted to Sprowl, under the bridge," said Penn.

"You forget what you just now boasted to me," said Virginia.

"Call it boasting," said Bythewood, doggedly. "Absolutely, I have not the power to effect what you require."

"It is your misfortune, then," said Pomp. "To have boasted so, and now to fail to perform, will simply cost you your life. Will you write? or not?"

The prisoner remained sullen, abject, silent, for some seconds. Then, with a deep breath which shook all his frame, and an expression of the most agonizing despair on his face, he took the pen.

"I will write; but I a.s.sure you it will do no good."

"So much the worse for you," was the grim response.

Mechanically and briefly Bythewood drew up a paper, signed his name, and shoved it across the table.

"Does that suit you?"

Pomp did not offer to take it.

"If it suits you, well. I shall not read it. It is not the letter that interests us; it is the result."

Bythewood suddenly drew back the paper, pondered its contents a moment, and cast it into the fire.

"I think I had better write another."

"I think so too. I fear you have not done what you might to impress upon the colonel's mind the importance of these simple terms--a safe conduct for Mr. Villars and family, the troops withdrawn entirely from the mountains, and Deslow delivered here to-night. This is plain enough; and you see the rest of us ask nothing for ourselves. I advise you to write freely. Open your mind to your friend. And beware,"--Pomp perceived by a strange expression which had come into the prisoner's face that this counsel was necessary,--"beware that he does not misunderstand you, and send a force to rescue you from our hands. If such a thing is attempted, this cave will be found barricaded. With what, you wonder? With those stones? With your dead body, my friend!"

After that hint, it was evident Augustus did not choose to write what had first entered his mind on learning that his address to the colonel was not to be examined. Penn handed him a fresh sheet, and he filled it--a long and confidential letter, of which we regret that no copy now exists.

Before it was finished, Carl returned, accompanied by four of the patriots and two of the prisoners. One of these last was Pepperill. He was immediately paroled, and sent off to the sink with the order that had been previously written. The letter completed, it was folded, sealed, and despatched by the other prisoner to Colonel Derring's head-quarters.

"Do you believe Deslow will be delivered up?" said Stackridge, in consultation with Penn in a corner of the cave; the farmer's gray eye gleaming with antic.i.p.ated vengeance.

"I believe the confederate authorities, as a general thing, are capable of any meanness. Their policy is fraud, their whole system is one of injustice and selfishness. If Derring, who is Bythewood's devoted friend, can find means to give up the traitor without too gross an exposure of his perfidy, he will do it. But I regret that Pomp insisted on that hard condition. He was determined, and it was useless to reason with him."

"And he is right!" said Stackridge. "Deslow, if guilty, must pay for this day's work!"

"There is no doubt of his guilt. Pepperill knew of it--he whispered it to Pomp at the sink."

"Then Deslow dies the death! He was sworn to us! He was sworn to Pomp; and Pomp had saved his life! The blood of Withers, my best friend----" The farmer's voice was lost in a throe of rage and grief.

"And the blood of Cudjo, whom Pomp loved!" said Penn. "I feel all you feel--all Pomp feels. But for me, I would leave vengeance with the Lord."

"So would I," said Pomp, standing behind him, composed and grand. "And I would be the Lord's instrument, when called. I am called. Deslow comes to me, or I go to him."

"Then the Lord have mercy on his soul!"

XLVI.

_THE TRAITOR._

The news of the disaster at the sink, and of the loss of prisoners, had reached Colonel Derring, and he was preparing to forward reenforcements, when Bythewood's letter arrived.

Of the colonel's reflections on the receipt of that singular missive little is known. He was unwontedly cross and abstracted for an hour. At the end of that time he asked for the renegade Deslow.

At the end of another hour Deslow had been found and brought to head-quarters. The colonel, having now quite recovered his equanimity of temper, received him with the most flattering attentions.

"You have done an honorable and patriotic work, Mr. Deslow. Your friends are coming to terms. Bythewood is at this moment engaged in an amicable conference with them. Your example has had a most salutary effect. They all desire to give themselves up on similar terms. But they will not believe as yet that you have been pardoned and received into favor."

The dark brow of the traitor brightened.

"And they have no suspicions?"

"None whatever. They do not imagine you had anything to do with the discovery of their retreat. Now, I've been thinking you might help along matters immensely, if you would go up and join Bythewood, and represent to your friends the folly of holding out any longer, and show them the advantage of following your example."

Deslow felt strong misgivings about undertaking this delicate business.

But persuasions, flatteries, and promises prevailed upon him at last.

And at sundown he set out, accompanied by the man who had brought Bythewood's letter.

In consequence of the messenger's long absence, it was beginning to be feared, by those who had sent him, that he had gone on a fruitless errand. Evening came. There was sadness on the faces of Penn and Virginia, as they sat by the corpse of Salina. Pomp was gloomy and silent. Bythewood, bound to Lysander's rock, sat waiting, with feelings we will not seek to penetrate, for the answer to his letter. In that letter he had mentioned, among other things, a certain pair of horses that were in his stable. Had he known that the colonel, during his hour of moroseness, had gone over to look at these horses, and that he was now driving them about the village, well satisfied with the munificent bribe, he would, no doubt, have felt easier in his mind.

"You will not go to your father to-night," said Penn, having looked out into the gathering darkness, and returned to Virginia's side. "We have one night more together. May be it is the last."

Carl was comforting his wounded cousin, who had been brought and placed on some skins on the floor. The patriots were holding a consultation.

Suddenly the sentinel at the door announced an arrival; and to the amazement of all, the messenger entered, followed by Deslow.

The traitor came in, smiling in most friendly fashion upon his late companions, even offering his hand to Pomp, who did not accept it. Then he saw in the faces that looked upon him a stern and terrible triumph.

By the rock he beheld Bythewood bound. And his heart sank.

The messenger brought a letter for Augustus. Pomp took it.

"This interests us!" he said, breaking the seal. "Excuse me, sir!"--to Bythewood.--"I was once your servant; and I had forgotten that circ.u.mstances have slightly changed! As your hands are confined, I will read it for you."

He read aloud.

"Dear Gus: This is an awful bad sc.r.a.pe you have got into; but I suppose I must get you out of it. Villars shall have pa.s.sports, and an escort, if he likes. I'll keep the soldiers from the mountains.

The hardest thing to arrange is the Deslow affair. I don't care a curse for the fellow but I don't want the name of giving him up.

So, if I succeed in sending him, keep mum. Probably _he_ never will come away to tell a tale."

"Yours, etc., Derring."

"P. S. Thank you for the horses."

Then Pomp turned and looked upon the traitor, who had been himself betrayed. His ghastly face was of the color of grayish yellow parchment.

His hat was in his hand, and his short, stiff hair stood erect with terror. If up to this moment there had been any doubt of his guilt in Pomp's mind, it vanished. The wretch had not the power to proclaim his innocence, or to plead for mercy. No explanations were needed: he understood all: with that vivid perception of truth which often comes with the approach of death, he knew that he was there to die.