"No, indeed no!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Jack would never show you unkindness, for he knows--he well knows, because I told him--"

"Do you mean to say," he asked quickly, cutting short her words, "that your brother has known all this time the blessed truth that I learned only this very morning?"

"He only knew of it just before he left home in the summer," she whispered. "I had to tell him."

"Why?"

"I was afraid you and he might meet, and I was fearful that--" The voice died away, and Dorothy's head drooped.

"Sweetheart," he said softly, "I understand. You must have been sadly torn betwixt your love and what you thought to be your duty. It makes me realize more keenly what a brute I have made of myself. But trust me--only trust and believe in my honor and true love, and I will try all my life to make amends for the suffering I have caused you."

Washington and his suite were now descending the stairs, and Tommy Macklin hastened to place himself closer to his prisoner as the other soldier joined him.

Then Southorn turned to Dorothy and said: "It is evident that we are about to leave. Tell me quickly as to your own movements,--you surely are not going to stop here?"

"Oh no; Mary and I are to set out right away for Dorchester, and Fisherman Doak is to see us safely housed with Mistress Knollys."

"You will go at once," he insisted, "and not delay a second?"

She nodded smilingly, and their eyes spoke the farewell their lips were forbidden to utter.

Mary had been standing all this time alongside Mistress Trask, her face studiously averted from the two at whom nearly all the others were staring wonderingly.

She now came forward, and without looking at Captain Southorn, joined Dorothy; and in company with the landlady they pa.s.sed through the door into the midday sunlight flooding the world outside.

Washington and those with him were the first to leave,--their departure being witnessed by every one at the inn.

The two girls were now standing side by side in the doorway; and Captain Southorn, on horseback, with a mounted guard on either side of him, smiled again as his glance fell on Mary's spirited face, and at the thought it awakened of that morning at the Sachem's Cave.

"They be goin' to take the spy to Cambridge, to hang him," muttered Farmer Gilbert to Mistress Trask, his restless eyes roving from the sweet young face in the doorway to that of the young man sitting upon the horse.

"No such thing," said the landlady, with an indignant sniff. "He is a prisoner, but there's no further talk o' hangin'."

"Who says so?" and the farmer's scowling brows grew blacker.

"The young ladies say so, an' they both know him--knew him long ago."

"Aye, that I'll be bound, as to one of 'em, at any rate," he growled, eying Dorothy savagely. The girl's face was telling her secret, while she stood watching her husband turn for a parting smile as he rode off with the others.

"Where do she live?" Gilbert asked suddenly, jerking his thumb toward the doorway, in front of which Doak was now standing with the horses.

"Down at Marblehead, when they be at home; both of 'em live there," the landlady answered. "But they be stoppin' at Dorchester now, with friends, an' there's where they're bound for." With this she turned away, her manner showing that she desired no further parley with him.

The man stood for a few moments, as if reflecting upon what he had heard. Then, with one more glance at the two girls, he turned slowly about, and took his way to the stables of the inn.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

Doak and his charges had gone but a short distance when the sound of hoofs behind them caused all three to turn, wondering who might be approaching.

It was a man, evidently an American by his appearance; and as they looked back at him, he seemed to check the hitherto brisk gait of his horse.

Dorothy was the first to recognize him.

"Oh, Mary, 't is that dreadful man who frightened us!"

"Frightened ye?" echoed Doak, interrogatively. "How was that, mistress?"

When Mary explained what had taken place the night before, he glanced back again, and saw that the distance between them was rapidly increasing, for the man in the rear was letting his horse walk, while he sat swinging loosely in the saddle.

"There be naught to fear now," he said, in a way to rea.s.sure the two girls. "He's not like to think o' tryin' any frightenin' game with me.

An' he rides like he had too much store o' liquor aboard to be thinkin'

of aught but keepin' firm hold on his craft." Then, when he had looked again, "He be fallin' way behind, so there's no call for bein'

fright'ed, either one o' ye."

They soon lost sight of the stranger, and without further happening arrived safely at their destination, to receive a motherly welcome from Mistress Knollys, who had been most anxious concerning them, knowing how the roads were infested with stragglers from both armies.

She insisted upon Doak alighting to take some refreshment; and he, nothing loath, did so, while she wrote a letter to her son for the fisherman to carry back to Cambridge.

Dorothy and Mary also improved the opportunity to write to Jack, Dot even venturing to enclose a little missive for Captain Southorn, which she begged her brother to deliver.

It was her first love letter, although so demure and prim in its wording as scarcely to deserve that name. But a loyal affection breathed through it, praying him to hope, and to trust in Washington's friendship for them.

Mistress Knollys listened with widening eyes to Mary's account of their interview with the great man,--for she invested him with all the power of His Gracious Majesty, and regarded him with more awe than ever she had King George himself.

She laughed outright over the description of their having been caught in his apartments, and asked to see the paper he had given Dorothy, touching it as something most sacred.

Dorothy had gone above stairs, leaving Mary and the good woman together in the living-room, where the afternoon sunshine poured across the floor in broad slants from the two windows opening upon the garden at the rear of the house.

Presently Mistress Knollys said, "It would seem, my dear, to be the very best outcome for Dorothy's matter, the way things have befallen."

"Yes," Mary a.s.sented with a sigh, "so it does."

"And yet," added the old lady, "I fear it will be hard for the little maid, with a brother and husband fighting against one another."

"Ah, but you forget, dear Mistress Knollys, that he told her he thought of setting sail for his home in England."

"And then I suppose she would go with him."

"Aye;" and Mary sighed again. "I think she will surely wish to do this."

"Well, well, my dear," said Mistress Knollys, speaking more briskly, "that is not like to be right away, as he must await his exchange as a prisoner, and there's no telling when that will come to pa.s.s. Let us borrow no trouble until we know the end, which, after all, may be a happy one."

It was the fourth day after this that Mary was gladdened by the sight of her husband riding up in front of Mistress Knollys' door; and with him were Hugh and a dozen other stout fellows on horseback. He explained that they had but a short time to tarry, and were come at Washington's command, to carry Dorothy back with them to Cambridge.

"Hey, you little mischief, see the stir you are guilty of making,--getting half the camp by the ears with your goings on," he said laughingly, and in a way to set at rest all her misgivings, as he took her in his arms.