tous silence, brooding over the exploit of his prisoner, yet mechanically pursuing the business before him, until, after sufficient time had passed to make a very comfortable meal, a trumpet suddenly broke on the ears of the party, sending its martial tones up the valley, in startling melody. The trooper rose instantly from the table, exclaiming – "Quick, gentlemen, to your horses; there comes Dunwoodie;" and, followed by his officers, he precipitately left the room. With the exception of the sentinels left to guard Captain Wharton, the dragoons mounted, and marched out to meet their comrades. None of the watchfulness necessary in a war, in which similarity of language, appearance and customs, rendered prudence doubly necessary, was omitted by the cautious leader. On getting sufficiently near, however, to a body of horse of more than double his own number, to distinguish countenances, Lawton plunged his rowels into his charger, and in a moment he was by the side of his commander. The ground in front of the cottage was again occupied by the horse; and, observing the same precautions as before, the newly arrived troops hastened to participate in the cheer prepared for their comrades. CHAPTER VI. Their fields of fame and let conquerors boast Moore. THE ladies of the Wharton family had collected about a window, deeply interested in the scene we have related. Sarah viewed the approach of her countrymen with a smile of contemptuous indifference; for she even undervalued the personal appearance of men whom she thought arrayed in the unholy cause of rebellion. Miss Peyton looked on the gallant show with an exulting pride, which arose in the reflection, that the warriors before her were the chosen troops of her native colony, while Frances gazed with a singleness of interest that absorbed all other considerations. The two parties had not yet joined, before her quick eyes distinguished one horseman in particular from those around him. To her it appeared that even the steed of this youthful soldier seemed to be conscious that he sustained the weight of no common man: his hoofs but lightly touched the earth, and his airy tread was the curbed motion of a blooded charger. The dragoon sat in the saddle with a firmness and ease that showed him master of himself and horse, his figure uniting the just proportions of strength and activity, being tall, round, and muscular. To this officer Lawton made his report, and, side by side, they rode into the field opposite to the cottage. The heart of Frances beat with a pulsation nearly stifling, as he paused for a moment, and took a survey of the building, with an eye whose dark and sparkling glance could be seen, notwithstanding the distance; - her colour changed, and for an instant, as she saw the youth throw himself from the saddle, she was compelled to seek relief for her trembling limbs in a chair. The officer gave a few hasty orders to his second in command, walked rapidly into the lawn, and approached the cottage. Frances rose from her seat, and vanished from the apartment. The dragoon ascended the steps of the piazza, and had barely time to reach the outer door, when it opened to his admission. The youth of Frances, when she left the city, had prevented her sacrificing, in conformity to the customs of that day, all her native beauties on the altar of fashion. Her hair, which was of a golden richness of colour, was left untortured, to fall in the natural ringlets of infancy, and it shaded a face which was glowing with the united charms of health, youth, and artlessness; — her eyes spoke volumes, but her tongue was silent; - her hands were interlocked before her, and, aided by her taper form, bending forward in an attitude of expectation, gave a loveliness and interest to her appearance, that for a moment chained her lover in silence to the spot. Frances silently led the way into a vacant parlour, opposite to the one in which the family were assembled, and turning to' the soldier frankly, placing both her hands in his own, exclaimed "Ah, Dunwoodie! how happy, on many accounts, I am to see you; I have brought you in here to prepare you to meet an unexpected friend in the opposite room." "To whatever cause it may be owing," cried the youth, pressing her hands to his lips, "I, too, am happy in being able to see you alone. Frances, the probation you have decreed is cruel; war and distance may shortly separate us for ever." "We must submit to the necessity which governs us. But it is not love speeches I would hear now: I have other and more important matter for your attention." me "What can be of more importance than to make you mine by a tie that will be indissoluble! Frances, you are cold to me from whose mind, days of service and nights of alarm have never been able to banish your image for a single moment." "Dear Dunwoodie," said Frances, softening nearly to tears, and again extending her hand to him, as the richness of her colour gradually returned, "you know my sentiments this war once ended, and you may take that hand for ever but I can never consent to tie myself to you by any closer union than already exists, so long as you are arrayed in arms against my only brother. Even now, that brother is awaiting your decision to restore him to liberty, or to conduct him to a probable death." "Your brother!" cried Dunwoodie, starting and turning pale; "your brother! explain yourself — what dreadful meaning is concealed in your words?" "Has not Captain Lawton told you of the arrest of Henry by himself this very morning?" continued Frances, in a voice barely audible, and fixing on her lover a look of the deepest concern. "He told me of arresting a Captain of the 60th in disguise, but without mentioning where or whom," replied the Major in a similar tone; and dropping his head between his hands, he endeavoured to conceal his feelings from his companion. "Dunwoodie! Dunwoodie!" exclaimed Frances, losing all her former confidence in the most fearful apprehensions, "what means this agitation?" As the Major slowly raised his face, in which was pictured the most expressive concern, she continued, "Surely, surely, you will not betray your friend - my brother your brother - to an ignominious death." "Frances!" exclaimed the young man in an agony, "what can I do?" "Do!" she repeated, gazing at him wildly; "would Major Dunwoodie yield his friend to his enemies the brother of his betrothed wife?" - "Oh, speak not so unkindly to me, dearest Miss Wharton for my own Frances. I would this moment die for you Henry - but I cannot forget my duty — cannot forfeit my honour; you yourself would be the first to despise me if I did." "Peyton Dunwoodie!" said Frances, solemnly, and with a face of ashy paleness, "you have told me you have sworn, that you loved me but mo "I do," interrupted the soldier, with fervour; tioning for silence, she continued, in a voice that trembled with her fears - "Do you think I can throw myself into the arms of a man whose hands are stained with the blood of my only brother!" "Frances! you wring my very heart;" then pausing, to struggle with his feelings, he endeavoured to force a smile as he added, "but, after all, we may be torturing ourselves with unnecessary fears, and Henry, when I know the circumstances, may be nothing more than a prisoner of war; in which case, I can liberate him on parole." There is no more delusive passion than hope; and it seems to be the happy privilege of youth to cull all the pleasures that can be gathered from its indulgence. It is when we are most worthy of confidence ourselves, that we are least apt to distrust others; and what we think ought to be, we are fond to think will be. The half-formed expectations of the young soldier were communicated to the desponding sister, more by the eye than the voice, and the blood rushed again to her cheek, as she cried — "Oh! there can be no just grounds to doubt it: I knew I knew-Dunwoodie, you would never desert us in the hour of our greatest need!" The violence of her feelings prevailed, and the agitated girl found relief in a flood of tears. The office of consoling those we love is one of the dearest prerogatives of affection; and Major Dunwoodie, although but little encouraged by his own momentary suggestion of relief, could not undeceive the lovely girl who leaned on his shoulder as he wiped the traces of her feeling from her face, with a trembling, but reviving confidence, in the safety of her brother, and the protection of her lover. Frances having sufficiently recovered her recollection to command herself, now eagerly led the way into the opposite room, to communicate to her family the pleasing intelligence which she already conceived so certain. Dunwoodie followed her reluctantly, and with forebodings of the result; but a few moments brought him into the presence of his relatives, and he summoned all his resolution to meet the trial with firmness. The salutations of the young men were cordial and frank, and, on the part of Henry Wharton, as collected as if nothing had occurred to disturb his self-possession. The abhorrence of being, in any manner, auxiliary to the arrest of his friend; the danger to the life of Captain Wharton; and the heart-breaking declarations of Frances, had, however, created an uneasiness in the bosom of Major Dunwoodie, which all his efforts could not conceal. His reception by the rest of the family was kind and sincere, both from old regard, and a remembrance of former obligations, heightened by the anticipations they could not fail to read in the expressive eyes of the blushing girl by his side. After exchanging greetings with every member of the family, Major Dunwoodie beckoned to the sentinel, whom the wary prudence of Captain Lawton had left in charge of the prisoner, to leave the room. Turning to Captain Wharton, he enquired mildly — "Tell me, Henry, the circumstances of this disguise, in which Captain Lawton reports you to have been found, and remember remember Captain Wharton your answers are entirely voluntary." "The disguise was used by me, Major Dunwoodie,” replied |