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CHAPTER XXXII

It was evening when the party reached the headquarters at Cambridge.

A faint afterglow of the brilliant sunset still lingered, but the roadway leading to the entrance of the house was dusky with the shadows of coming night, which almost hid the great trees on either side.

The air about was filled with the faint hum of camp life. Occasionally a voice could be heard, or the neighing of a horse, – figures of men were discernible here and there, and a sentry was pacing before the steps of the mansion.

"Here we are, Dot," said her brother; and dismounting, he helped her from her horse. "Careful, child;" for she had tripped, her riding-skirt having become entangled about her feet as she followed him into the open doorway. "I will take you directly to the room prepared for you, and do you wait there until I return."

She said nothing, but held fast to his arm.

"Come, be brave," he whispered; "there is naught for you to fear." And he led her within, leaving Hugh Knollys with the other men outside.

The hall was spacious and well lighted. Several officers and privates were moving about, all of whom stared wonderingly at the unusual sight of a lady, – although it was not easy to decide whether it was a woman or child – this dainty little figure in the riding-habit, who was looking about with unconcealed curiosity.

Far down the hall, to the left, her brother opened a door, showing a spacious, well-furnished chamber, where a wood fire was blazing, – for the night was drawing in chilly.

"Now take off your hat, child, and feel at home," he said, kissing her. "Remember there is naught to fear. It is only that we are wishing to fix matters for you, little one, so that you'll be happy." And he kissed her again as she clung to his neck.

"Ah, Jack," she whispered, "you are so good to me!"

"I've never had the wish to be other than good," he replied lovingly.

As soon as she was alone, Dorothy removed her hat, and then, as she stood by the hearth, watching the leaping flames, smoothed out her curls.

So engaged, and lost in thought, she did not hear the tapping upon the door, nor see that it opened softly and a man's figure paused on the threshold, as if watching the slight form standing by the fire, with the back turned squarely to him.

"Little one," came in a voice that startled the silence.

She turned like a flash, and although the firelight did not touch his face, it was not needed to tell her who it was.

He closed the door, and advanced with outstretched arms, laughing with exultation when she fled to them.

"You are still of the same mind as when we parted?" he said, while he held her as if never meaning to let her go from him again.

"How can you ask?" And she nestled yet closer to him.

His only answer was to kiss her. Then, bringing a chair to the hearth, he seated himself, and attempted to draw her upon his knee. But she frustrated this by perching herself upon the arm of the chair, from which she looked triumphantly into his face.

"Your hands are cold, little one," he said, holding them against his cheek.

"We had a long ride," she replied, her eyes drooping before the intensity of his gaze.

"Aye, so you did; are you tired?"

"No, not at all," was her smiling answer, and her appearance did not belie the words.

"Hungry?" – with a little laugh, and tightening the clasp of his arm about her.

"No," again lifting her eyes to his happy face.

"Well, I have been hungry for days, and with a hunger that is now being happily appeased. But a supper is to be ready for you shortly, and then you are to see General Washington. Do you understand, sweetheart, what all this is about?" He was looking down at the small hands resting in one of his own, and smiling as he noted with a lover's eye how dainty and white they were.

"Yes," she said, "my brother explained all that to me."

"And you will come with me – now, at once, as soon as I can make my arrangements?" He spoke hurriedly, nervously.

"To England?" she asked, a very serious look now showing in her dark eyes.

"Aye, to England," he repeated in a tone whose firmness was contradicted by his perturbed face.

Disengaging one hand, her arm stole around his neck as she whispered, "I would go to the ends of the earth with you now."

He held her head away, the better to look into her face, as he said with a sigh of contentment: "Now I can breathe easy! You see I did not dare believe you would really come, – you've ever been such a capricious little rebel."

Presently he asked, as he toyed with her small fingers, "Where got you all these different rings, little one?" and a note almost of jealousy sounded in his voice. "Here be many pretty brilliants – I thought maids in this country never wore such. How comes such a baby as you with a ring like this?" And he lifted her hand to look at the one which had attracted his special notice.

"My father gave it to me," she said quietly; "it was my mother's – whom I never saw."

He pressed his lips to the sparkling circlet. "My little wife, I'll be mother, father – all things else to you. All of them together could not love you more truly and sacredly than do I. Ah, my darling, you have but poor knowledge of the way I love you, and how highly I prize your esteem. How can you, after the rough wooing to which I treated you?"

Then he whispered, "And where is the ruby ring?"

He felt her head stir uneasily against his shoulder, "Surely you did not throw it away?" he asked after a moment's waiting.

Dorothy laughed, softly and happily.

"You told me that night at Master Weeks'," she whispered, "that you did not believe what my lips said, but what my eyes had shown you."

"Aye, so I did, and so I thought when I spoke. But until now I've been tossed about with such conflicting thoughts as scarce to know what to think."

"That may be so," she said, sitting erect to look at him. "But, believing what you read in my eyes then and before, think you I would throw away the ring?"

"Then where is it?" he asked again, smiling at her earnestness.

For answer she raised her hands to her neck, and undoing the fastening of a gold chain, drew it, with the ring strung upon it, from where they had rested, and laid them both in his hand.

His fingers closed quickly over them as he exclaimed, "Was there ever such a true little sweetheart?"

Then lifting her into his lap, he said, "You have never yet said to me in words that you really love me. Tell me so now – say it!"

"Think you that you have need for words?" A bit of her old wilfulness was now showing in her laughing eyes.

"Nay – truly no need, after what you have done for me, and have said you would go home with me. But there's a wish to hear such words, little one, and to hear you speak my name – which, now that I think of it, I verily believe you do not even know."

She nodded smilingly, but did not answer.

"What is it?" he asked coaxingly, as he would have spoken to a child.

"Ah – I know it." And she laughed teasingly.

"Then say it," he commanded with mock fierceness. "Say it this minute, or I'll – "

But her soft palm was against his lips, cutting short his threat.

"It is – Kyrle," she said demurely.

"Aye, so it is, and I never thought it could sound so sweet. Now say the rest of it – there's a good child. Ah, little one," he exclaimed with sudden passion, "I can scarcely yet believe all this is true. Lay all doubt at rest forever by telling me you love me!"

The laughter was gone from her eyes, and a solemn light came into them.

"Kyrle Southorn, I love you – I do love you!"

They now heard voices and steps outside the door, and Dorothy sprang to her feet, while Captain Southorn arose hastily from the chair and set it back in place.

It was John Devereux who entered, followed by a soldier.

"Well, good people," he said cheerily, giving the young Britisher a glance of swift scrutiny, and then looking smilingly at Dorothy, "there is a supper waiting for this small sister of mine; and, Dot, you must come with me – and that speedily, as I am famishing."

He advanced and drew her hand within his arm; then turning with more dignity of manner to the Englishman, he added, "After we have supped, Captain Southorn, I will look for you in your room, as General Washington will then be ready to receive us."

Southorn bowed gravely. Then, with a sudden boyish impulsiveness, he extended his hand.

"May I not first hear from your own lips," he asked earnestly, "that you wish me well?"

Jack clasped the hand as frankly as it had been offered, and Dorothy's heart beat happily, as she saw the two dearest on earth to her looking with friendly eyes upon one another.

CHAPTER XXXIII

An hour later the three stood before the door of Washington's private office; and in response to John Devereux's knock, the voice that was now so familiar to Dorothy bade them enter.

As they came into the room, Washington advanced toward Dorothy with his hand held out in greeting, and his eyes were filled with kindness as they looked into the charming face regarding him half fearfully.

"Welcome," he said, – "welcome, little Mistress Southorn."

At the sound of that name, heard now for the first time, a rush of color suffused Dorothy's cheeks, while the two younger men smiled, albeit each with a different meaning.

The one was triumphantly happy, but Jack's smile was touched with bitterness, and a sudden contraction, almost painful, caught his throat for a second.

"I trust that my orders were properly carried out for your comfort," continued Washington, still addressing Dorothy, as he motioned them all to be seated.

She courtesied, and managed to make a fitting reply. But she felt quite uncomfortable, and somewhat alarmed, to find her small self an object of so much consideration.

The Commander-in-Chief now seated himself, and turned a graver face to the young Englishman.

"May I ask, Captain Southorn, if the plans of which you told Lieutenant Devereux and myself are to be carried out?"

The young man bowed respectfully.

"I am most happy, sir, to assure you that they are, and at the speediest possible moment after I return to Boston."

Washington was silent a moment, and his eyes turned to Lieutenant Devereux, who, seemingly regardless of all else, was watching his sister.

"And you, Lieutenant, do you give your consent to all this?"

"Yes, sir." But the young man sighed.

"And now, little Mistress Southorn," Washington said, smiling once more, "tell me, have you consented to leave America and go with your husband?"

"Yes, sir," she replied almost sadly, and stealing a look at her brother's downcast face.

"It would seem, then, that the matter is settled as it should be, and to the satisfaction of all parties," Washington said heartily. "And I wish God's blessing upon both of you young people, and shall hope, Mistress Dorothy, that your heart will not be entirely weaned from your own land."

"That can never be, sir," she exclaimed with sudden spirit, and glancing almost defiantly at her husband, who only smiled in return.

"Aye, child – so? I am truly glad to hear it." Then rising from his chair, he said: "And now I must ask you to excuse me, as I have matters of importance awaiting my attention, and regret greatly that I cannot spare more time thus pleasantly. You will escort your sister back to Dorchester in the morning, Lieutenant?"

"Aye, sir, with your permission."

"You have it; and you had better take the same number of men you had yesterday. Return as speedily as possible, as there are signs of – "

He checked himself abruptly, but swept away any suggestion of discourtesy by saying, as he held out his hand to the young Englishman, "I'll bid you good-night, Captain Southorn; you see that it is natural now to think of you as a friend."

"It is an honor to me, sir, to hear you say as much," the other replied, as he took the extended hand and bowed low over it. "And I beg to thank you for all your kindness to me and to – my wife."

Dorothy now courtesied to Washington, and was about to leave the room, when he stretched out a detaining hand.

"Stay a moment, child. I am not likely to see you again before you depart, and therefore it is good-by as well as good-night. You will see that I have endeavored to do what was best for you, although I must admit" – and he glanced smilingly at Jack – "it was no great task for me to bring your brother to see matters as I did. And now may God bless you, and keep your heart the brave, true one I shall always remember."

She was unable to speak, and could only lift her eyes to the face of this great man, who, notwithstanding the weight of anxiety and responsibility pressing upon him, had been the one to smooth away the troubles which had threatened to mar her young life, and who had now brought about the desire of her heart.

But his kindly look at length gave her courage, and she managed to say, although chokingly, "I can never find words in which to thank you, sir."

He bowed as the three left the room, and no word was spoken while they took their way down the hall to Dorothy's apartment.

Jack opened the door and motioned the others to enter.

"I must leave you now," he said, "and go to see Hugh Knollys. He is not feeling just right to-night."

"Why, is he ill? I wondered that he was not at supper with us." Dorothy spoke quickly, her voice trembled, and her brother saw that she was weeping.

He followed them into the room and closed the door. Then he turned to Dot, and taking her by the hand, asked tenderly, "What is troubling you, my dear child?"

She gave a great sob and threw herself upon his breast.

"'T is because of what he just said – as we left him. It made me realize that I am soon to go away across the sea from you – from all of you," she exclaimed passionately. "Oh – how can I bear it!"

"'T is somewhat late, little sister, to think of that," her brother replied, caressing her curly head with the loving touch she had known ever since the childhood days. Then bending his lips close to her ear, he whispered, "See – you are making him unhappy."

At this she glanced over her shoulder at her husband, who had walked to the hearth, and stood looking into the fire.

"Come, little girl, cheer up," said Jack, "for to-night, at least. You are to have a little visit with him before he returns to his quarters. And before to-morrow noon he will be on the road to Boston."

With a long, sobbing sigh, she released him; then, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, she said with a wan smile, "It is hard – cruelly hard, to have one's heart so torn in opposite ways."

He knew her meaning, and thought, as he went away, how small was their own grief compared with that of poor Hugh, who, utterly unmanned, had immured himself in his quarters.

Dorothy stole to the hearth, where stood the silent figure of her husband; and as he still did not speak, she ventured to reach out and steal a timid hand within the one hanging by his side.

His fingers instantly prisoned it in a close clasp, and so they remained for a time looking silently into the fire. Presently he sighed, and drawing the chain and ruby ring from his pocket, said very gently, "Will you wear this ring, sweetheart, until such time as I can get one more suitable?"

"Aye – but I'd sooner not wear any other," she replied, looking wistfully at him, – awed and troubled by this new manner of his.

"Would you?" And he smiled as he fastened the chain about her neck. "Then I shall be obliged to have the half of it taken away, in order to make a proper fit for that small finger. But you must let me put on a plain gold band, as well, so that all may be in proper form."

She caught his hand and laid it against her cheek, while the light of the burning wood caught in the ruby ring, making it gleam like a ruddier fire against the folds of her dark-green habit.

"Why are you so unhappy?" she asked.

"That I am not, sweet little wife," he answered, drawing her to him, "save when I see you unhappy."

"But I am not unhappy," she protested, adding brokenly, "except that – that – "

"Except that you cherish a warm love for kindred and home, and one it would be most unnatural for you to be lacking," he interrupted. "But never fear, little one," – and he stroked her hair much as her brother had done – "you will not be unhappy with me, if you love me; and that you say you do, and so I know it for a truth – thank God. This war cannot last very long, and I've lost all heart to care whether King or colony win. To tell the truth," – and he laughed as he bent over to kiss her – "I fear my heart has turned traitor enough to love best the cause of her I love. So it is as well that I send in my resignation, which is certain to be accepted; and we'll go straight to my dear old home among the Devonshire hills, and be happily out of the way of the strife. And when it is over, we can often cross the sea to your own home, and perhaps your brother and his wife – if I can ever make my peace with her – will also come to us. And so, sweetheart, you see the parting is not forever – nor for very long."

Thus he went on soothing and cheering her as he seated himself again in the big chair by the hearth and drew her to his knee. Presently, and as if to divert her thoughts, he said: "Come – tell me something of your family. I have seen them all, as you know, but there are two of its members with whom I never had speech."

Dorothy puckered her brows and looked at him questioningly.

"They are wide apart as to age," he added, smiling at her perplexity, – "for one of them is a sweet-faced old lady, and the other is a lovely little girl with long yellow locks and wonderful blue eyes. She was with you that eventful day at the cave." And he laughed softly at the thought of what that day had brought about.

"Why, the old lady was Aunt Lettice, and the little girl is her granddaughter – 'Bitha Hollis, my cousin."

"She looks a winsome little thing – this 'Bitha," he said, happy to see the brightness come to Dorothy's face.

She was smiling, for the names had brought visions of her dear old home, and she seemed to see all the loving faces in the fire before her.

"Yes – and she is a dear child, and full of the oddest fancies." And now Dorothy laughed outright as some of 'Bitha's queer sayings came to her.

She went on to tell her husband of these; and when Jack returned half an hour later to escort Captain Southorn to his room, he found the two of them laughing happily together.

CHAPTER XXXIV

The next morning – although at rather a late hour for her – Dorothy arose, feeling greatly refreshed by her sound and dreamless sleep.

While she was yet dressing, her brother rapped on the door, and told her she was to go to the little room near by, where supper had been served the night before, and that Dolly – the sutler's wife – would have breakfast ready for her.

An hour later, as she stood at the open window of her room, drinking in the fresh morning air, still bearing the odor of fallen leaves wetted by the night damps, she saw her brother, with Captain Southorn and several other men, chatting together a short distance away.

Jack was the first to turn his eyes in her direction, and seeing her, he smiled and waved his hand, at which Captain Southorn turned about and hurried toward her.

He was soon standing under the window, and reaching up took possession of one of the small hands resting upon the sill.

For an instant neither of them spoke, but Dorothy's dark eyes smiled shyly into the blue ones uplifted to her face.

"And it is really true," he said at last, with an air of conviction. "Do you know, little one, that when I awakened this morning, I was fearful at first that I 'd been dreaming it all. But knowing now what I do, how can I have the heart to go away and leave you again? Cannot you come to Boston with me now – this very day?"

She shook her head. "No, no, – I must not do that. I must go back to Dorchester, to see Mary and Mistress Knollys once more. And, too" – with a blush – "I could not go without any raiment besides this." And she touched the folds of her riding-habit.

He stood a minute as if thinking, and then asked if she would come out for a short walk.

"Most assuredly," was her smiling response; and turning from the window, she was not long in putting on her hat.

As she was about leaving the room, she noticed her riding-whip lying on the table where she had tossed it upon her arrival the previous evening. It was a gift from her father, and one she prized very highly; and fearing that the sight of it might excite the cupidity of some of the servants, she picked it up, and then passed quickly out to the porch.

Here she encountered several of the officers whom she had seen talking with her brother a short time before. They now drew aside to let her go by, which she did hurriedly, her eyes lowered under the shadowy plumes of her riding-hat, and oblivious of the admiring glances they stole at her.

Many of the inmates of Washington's headquarters had become acquainted with her little romance; and so, unknown to herself, she was an object of much interest. It was for this reason also, as well as on account of the responsibility assumed with regard to him by Washington himself, that the English captain was occupying a somewhat unusual position amongst the American officers.

Finding her brother and husband together, the two coming to meet her at the porch, Dorothy asked after Hugh, and was told by Jack that he had gone with a message to some of the outposts, but would return shortly.

"And is he well this morning, Jack?"

"Oh, yes," her brother answered lightly. "You will not go far away, of course," he added, "nor stay long, else I shall have to come or send for you."

"Only a short distance;" and Captain Southorn motioned to the wood that lay not far from the rear of the house.

"Who is this Hugh?" he inquired, as they walked slowly along, the dry leaves crackling under their feet. "Is he the sergeant, Hugh Knollys, who went with your brother yesterday?"

"Yes;" and something in his tone impelled her to add, "and I've known him all my life."

"Oh, yes," he said, knitting his brows a little, as he kicked the leaves before him, "I remember right well. It was he I used to see riding about the country with you so much last summer."

"He is like my own brother," she explained quickly, not feeling quite comfortable in something she detected in his manner of speech.

"Is he?" now looking at her smilingly. "And does he regard you in the same fraternal fashion?"

"Why, of course," she answered frankly. "Hugh and I have always known one another; we have gone riding and boating together for years, have quarrelled and made up, just as Jack and I have done. Only," and now she spoke musingly, "I cannot remember that Jack ever quarrelled much with me."

"No, I should say not, from what I've seen of him," her husband said heartily.

By this time they were in the seclusion of the wood; and now his arms went about her and held her fast.

"Sweetheart, tell me once more that you love me," he said. "I only brought you here to have you tell it to me again, and in broad daylight."

She rested her head on his arm and smiled up into his face.

"How many times must I tell you?"

"With each sweet breath you draw, if you tell me as many times as I would wish to hear. But this is certain to be the last moment I shall have to see you alone, as you are to start for Dorchester, and I for Boston. And you will surely – surely join me there as soon as I send you word?" He spoke eagerly, and as if fearful that something might arise to make her change her mind.

"Yes, to be sure I will, – have I not promised?"

"That you have, God bless you. And you will let no one turn you from that, little one?"

"Why, who should?" She opened her eyes in surprise, and then there came a flash to them. "No, no, even if every one was to try, they could not do it now. What is that?"

She started nervously, and turned her head quickly about, as they both heard a rustling in the bushes.

"It is only a rabbit or squirrel," her husband said, "or perhaps a – "

There was the sharp report of a gun close by, and a bullet grazed his shoulder and struck the tree-trunk directly over Dorothy's head. The next instant there came the sound of trampling and fierce struggling; and a voice Dorothy knew at once, cried, "You sneaking dastard, what murder is it you 're up to?"

"Stop here, little one," said Captain Southorn, calmly, "just a second, until I see what all this means." And he plunged into the tangled thicket beside the path in which they had been standing.

But Dorothy followed him closely; and a few yards away they came upon Hugh Knollys, towering angrily over a man lying prostrate on the ground, and whom Dorothy recognized instantly as the rude fellow who had so alarmed her at the inn.

At sight of the two figures breaking through the underbrush, Hugh started in surprise, and a look which Dorothy found it hard to understand showed in his face.

"What is it – what is the matter?" Captain Southorn demanded angrily, stepping toward the two other men.

Hugh did not reply, and now they heard rapid footsteps approaching.

"Here, this way, – come here!" shouted Hugh, who did not appear to have heard the young Englishman's question.

Farmer Gilbert had arisen slowly to his feet, and did not attempt to escape from the grasp Hugh still kept upon his arm.

"Oh, Hugh – what is it?" asked Dorothy, looking with frightened eyes at his prisoner.

"Never mind now, Dot," he answered hastily, but his voice softening. "How came you here? You should not – " Then, with a half-sulky glance as of apology to the young Englishman, he bit his lip and was silent.

"We were standing in the path just now," said Captain Southorn, "when a bullet came so close to us as to do this;" and he touched the torn cloth on his shoulder.

Hugh started. "Then it must have been you he was shooting at!" he exclaimed, glancing angrily at the prisoner.

"The bullet went just over my head and into a tree," said Dorothy, continuing her husband's explanation.

"Over your head, Dot!" cried Hugh. "So close to you as that!" And a terrible look came to his face, – one that revealed his secret to the purple-blue eyes watching him so keenly. "Oh – my God!"

The appearance of several men – soldiers – cut the words short, and restored Hugh's calmness, for, turning to them, he bade them take the man and guard him carefully.

"And I'll take this gun of yours," he said to him, "and see to it that you get the treatment you deserve for such a cowardly bit of work."

"Wait a bit, till I answers him," said Farmer Gilbert, now speaking for the first time, as he turned to face Hugh, and holding back, so as to arrest the steps of the men who were dragging him away. "I want to say, young sir, that if ye had n't sneaked up on me from aback, an' knocked my gun up, I'd hev done what I've been dodgin' 'round to do these five days past – an' that were to put a bullet through the head or d – d trait'rous heart o' that British spy in petticoats."

His face was ablaze with passion, and he shook his clenched fist at Dorothy, who stood looking at him as though he were a wild beast caught in the toiler's net.

Captain Southorn started forward; but Hugh motioned him back. Then realizing the full sense of the fellow's words, he sprang upon him with an oath such as no one had ever heard issue from his lips.

Falling upon the defenceless man, he shook him fiercely. Then he seemed to struggle for a proper control of himself, and asked chokingly, "Do you mean to tell me that it was her you were aiming at when I caught you?"

He pointed to Dorothy, who was now clinging to her husband; and even in that moment Hugh saw his arm steal about her protectingly.

He turned his eyes away, albeit the sight helped to calm his rage, as the bitter meaning of it swept over him.

"Aye – it was," the man answered doggedly, nodding his bushy head; "an' ye may roll me o'er the ground again, like a log that has no feelin', an' send me to prison atop it all, for tryin' to do my country a sarvice by riddin' it of a spy."

The soldiers who were holding him looked significantly at each other and then at Dorothy, who was still standing within the protecting arm of the man they knew to be an English officer, and a prisoner who had been captured, alone and at night, close to the spot where the Commander-in-Chief was engaged in a conference with some of his subordinates.

Despite the fright to which she had been subjected, the girl was quick to see all this, and the suspicion to which it pointed. And she now astonished them all by leaving her husband's side, to advance rapidly until she stood facing the soldiers and their prisoner, who cowered away as he saw the flash of her eyes, and her small figure drawn to its utmost height.

"Do you dare say to my face that I am a British spy – I, Dorothy Devereux, of Marblehead, whose only brother is an officer in Glover's regiment? You lying scoundrel – take that!" And raising her riding-whip, she cut him sharply across the face, the thin lash causing a crimson welt to show upon its already florid hue. "And that," giving him another cut. "And do you go to General Washington, and tell him your wicked story, and I doubt not he'll endorse the writing of the opinion I've put upon your cowardly face for saying such evil falsehoods of me!"

"Dot – Dorothy – whatever does this mean?" It was the voice of her brother, as he dashed to her side and caught her arm, now lifted for another blow.

She shivered, and the whip fell to the ground, while Hugh ordered the men to take their prisoner away.

They obeyed, grinning shyly at each other, and now feeling assured that no British spy was amongst them.

Captain Southorn had stood motionless, looking at Dorothy in unconcealed amazement. But her quick punishment of the fellow's insult seemed to have a good effect upon Hugh Knollys, for his face now showed much of its sunny good-nature.

The sight of what she had done, no less than the sound of her voice, had brought back the impetuous, wilful Dot of bygone days; and he found himself thinking again of the little maid whose ears he boxed because of the spilled bullets, years ago.