The Spy: Condensed for use in schools

Before the fire was a table, with one of its legs fractured, and made of rough boards; these, with a single stool, composed the furniture – if we except a few articles of cooking. A book that, by its size and shape, appeared to be a Bible, was lying on the table unopened. But it was the occupant of the hut in whom Frances was chiefly interested. This was a man, sitting on the stool, with his head leaning on his hand in such a manner as to conceal his features, and deeply occupied in examining some open papers. On the table lay a pair of curiously and richly mounted horseman’s pistols, and the handle of a sheathed rapier,[123 - sword.] of exquisite workmanship, protruded from between the legs of the gentleman, one of whose hands carelessly rested on its guard. The tall stature of this unexpected tenant of the hut, and his form, much more athletic than that of either Harvey or her brother, told Frances, without the aid of his dress, that it was neither of those she sought. A close surtout[124 - overcoat.] was buttoned high in the throat of the stranger, and parting at the knees showed breeches of buff, with military boots and spurs. His hair was dressed so as to expose the whole face, and, after the fashion of that day, it was profusely powdered. A round hat was laid on the stones that formed a paved floor to the hut, as if to make room for a large map which, among other papers, occupied the table.

This was an unexpected event to our adventurer. She had been so confident that the figure twice seen was the peddler, that, on learning his agency in her brother’s escape, she did not in the least doubt of finding them both in the place, which, she now discovered, was occupied by another and a stranger. She stood, earnestly looking through the crevice, hesitating whether to retire, or to wait with the expectation of yet meeting Henry, as the stranger moved his hand from before his eyes and raised his face, apparently in deep musing, when Frances instantly recognized the benevolent and strongly marked, but composed features of Harper.

All that Dunwoodie had said of his power and disposition, all that he himself had promised her brother, and all the confidence that had been created by his dignified and paternal manner, rushed across the mind of Frances, who threw open the door of the hut, and falling at his feet, clasping his knees with her arms, as she cried: “Save him, save him – save my brother; remember your promise, and save him!”

Harper had risen as the door opened, and there was a slight movement of his hand towards his pistols; but it was cool, and instantly checked. He raised the hood of the cardinal, which had fallen over her features, and exclaimed with some uneasiness:

“Miss Wharton! But you cannot be alone?”

“There is none here but my God and you; and by his sacred name, I conjure you to remember your promise, and save my brother!”

Harper gently raised her from her knees and placed her on the stool, begging her at the same time to be composed, and to acquaint him with the nature of her errand. This Frances instantly did, and after a short pause added:

“We can depend much on the friendship of Major Dunwoodie; but his sense of honor is so pure, that – that – notwithstanding his – his – feelings – his desire to serve us – he will conceive it to be his duty to apprehend[125 - arrest.] my brother again. Besides, he thinks there will be no danger in so doing, as he relies greatly on your interference.”

“On mine?” said Harper, who appeared slightly uneasy.

“Yes, on yours. When we told him of your kind language, he at once assured us all that you had the power, and, if you had promised, would have the inclination, to procure Henry’s pardon.”

“Said he more?” asked Harper.

“Nothing but reiterate assurances of Henry’s safety; even now he is in quest of you.”

“Miss Wharton, that I bear no mean part in the unhappy struggle between England and America, it might now be useless to deny. You owe your brother’s escape, this night, to my knowledge of his innocence, and the remembrance of my word. Major Dunwoodie is mistaken when he says that I might openly have procured his pardon. I now, indeed, can control his fate, and I pledge to you a word which has some influence with Washington, that means shall be taken to prevent his recapture. But from you, also, I exact a promise, that this interview, and all that has passed between us, remain confined to your own bosom, until you have my permission to speak upon the subject.”

Frances gave the desired assurance, and he continued:

“The peddler and your brother will soon be here, but I must not be seen by the royal officer, or the life of Birch might be the forfeiture.”[126 - penalty.]

“Never!” cried Frances, ardently; “Henry never could be so base as to betray the man who saved him.”

“It is no childish game we are now playing, Miss Wharton. Men’s lives and fortunes hang upon slender threads, and nothing must be left to accident that can be guarded against.”

While Harper was speaking he carefully rolled up the map he had been studying, and placed it, together with sundry papers that were open, in his pocket. He was still occupied in this manner, when the voice of the peddler, talking in unusually loud tones, was heard directly over their heads.

“Stand farther this way, Captain Wharton, and you can see the tents in the moonshine. But let them mount and ride; I have a nest here that will hold us both, and we will go in at our leisure.”

“And where is this nest? I confess that I have eaten but little the last two days, and I crave some of the cheer you mention.”

“Hem!” said the peddler, exerting his voice still more, “hem! – this fog has given me a cold; but move slow, and be careful not to slip, or you may land on the bayonet of the sentinel on the flats; ’tis a steep hill to rise, but one can go down it with ease.”

Harper pressed his finger on his lip, to remind Frances of her promise, and taking his pistols and hat, so that no vestige of his visit remained, he retired deliberately to the far corner of the hut, where, lifting several articles of clothing, he entered a recess in the rock, and letting them fall again was hid from view. Frances noticed, by the strong firelight, as he entered, that it was a natural cavity, and contained nothing but a few more articles of domestic use.

The surprise of Henry and the peddler, on entering and finding Frances in possession of the hut, may be easily imagined. Without waiting for explanations or questions, the warm-hearted girl flew into the arms of her brother, and gave vent to her emotions in tears. But the peddler seemed struck with different feelings. His first look was at the fire, which had been recently supplied with fuel; he then drew open a small drawer of the table, and looked a little alarmed at finding it empty.

“Are you alone, Miss Fanny?” he asked in a quick voice; “you did not come here alone?”

“As you see me, Mr. Birch,” said Frances, raising herself from her brother’s arms, and turning an expressive glance towards the secret cavern, that the quick eye of the peddler instantly understood.

“But why and wherefore are you here?” exclaimed her astonished brother; “and how knew you of this place at all?”

Frances entered at once into a brief detail of what had occurred at the house since their departure, and the motives which induced her to seek them.

“But,” said Birch, “why follow us here, when we were left on the opposite hill?”

Frances related the glimpse she had caught of the hut and the peddler, in her passage through the Highlands, and her immediate conjecture that the fugitives would seek shelter of this habitation for the night.

The peddler seemed satisfied; for he drew back, and watching his opportunity, unseen by Henry, slipped behind the screen, and entered the cavern.

Frances and her brother, who thought his companion had passed through the door, continued conversing on the latter’s situation for several minutes, when the former urged the necessity of expedition on his part, in order to precede Dunwoodie, from whose sense of duty they knew they had no escape. The captain took out his pocket-book, and wrote a few lines with his pencil; then folding the paper, he handed it to his sister.

“Frances,” he said, “you have this night proved yourself to be an incomparable woman. As you love me, give that unopened letter to Dunwoodie, and remember that two hours may save my life.”

“I will – I will; but why delay? Why not fly, and improve these precious moments?”

“Your sister says well, Captain Wharton,” exclaimed Harvey, who had reëntered unseen; “we must go at once. Here is food to eat as we travel.”

“But who is to see this fair creature in safety?” cried the captain. “I can never desert my sister in such a place as this.”

“Leave me! leave me!” said Frances; “I can descend as I came up. Do not doubt me; you know not my courage nor my strength.”

“Captain Wharton,” said Birch, throwing open the door, “you can trifle with your own lives, if you have many to spare; I have but one, and must nurse it. Do I go alone, or not?”

“Go, go, dear Henry!” said Frances, embracing him; “go! Remember our father; remember Sarah.” She waited not for his answer, but gently forced him through the door, and closed it with her own hands.

For a short time there was a warm debate between Henry and the peddler; but the latter finally prevailed, and the breathless girl heard the successive plunges as they went down the side of the mountain at a rapid rate.

Immediately after the noise of their departure had ceased, Harper reappeared. He took the arm of Frances in silence, and led her from the hut and down the mountain.

Wondering who this unknown but powerful friend of her brother could be, Frances glided across the fields, and using due precautions in approaching the dwelling, regained her residence undiscovered and in safety.

CHAPTER XXII.

DUNWOODIE GAINS HIS SUIT, AND CAPTAIN WHARTON HIS FREEDOM

On joining Miss Peyton, Frances learnt that Dunwoodie was not yet returned; although, with a view to relieve Henry from the importunities of the supposed fanatic, he had desired a very respectable divine of their own church to ride up from the river and offer his services. This gentleman was already arrived.

To the eager inquiries of Miss Peyton, relative to her success in her romantic excursion, Frances could say no more than that she was bound to be silent, and to recommend the same precaution to the good maiden also. There was a smile playing around the beautiful mouth of Frances, while she uttered this injunction, which satisfied her aunt that all was as it should be. She was urging her niece to take some refreshment after her fatiguing expedition, when the noise of a horseman riding to the door announced the return of the major. The heart of Frances bounded as she listened to his approaching footsteps. She, however, had not time to rally her thoughts before he entered.

The countenance of Peyton was flushed, and an air of vexation and disappointment pervaded his manner.

“’Twas imprudent, Frances! nay, it was unkind,” he cried, throwing himself in a chair, “to fly at the very moment that I had assured him of safety! There was no danger impending. He had the promise of Harper, and it is a word never to be doubted. Oh! Frances! Frances! had you known the man, you would never have distrusted his assurance, nor would you have again reduced me to the distressing alternative.”

“What alternative?” asked Frances, pitying his emotions deeply, but eagerly seizing upon every circumstance to prolong the interview.

“What alternative! Am I not compelled to spend this night in the saddle to recapture your brother, when I had thought to lay my head on its pillow, with the happy consciousness of having contributed to his release?”

She bent toward him, and timidly took one of his hands, while with the other she gently removed the curls from his burning brow. “Why go at all, dear Peyton?” she asked; “you have done much for your country, and she cannot exact such a sacrifice as this at your hand.”