"You must have marched straight past your own place," the boyish voice interrupted.

"Well, what if we did. There was nothing there, as you know. The house has been stripped to a mere shell. Not a nigger left, nor a horse. I'd like to know what influence keeps this property untouched!"

"That's easily answered. You forget we are a divided family, with fighting men on either side."

"Little these outlaws care for that."

"At least they appear to, as we remain unmolested. There has not been a raiding party halted here since the war began."

"Well, if you hadn't been at home, there would have been one along now," burst forth Grant rather roughly. "Those fellows out there are desperate enough to sack the house if that was their only method of getting food. And I promised they should have the chance."

"Oh, you did, indeed! That would have proven a friendly act."

"Necessity does not take much account of friendship. I was responsible for a hundred starving men. Under such conditions force would be justified. I doubt if I could control the fellows now if provisions should be refused."

"There is no necessity for indulging in threats, Captain Grant," said the boy's voice coldly. "Elmhurst has never yet turned a soldier away in hunger. Peter will instruct what few servants remain to attend to the immediate needs of your men. May I ask how long you expect to remain?"

I thought Grant was walking nervously back and forth across the room.

"How long? Until night, probably. Then with a bite in our haversacks we'll take the road again. That is, providing you condescend to act as our host for so long a time. Odds life! but this reception is not over warm to my thinking."

"Elmhurst is not a tavern, sir."

"No; but the home of a loyalist—the commander of half those men out yonder. However I am not pleading for them, but myself personally. What welcome have I had? By all the gods, I was almost compelled to fight that bald-headed old fool to even gain admittance to the hall. Were those your orders?"

"Assuredly not. But you must consider circumstances, and forgive Peter for being over zealous in my service. I received you as soon as I knew who you were."

"Yes," somewhat mollified, "I presume that is true, although you are chilly enough, the Lord knows. But what brings you here?"

"That must remain my secret, Captain Grant—for the present."

"Oh, very well. I thought it might have some connection with Eric's presence in this neighborhood."

"With Eric! What do you mean? Have you seen him?"

"Ah! so I've got below the surface at last! I thought I might with that thrust. Yes, I saw him last night. I didn't know what the devil the fellow was up to, but I thought I'd let him play out his game. It was a right nervy trick, so far as it went, but unfortunately the rebels came in before I discovered what it all led up to."

"You do not make it very clear to me."

"I told you it was not clear even to myself. This is all I know. When I joined Delavan last night just after dark, he had a young officer of Light Dragoons in charge of his advance guard. I merely got a glimpse of the fellow as we rode in, and he looked so devilishly like Eric that I asked Delavan who the lad was. He said he had joined at Mount Holly with three men, was going through to Philadelphia with despatches from New York, and was only too glad of escort the rest of the way. Being short of officers Delavan gave him charge of the van."

"Did he recognize you?"

"I hardly think so; it was pretty dark, and I was put on guard over the rear wagons. I supposed I would have ample opportunity to learn the truth after it became daylight."

"But you believed him to be Eric?"

"Yes, and after the attack I was convinced. He and the three men with him bolted and got away. Must have run at the first fire, for the fellows had us completely hemmed in. It was Eric all right, and that is about half the reason why I led my men back here—I wanted to find out if he was hiding about the old place. Is it true you haven't seen him?"

"Quite true; indeed I had no reason to suppose him in the Jerseys at this time."

Grant remained silent, probably not wholly convinced that he was being told the truth, and yet not venturing to state openly his suspicions. However the other said no more, and finally the Ranger felt compelled to answer.

"Of course," he explained rather lamely, "I couldn't altogether blame you for concealing the boy if he had shown up here, but you will realize that as a King's officer I have a serious duty to perform."

"You would apprehend Eric? Would betray him into British hands? Is that your meaning, Captain Grant?"

"What else could I do? Don't be unreasonable! Boy as he is, no one in all that crew of ragamuffins has done us greater harm. Again and again he has learned our secrets and brought Washington information of our plans. How he does it is the mystery of this department—Howe has personally offered a thousand pounds for his arrest. Surely you know that. Last night I thought we had him in our power, but the very devil seems to protect him from capture, even when luck brings him fairly within our grip."

"And so you came here to search for him?" I could feel the bitter scorn in the voice. "In his father's home!"

"I certainly did," angrily. "I shall search the house from cellar to garret before I leave."

"But you are on parole."

"Damn the parole. What do I care for a pledge given to a band of plundering outlaws? And what do I care for Eric? He chose for himself, and has no right to expect any mercy from me, and by all the gods, he'll receive none. I half believe that attack last night was his planning, and that now you have him hidden away here. Now listen to me! I do not desire to be harsh, but I'm a soldier. My men are not armed, but there are enough out there to handle the servants barehanded. No one can get out of this house without being seen; I've attended to that."

"And you propose searching the rooms?"

"I do. If you had been a little more genial I might have exhibited greater courtesy. But I haven't any use for Eric, and never had. Now you know the truth."

"It merely illustrates more clearly your character."

"You are always free enough with your comments. I shall do my duty to the King."

"Very well, sir," and the incensed lieutenant pushed back his chair. "Then we clearly understand each other at last. I am sincerely glad of it. From now on I shall never again be guilty of mistaking you for a friend or a gentleman. No, I have no wish to listen to another word; you have spoken frankly enough, and I understand the situation. Perhaps it is only anger, but it gives me the excuse I have been seeking after a long while in vain. Whatever claim you may have had upon my regard in the past is over with, forever over with, Captain Grant."

"But—but, surely—"

"I mean precisely that. You can cover your despicable actions with the gloss of military duty, but I know you now as a revengeful liar. Treat this house as you please. I refuse to have any more dealings or words with you. I'll provision you and your men, as I would any others suffering from hunger, but that ends all. If you search this house do it by force, and in any way you please, but expect no assistance from me. I bid you good-day, sir, and will send Peter to call you when breakfast is ready."

I closed the crack of the door as he came forth into the hall, having no desire to be caught listening. My own position was more unpleasant and hazardous than ever. Whatever reason the lieutenant might have for holding me prisoner I was convinced he possessed no knowledge as to my real identity. The probability was that after an interview I would be released. But Grant would recognize me instantly, and he proposed searching the house, room by room, seeking this man Eric. I must make my escape first. Yet how could this be accomplished? I heard Peter pass along the hall, and solemnly announce the serving of breakfast. He and Grant exchanged a few sentences, and then the latter strode to the front door, where he gave orders to the men. I watched the German officers come up the steps, while the majority of the others, forming into irregular line, marched around the corner of the house. A small squad remained, however, on guard, facing the front entrance.



CHAPTER XVI

AGAIN THE LADY

I must think rapidly, and act as quickly. Yet, if what Grant had said was true, that he had already posted guards on each side the house, then escape by daylight was practically impossible. From all I could see there was no concealment close at hand, and while the fellows were without arms, yet their numbers were sufficient to make any attempt at running their lines extra hazardous. And I had much at risk, for if taken it would be as a spy, and not a mere prisoner of war. There was no place for concealment in the library, but there might be upstairs, in the attic, or on the roof. The chance was worth the trial, and there could be no better time for such an experiment than while the three officers were at breakfast. Whatever servants remained about the house would be busily employed also, and probably I should have the entire upper portion to myself. Deciding to make the venture I had my hand on the knob of the door, when it was opened quietly from without, and I was startled by the sudden appearance of Peter. Whatever excitement may have prevailed among the other members of this peculiar household this model servitor remained with dignity unruffled. He surveyed me calmly, rubbing his bald head with one hand.

"You will pardon the delay, sir," he said calmly. "But circumstances have arisen changing the original plans. Will you kindly accompany me?"

"But where, Peter? I don't wish to be seen by these new arrivals."

"Have no fear, sir," condescendingly, and with an authoritative wave of the hand. "The officers are at table, and will know nothing of our movements."

I followed meekly enough, and he led the way up the broad stairs to the second story, turning to the left in the upper hall, and coming to a pause before a partially opened door. A glimpse within made me deem it a music room, although I could see merely along one wall.

"You will enter, sir, while I return to the guests below."

With one glance into his perfectly expressionless countenance, half suspicious of some new trick, I stepped across the threshold. The curtains were drawn, and the room seemed dark after the sun-glare of the hall. I advanced a step or two, almost convinced the apartment was unoccupied, when a voice addressed me.

"Under more favorable conditions, Major Lawrence, it would give me pleasure to welcome you to the hospitalities of Elmhurst."

I swung about as on a pivot and saw her standing with one hand upon the high back of a chair, her blue eyes smiling merrily. I felt the hot rush of blood to my cheeks, the quick throb of pulse, with which I recognized her. I was so surprised that, for the instant, the words I sought to utter choked in my throat.



"Nothing was farther from my thoughts," I exclaimed hastily. "All I knew of your home was that it was situated somewhere in the Jerseys. But wait, perhaps I begin to understand—the lieutenant who brought me here; his voice has been echoing in my ears all night in familiarity. He is some near relative of yours—this Eric?"

"Oh, you have overheard? You know the name through hearing Captain Grant speak?"

"Yes; I could not very well help doing so. Peter had stationed me in the library, but there was nothing said between you two to make me suspect your identity."

"You supposed me to be the lieutenant?"

"You have not suspected?" she asked. "You did not know this was my home?"

"Why should I not? The voice was the same; at least sufficiently similar to deceive me, and he never addressed you in a way to arouse my suspicions. Is your brother named Eric?"

"Yes; I told you, did I not, that we are twins? The physical resemblance between us is very strong; no doubt our voices sound alike also, or would to a comparative stranger. Will you not be seated, Major? We shall not have long to converse, and there is much to be said before those downstairs complete their rather frugal meal—Peter has promised to delay serving as much as possible, but, as our larder is not extensive, at best it will not be long. You overheard Captain Grant's threat?"

"To search the house for your brother—yes."

"He will carry it out," quietly, her eyes, no longer smiling, on my face. "There has never been friendship between those two, and of late my own relations with Captain Grant have become very unpleasant. I think he is almost glad of an opportunity to thus exercise some authority over me. He is the kind of a man who must either rule or ruin. Convinced that Eric is concealed here, he will search the house as much to spite me as for any other reason. I should only laugh at him, but for your presence."

"Then your brother is not here?"

"Certainly not; Eric is in no danger—but, Major Lawrence, you are."

The earnestness with which she spoke made my heart leap. Whatever the girl's political sentiments might be, she was plainly desirous of serving me, of once again exposing herself in my defence. Yet her words, the frank expression of her eyes, gave no suggestion of sentiment—she was but a friend, an ally, performing a woman's part in the war game.

"But I fail to understand—"

"You mean me? Oh, well, you are not the first; and no doubt it is best so. The less you understand, the better we shall get along, Major; the only question being, will you obey my orders?"

"Had I inclination otherwise I fear I should find it impossible."

"I hardly know whether that remark be complimentary or not. You might mean that no other course was left you."

"Which I suspect is true, although if it proved so I should willingly trust myself to your guidance, because of my faith in you."

"That is much better," her eyes laughing, yet as swiftly sobering again. "But it is foolish of us to waste time in such silly speeches. There is too much waiting attention. Fortunately this house is not without its secrets, for when built by my grandfather this was the frontier."

"But does not Grant know?" I asked soberly. "I understood he played here as a boy, and there is not much a lad fails to learn."

"He is not without knowledge, surely, but here is something he never discovered. I would never have trusted him with the secret, and yet, as short a time as I have known you, I have no hesitancy. Isn't that a frank confession, sir?"

"One I mean you shall never regret."

"I am sure of that; yet I shall not betray everything even to you. Please face about with eyes to the front window. Yes, so; now do not look around until I tell you."

I heard her cross the room, her skirts rustling slightly, and then the faint clicking of some delicately adjusted mechanism. As this sound ceased, her voice again spoke.

"Now, Major, the way is opened for a safe retreat. Behold what has been accomplished by the genii of the lamp."

She was standing at one side of what had been the fireplace, but now the entire lower portion of the great chimney had been swung aside, revealing an opening amply large enough for the entrance of a man. I took one step forward to where I could perceive the beginning of a narrow winding stair leading down into intense blackness. Then I glanced aside into her eyes.

"The concealment was perfect," I exclaimed in admiration. "Where does the staircase lead?"

"To a very comfortable room underground. It had not been used for a generation until this war began. Eric and I learned of its existence by accident, while rummaging over some of our grandfather's old papers. I was about sixteen then, and shall never forget our first exploration. We found nothing down there then but a rough bunk, an old lanthorn, and the leathern scabbard of a sword. But since then Eric has been compelled to hide there twice to escape capture, and we have made the room below more comfortable. You will be obliged to grope your way down the stairs, but at the bottom will discover flint and steel, and a lantern with ample supply of candles. Peter will bring you food, if you need remain there for long!"

"Peter! Then he is in the secret?"

"Peter is in all secrets," she confessed. "From him nothing is hid, at least so far as may concern the Mortimer family. You have yet to learn the deep subtlety of Peter, Major Lawrence. He sees all things, retains all things, and reveals nothing."

"A discovery already made."

"No, barely glimpsed; no short acquaintance such as yours has been could ever serve to reveal the character of Peter. Since babyhood he has been my monitor and guide, and still he remains to me a silent mystery."

"An old servant?"

"Yes, born to the position, his father serving before him. There is no doubt in my mind but what he knew of this secret passage before Eric and I were born. Not that he has ever confessed as much, yet I am convinced our discovery of it brought no surprise to Peter. What do you suppose his age to be?"

My mind reverted to that expressionless face without a wrinkle in it, to that totally bald head, and my answer was the merest guess.

"Oh, possibly fifty."

"I told you you were far from knowing Peter," she laughed. "He is seventy-two, and, would you believe it, until this war came, was never ten miles from this spot."

"And since?" recalling the events of the night before.

"He has made it his duty to attend me; he has become my shadow. From the humdrum experience of a respectable house servant he has become the very spirit of reckless adventure—he has journeyed to New York, to Trenton, to Philadelphia, to—"

"Night riding with Hessian foragers," I broke in, "disguised in a Ranger's uniform."

"Well, yes," she dimpled quietly, "even that."

I waited for something more, some explanation of what all this concealed.

"You trust me with so much," I ventured, when she continued silent, "it would seem as if you might tell me even more."

"I cannot perceive whereby any further confession would serve you. Yet I have not refused to answer any question, surely. It is hardly safe for us to remain here so long, and yet if there be something you wish to ask—"

"You could scarcely expect me to be entirely without curiosity. I have been captured on the highway, brought here a prisoner, and held under guard all night. I supposed myself in British hands, only to discover that you have again intervened to save me. Surely there must be a key to all this mystery. If, as I suspect, it was your brother, Eric, who led the attack on me, having mistaken me for another, then what was his purpose? And what has become of Eric?"

She wrinkled her brows in perplexity, her hands nervously clasping the back of a chair.

"It is like being cross-examined by a lawyer. Perhaps if the secret was all my own I might freely confide it to you. I do not promise I would, but I might. As it is, I do not yet know you quite well enough. I believe you to be Major Lawrence, that you are all you represent yourself, but I am pledged to silence, and the lives of others depend upon my keeping faith. You cannot urge me to do what I deem wrong?"

"No; I shall always believe in you."

"I thank you for that," and her hand was extended frankly. "I would reveal one of the mysteries of last night if I was not fearful it might cost me your respect."

"How could that be possible?"

"Because it might appear to you that I had been unwomanly. My own conscience is clear, for my purpose exonerates me, but this you might fail to understand unless I made fuller explanation than is now possible. I have a duty which cannot be betrayed."

I gazed into her eyes, her hand still in mine, conscious that her cheeks were flushing. It was impossible for me to conceive of her performing an unwomanly action.

"I prefer to ask nothing," I said frankly, "although I should never misconstrue anything you might care to say."

"I think you suspect already, and I should far rather tell you the truth myself than have you learn it in some other way. The lieutenant of Light Dragoons who attacked you last night was not my brother."

"Was not Eric? And yet you knew him?"

"Very well, indeed," her eyes falling, "because it was myself."



CHAPTER XVII

ENTOMBED

I had not suspected it; however obvious it may appear now to those who read this tale, the possibility that she had been masquerading in an officer's uniform, indulging in warlike deeds, had never once occurred to me. She was so thoroughly feminine that her acknowledgment came as a distinct shock. I had, it is true, seen sufficient of life to be of charitable mind, and yet there was that within me which instantly revolted. She read all this in my face, but fronted me without the quiver of an eyelash, firmly withdrawing her hand.

"It is easy to perceive your disapproval," she said more coldly, "but I have no further explanation to make. I am sorry to have you think ill of me, but I felt that perhaps you might realize my action was justified."

"It is not that," I hastened to explain, ashamed of myself. "I have not lost faith in you. But I was brought up in a strict school; my mother was almost puritanical in her rules of conduct, and I have never entirely outgrown her conception of feminine limitations. I am sure you have only done what is right and womanly. Do not permit my first surprise to end our friendship."

"That is for you to determine, Major Lawrence. I have confessed, and thus cleared my conscience of deceit. Some day you may also learn the cause of my action, but in the meantime it must bear your disapproval. However, we need discuss the matter no longer—"

She sprang to the door, and glanced out into the hall, stepping back once more as Peter appeared. His eyes swept the room in silent observation.

"Captain Grant and the two officers with him have concluded their meal, Mistress Claire," he announced calmly, "and one of them has gone for a file of soldiers to begin the search of the house."

"Very well, Peter; go back and assist them. I will see to the safe concealment of Major Lawrence."

He bowed graciously, and disappeared.

"You have not given me your pardon," I implored as our eyes again met.

"There is nothing to pardon, to my knowledge. I respect you because of your sense of propriety, but we cannot talk longer now. You must enter the passage at once."

"You will give me your hand first?"

"Gladly," and I felt its firm pressure, her face brightened by a smile. "Now let us remember rather the danger, the necessity of concealment, and not delay too long. Wait a moment, Major; is it true you absolutely trust me?"

"It certainly is."

"I am going to put that to the test. You have papers you desire to give at once into the hands of General Washington. You may be detained here some time, but I have with me an Indian who could take them across the Delaware to-night. It is not the first time he has made that journey. Will you confide them to me?"

Our eyes were looking directly into each other. I may have hesitated an instant, confused by the unexpected request, yet there was something in the expression of the girl's face which swept doubt swiftly aside. I could not question her honesty, her faith. Strange as her actions seemed I was compelled to trust her. Why should I not? She was saving my life, and she had it in her power, by the mere speaking of a word, to betray me to those who would take the papers from me by force. Without a word I took them from an inner pocket, and gave them to her. The red lips smiled, the blue eyes brightening.

"Tonepah shall leave within the hour," she promised, thrusting the small packet into the bosom of her dress. "Now step within, Major, and I will close the door."

I did as she requested, hearing the click of the lock behind me, and being as instantly plunged into darkness. I waited a moment, my foot upon the first narrow stair, listening. No sound reached me from without, and, with her animated face still before me in memory, I began to slowly feel my way down the circular staircase. There was nothing dangerous about the passage, but with only the bare stone wall to touch with the hand I was obliged to grope along blindly. The huge chimney had evidently been erected merely for concealment, and I marvelled at the ingenuity of its construction. I failed to count the steps, but I went around and around so many times, pressed against the smooth wall, that I knew I must be well below the basement of the house before I finally stood at the bottom. I groped forward in the intense darkness, feeling with outstretched hands. The first object encountered was a rough table, the surface of which I explored, discovering thereon a candlestick with flint and steel beside it. With relief I struck a spark, and a yellow flame revealed my surroundings.

What I saw was a low room some fifteen feet square, the walls and roof apparently of stone securely mortared, the only exit the narrow circular stairs. The floor was of earth. Opposite me was a bunk slightly elevated, containing a blanket or two, and a fairly comfortable chair built from a barrel. An old coat and hat hung from a nail at the head of the bunk. On a shelf near by was an earthen crock, and two candles, and beneath this, on the floor, was a sawed-off gun and two pistols, with a small supply of powder and balls, the former wrapped in an oiled cloth. It was in truth a gloomy, desolate hole, although dry enough. For want of something better to do I went over and picked up the pistols; the lock of one was broken, but the other seemed serviceable, and, after snapping the flint, I loaded the weapon, and slipped it into my pocket. Somehow its possession yielded me a new measure of courage, although I had no reason to suppose I would be called upon to use the ancient relic.

There was little to examine, but I tramped about nervously, tapping the walls, and convincing myself of their solidity, and, finally, tired by this useless exercise, seated myself in the chair. It was like being buried in a tomb, not a sound reaching my strained ears, but at last the spirit of depression vanished, and my mind began to grapple with the problems confronting me. I felt no regret at having entrusted my papers to Mistress Mortimer. There was no occasion for her attempting to trick me, and the contents of the packet were not sufficiently important to cause me any great worriment. Besides, I was beginning to believe that the sympathies of the girl were altogether with us. If so, what was she doing, or attempting to do? It could be no light undertaking which had led her to assume male attire, and enter upon the adventure of the evening before. She was evidently making use of the resemblance between herself and her brother to accomplish concealment. Yet for what purpose? to serve which cause? The best I could do was to guess blindly at the answer. Let that be what it might, my own personal faith in her should not waver. I had looked down into the depth of those blue eyes and read truth there; I had felt the clasp of her warm hand and it held me firm. My heart beat more rapidly as I reviewed all that had transpired between us, and I began to realize how deep was the interest with which she had already inspired me. I had met many women—daughters of the best homes—but never before a Claire Mortimer. The very mystery with which she was invested lured me to her, and yet beyond this there existed a charm indefinable that held me captive. She was a gay, laughing spirit, but with a steadiness of character in reserve ever provocative of surprise. I could never be sure which mood was uppermost, or which best represented the real womanhood. Nor could I decide in which guise she appealed to me the most. Hers was a witchery yielding no opportunity for escape.

Heaven alone knows how long I remained there motionless, my mind elsewhere, drifting idly backward to the old home, reviewing the years of war that had transformed me from boy to man as though by some magic. The varied incidents of march, camp, and battle were like dreams, so swiftly did they pass across the retina of the brain, each stirring event leading to another as I climbed from the ranks to command. Yet at the end of all came again the vision of Claire Mortimer, and I was seeing in her blue eyes the hope of the future. The candle sputtering fitfully aroused me to the passing of time, and I lit another, and placed it in the candlestick. Surely the search of the house would be completed by this time, but perhaps the intention was to keep me concealed until Grant and his men had finally departed.

The silence and loneliness caused me to become restless. I could not entirely throw off the sense of being buried alive in this dismal hole. I wondered if there was any way of escape, if that secret door was not locked and unlocked only from without. A desire to ascertain led me to take candle in hand, and climb the circular staircase, examining the wall as I passed upward. The interior of the chimney revealed nothing. While I felt convinced there must also be a false fireplace on the first floor, so as to carry out the deception, the dim candle light made no revealment of its position. I could judge very nearly where it should appear, and I sounded the wall thereabout carefully both above and below without result. Nor did any noise reach me to disclose a thinness of partition.

Convinced of the solidity of the wall at this spot I continued higher until I came to the end of the passage. To my surprise the conditions here were practically the same. Had I not entered at this point I could never have been convinced that there was an opening. From within it defied discovery, for nothing confronted my eyes but mortared stone. I could trace no crack, no semblance of a hinge, no secret spring. I felt along the surface, inch by inch, with my finger tips, pressing against each slight irregularity, but without result. My ear held to the side wall heard nothing—apparently I was sealed in helplessly, but for the assistance of friends without; no effort on my part could ever bring release. For a moment, as I realized all this, the cold perspiration stood in drops upon my forehead, and I noted the trembling of the hand holding the candlestick. There was a horror to the thought hard to explain—perhaps I would be left immured until my small stock of candles was exhausted, and this dismal hole plunged in cave-like darkness; only two persons knew of my predicament, or were capable of releasing me. What if something should occur making it impossible for either to act? What if this was a trick, and I had been actually buried alive? I grew morbid, suspicious, almost convinced that I was the victim of conspiracy. Then, somehow, a flash of courage returned, and I caught at these fears, as memory of those honest blue eyes came again. I would not permit such a thought to dominate me; it was not possible—the very conception was insanity.

Yet I went over the rough surface again before retracing my steps down to the room below. All this must have taken fully an hour of time, and the strain of disappointment left me tired, as though I had done a day's work. I sank back into the chair, watching the candle burn away, trying in vain to think out some course of action if those above failed me. I had no reason to believe they would, and yet the long time I had been there—apparently much longer than it really was—the certainty that my means of light were fast being exhausted, the awful silence and loneliness, left upon me a horror against which I struggled in vain. I can hardly conceive that I slept, and yet I certainly lost consciousness, for, when I aroused myself, I was in pitch darkness.

I felt dazed, bewildered, but as my hand felt the edge of the table I comprehended where I was, and what had occurred. Groping about I found flint and steel, and that last candle, which I forced into the candlestick. The tiny yellow flame was like a message from the gods. How I watched it, every nerve tingling, as it burned lower and lower. Would it last until help came, or was I destined to remain pinned up in the darkness of this ghastly grave? Why, I must have been there for hours—hours. The burning out of the candles proved that. Surely I could doubt no longer this was a trick, a cowardly, cruel trick! If help had been coming it would have reached me before this. The day must have passed, and much of the night. Grant and his party would have marched away long before this on the road to Philadelphia. What could have occurred, then, to prevent Peter or the girl from setting me free? Could they have been forced into accompanying the soldiers? Could they have forgotten? Could they deliberately leave me there to die?

My brain whirled with incipient madness, as such questions haunted me unceasingly. I lost faith in everything, even her, and cursed aloud, hating the echoes of my own voice. It seemed as though those walls, that low roof, were crushing me, as if the close, foul air was suffocating. I recall tearing open the front of my shirt to gain easier breath. I walked about beating with bare hands the rough stone, muttering to myself words without meaning. The candle had burned down until barely an inch remained.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE REMAINS OF TRAGEDY

It must have been the shock of thus realizing suddenly how short a time remained in which I should have light which restored my senses. I know I stared at the dim yellow flicker dully at first, and then with a swift returning consciousness which spurred my brain into activity. In that instant I hated, despised myself, rebelled at my weakness. Faith in Claire Mortimer came back to me in a flood of regret. If she had failed, it was through no fault of hers, and I was no coward to lie there and rot without making a stern fight for life. When I was found, those who came upon my body would know that I died struggling, died as a man should, facing fate with a smile, with hands gripped in the contest. The resolution served—it was a spur to my pride, instantly driving away every haunting shadow of evil. Yet where should I turn? To what end should I devote my energies? It was useless to climb those stairs again. But there must be a way out. It was impossible to conceive that the old-time Mortimer—the stern frontiersman who had built this refuge from possible Indian attack—had made merely a hole in which to hide. That would have been insanity, for, with the house above aflame, he would have been cooked to a crisp. No! that was inconceivable; there must have originally been an exit somewhere. But where? And if discovered would it be found choked by the debris of a century, a mere cul de sac? Surely none of this present generation knew the existence of any such passage. Yet it was the single desperate chance remaining, and I dare not let doubt numb my faculties.

I gripped the old musket as the only instrument at hand, and began testing the walls. Three sides I rapped, receiving the same dead, dull response. I was in the darkest corner now, beyond the stairs, still hopelessly beating the gun barrel against the stone. The dim light revealed no change in the wall formation, the same irregular expanse of rubble set in solid mortar, hardened by a century of exposure to the dry atmosphere. Then to an idle, listless blow there came a hollow, wooden sound, that caused the heart to leap into the throat. I tried again, a foot to the left, confident my ears had played me false, but this time there could be no doubt—there was an opening here back of a wooden barrier.

Half crazed by this good fortune, I caught up the inch of candle, and held it before the wall. The dim light scarcely served as an aid, so ingeniously had the door been painted in resemblance to the mortared stone. I was compelled to sound again, inch by inch, with the gun barrel before I could determine the exact dimensions of the opening. Then I could trace the slight crack where the wood was fitted, nor could I have done this but for the warping of a board. Wild with apprehension lest my light fail before the necessary work could be accomplished, I drew out the single-bladed knife from my pocket, and began widening this crack. Feverishly as I worked this was slow of accomplishment, yet sliver by sliver the slight aperture grew, until I wedged in the gun barrel, and pried out the plank. The rush of air extinguished the candle, yet I cared nothing, for the air was fresh and pure, promising a clear passage.

God, this was luck! With new courage throbbing through my veins I groped my way back to the table after flint and steel, and relit the candle fragment, shadowing the flame with both palms as I returned to where the plank had been pressed aside. However, I found such precaution unnecessary, as there was no perceptible draught through the passage now the opening was clear for the circulation of air. There had been two planks—thick and of hard wood—composing the entrance to the tunnel, but I found it impossible to dislodge the second, and was compelled to squeeze my way through the narrow twelve-inch opening. This was a difficult task, as I was a man of some weight, but once accomplished I found myself in a contracted passageway, not to exceed three feet in width, and perhaps five from floor to roof. Here it was apparently as well preserved as when first constructed, probably a hundred years or more ago, the side walls faced with stone, the roof supported by roughly hewn oak beams. I was convinced there was no great weight of earth resting upon these, and the tunnel, which I followed without difficulty, or the discovery of any serious obstruction, for fifty feet, inclined steadily upward, until, in my judgment, it must have come within a very few feet of the surface. Here there occurred a sharp turn to the right, and the excavation advanced almost upon a level.

Knowing nothing of the conformation above, or of the location of buildings, I was obliged to press forward blindly, conserving the faint light of the candle, and praying for a free passage. It was an experience to test the nerves, the intense stillness, the bare, gray walls, cold to the touch, the beams grazing my head, and upholding that mass of earth above, the intense darkness before and behind, with only the flickering radius of yellow light barely illuminating where I trod. Occasionally the wood creaked ominously, and bits of earth, jarred by my passage, fell upon me in clods. Altogether it was an experience I have no desire to repeat, although I was in no actual danger for some distance. Old Mortimer had built his tunnel well, and through all the years it had held safely, except where water had soaked through, rotting the timbers. The candle was sputtering with a final effort to remain alight when I came to the first serious obstruction. I had barely time in which to mark the nature of the obstacle before the flame died in the socket, leaving me in a blackness so profound it was like a weight. For the moment I was practically paralyzed by fear, my muscles limp, my limbs trembling. Yet to endeavor to push forward was no more to be dreaded than to attempt retracing my steps. In one way there was hope; in the other none.

With groping fingers I verified the situation, as that brief glance ere the candle failed had revealed it. A beam had fallen letting down a mass of earth, but was wedged in such a way as to leave a small opening above the floor, barely sufficient for a man to wiggle through. How far even this slight passage extended, or what worse obstruction lay hidden beyond was all conjecture. It was a mere chance in which I must risk life in hope of saving it—I might become helplessly wedged beneath the timbers, or any movement might precipitate upon me a mass of loosened earth. It was a horrid thought, the death of a burrowing rat; and I dare not let my mind dwell upon the dread possibility. Slowly, barely advancing an inch at a time, I began the venture, my hands blindly groping for the passage, the cold perspiration bathing my body. The farther I penetrated amid the debris, the greater became the terror dominating me, yet to draw back was next to impossible. The opening grew more contracted; I could scarcely force myself forward, digging fingers and toes into the hard earth floor, the obstructing timber scraping my body. It was an awful, heartrending struggle, stretched out flat like a snake in the darkness, the loose earth showering me with each movement. There was more than one support down; I had to double about to find opening; again and again I seemed to be against an unsurpassable barrier; twice I dug through a mass of fallen dirt, once for three solid feet, throwing the loosened earth either side of me, and pushing it back with my feet, thus utterly blocking all chance of retreat. Scarcely was this accomplished when another fall from above came, half burying head and shoulders, and compelling me to do the work over. The air grew foul and sluggish, but I was toiling for life, and dug at the debris madly, reckless of what might fall from above. Better to be crushed, than to die of suffocation, and the very desperation with which I strove proved my salvation. For what remained of the roof held, and I struggled through into the firmer gallery beyond, faint from exhaustion, yet as quickly reviving in the fresher air. I had reached the end of the passage before I comprehended the truth. It opened in the side of a gulley, coming out between the roots of a great tree, and could only have been discovered through sheerest accident. Years of exposure had plastered the small opening with clay, and I was compelled to break this away before I could creep through out into the open air.

I was a wreck in body and mind, my face streaked with earth, my hair filled with dirt, my clothing torn and disreputable. Laboring for breath, my fingers raw and bleeding, I lay there, with scarcely enough strength remaining to keep from rolling to the bottom of the ravine. For some moments I was incapable of either thought or action, every ounce of energy having been expended in that last desperate struggle. I lay panting, with eyes closed, hardly realizing that I was indeed alive. Slowly, throb by throb, my heart came back into regularity of beat, and my brain into command. My eyes opened, and I shuddered with horror, as I recognized that dismal opening into the side of the hill. Clinging to the tree trunk I attained my feet, still swaying from weakness, and was thus able to glance about over the edge of the bank, and gain some conception of my immediate surroundings.

It was early dawn, the eastern sky that shade of pale gray which precedes the sun, a few, white, fleecy clouds sailing high above, already tinged with red reflection. I must have been in that earth prison since the morning of the previous day; it seemed longer, yet even that expiration of time proved that those who had imprisoned me there had left me to die. God! I couldn't believe that—not of her! Clear as the evidence appeared, I yet fought down the thought bitterly, creeping on hands and knees over the edge of the bank, to where I could sit on the grass, and gaze about in the growing light. The house was to the left, an apple orchard between, and a low fence enclosing a garden. I could gain but glimpses of the mansion through the intervening trees, but it was large, imposing, a square, old-fashioned house, painted white, with green shutters. It appeared deserted, and no spirals of smoke ascended from the kitchen chimney. Apparently not even the servants were yet stirring. However, there was smoke showing farther to the right, but I had to move before I could see the cause clearly—the smouldering remains of what must have been a large barn. I advanced in that direction, skirting the orchard, and a row of negro cabins. These were deserted, the doors open, and two of them exhibited evidences of fire. A storehouse had its door battered in, a huge timber, evidently used as a ram, lying across the threshold, and many of the boxes and barrels within had been smashed with axes. The ground all about had been trampled by horses' hoofs, and only a smouldering fragment of the stables remained.

I stared about perplexed, unable to decipher the meaning of such destruction. Surely Grant would never dare such a deed with his unarmed force. Besides Elmhurst was the property of a loyalist, ay! the Colonel of his regiment. Not even the madness of anger would justify so wanton an act. The Hessians might be guilty for sake of plunder, but not while under Grant's command, and knowing they must march under parole through rebel territory to again attain their own lines. And this had occurred during the night; indeed, it seemed to me, the raiders must have departed within an hour, while Grant's column was to take up its march for Philadelphia as soon as it became dark. Whatever the mystery I could never hope to solve it loitering there; the house itself would doubtless reveal the story, and I turned in that direction, skirting the fence, yet exercising care, for there might still remain defenders within, behind those green blinds, to mistake me for an enemy. I saw nothing, no sign of life, as I circled through the trees of the orchard, and came out upon the grassplot facing the front porch. The sun was up now, and I could perceive each detail. There was a smashed window to the right, a green shutter hanging dejectedly by one hinge; the great front door stood wide open, and the body of a dead man lay across the threshold, a dark stain of blood extending across the porch floor.



CHAPTER XIX

THE QUEEN'S RANGERS

A bullet had struck the hand rail, shattering one of the supports, and the broad steps were scarred and splintered. The man lay face upward, his feet inside the hallway, one side of his head crushed in. He was roughly dressed in woolen shirt and patched smallclothes, and wore gold hoops in his ears, his complexion dark enough for a mulatto, with hands seared and twisted. Surely the fellow was no soldier; he appeared more to me like one who had followed the sea. I stepped over his body, and glanced the length of the hall. The chandelier was shattered, the glass gleaming underfoot; the stair rail broken into a jagged splinter, and a second man, shot through the eye, rested half upright propped against the lower step. He was a sandy-bearded fellow, no better dressed than the one without, but with a belt about him, containing pistol and knife. His yellow teeth protruding gave his ghastly features a fiendish look. Beyond him a pair of legs stuck out from behind the staircase, clad in long cavalry boots, and above these, barely showing, the green cloth of the Queen's Rangers. Then Grant had not gone when this attack was made, or else he had left some men behind? I dragged the body out into the light so I might see the face—it was the Irishman who had helped in my capture.

I stood staring down at him, and about me into the dismantled room, endeavoring to clear my brain and figure all this out. It was not so difficult to conceive what had occurred, every bit of evidence pointing to a single conclusion. Grant had searched the house for Eric, and discovered no signs of his presence; whatever had subsequently happened between the girl and himself, she had not felt justified in releasing me while he and his men remained. They must have departed soon after dark, well provisioned, upon their long march toward the Delaware, leaving Elmhurst unoccupied except for its mistress and her servants. The fact that neither the lady nor Peter had opened the entrance to the secret staircase would seem to show that the attack on the house must have followed swiftly. It had been a surprise, giving those within no chance to seek refuge. There had been a struggle at the front door; some of the assailants had achieved entrance through the window, and that had practically ended the affair.

But what had become of Peter? Of the girl? Who composed the attacking party? The Indian had been despatched to Valley Forge with my memoranda; probably Peter, the Irishman, and a negro or two were alone left to defend the house. As to the identity of the marauders, I had small doubt; their handiwork was too plainly revealed, and those two dead men remained as evidence. Rough as were British and Hessian foragers, they were seldom guilty of such wanton destruction as this. Besides this was the home of a prominent loyalist, protected from despoliation by high authority. The hellish work must have been accomplished by one or more bands of those "Pine Robbers" who infested Monmouth County, infamous devils, hiding in caves among sand hills, and coming forth to plunder and rob. Pretending to be Tories their only purpose of organization was pillage. Even in the army the names of their more prominent leaders were known, such as Red Fagin, Debow, West, and Carter, and many a tale of horror regarding their depredations had I heard told around the camp fire. These came back to memory as I gazed about those lower rooms, dreading my next discovery, half crazed to think that Claire Mortimer might be helpless in their ruthless grasp. Better death a thousand times than such a fate.

I pushed forward into the rooms of the lower floor, more than ever impressed by their original magnificence. Now, however, they were all confusion, furniture broken and flung aside, walls hacked, dishes smashed into fragments. The scene was sickening in its evidence of wanton hate. Yet I found no more bodies, or proof of further resistance. Apparently the only serious fighting had occurred when the front door was burst open. Had the other occupants of the house fled—up the stairs? Or even out some back way? I climbed the steps only to discover similar scenes above; every room had been ransacked, beds pulled apart, drawers opened, and the contents scattered about promiscuously. In what must have been Mistress Claire's private apartment I stood with beating heart staring about at the ruin disclosed. The large closet had been swept clean, garments slashed with knives, and left in rags; drawers turned upside down in search after jewels; the very curtains torn from the windows. It was a scene of vandalism of which vagabonds alone would be guilty.

I stepped across the pile of things to the window, glancing out at the still smouldering ruins of the stable. Whatever had occurred, neither the lady nor Peter remained in or about the house. Of this I was satisfied, yet with the realization there came a sudden comprehension of my own helplessness to be of any aid. I was alone, unmounted, and with no weapon but an old pistol. There might be other weapons on those dead men below, but I could conceive of no effective way of making them useful. The raiders were doubtless on horseback; they would have added to their possessions such animals as might have remained on the place, and most likely had departed not later than midnight with their booty and prisoners. The hopelessness of the situation left me almost paralyzed. I possessed no means of reaching Farrell, no knowledge of the nearest minute man who could act as courier. From the window where I stood not a house was visible. Just beyond the orchard the roads forked, a well-travelled branch circling to the left, and disappearing over the edge of a hill. As I traced it with my eyes a considerable body of mounted men suddenly appeared on the summit. Without fear that they could see me at that distance I watched eagerly as they trotted down the long slope. They were plainly a squadron of British Dragoons, their arms and cross-belts shining in the sun, in spite of the dust kicked up by their horses' hoofs.

I waited until convinced they were coming to the house, before drawing back out of sight. It was difficult to decide what was best for me to do. Should I wait, trusting to my rough clothing, and pass myself off as a countryman, or take advantage of the brief time left in which to escape? If I essayed the first choice I could explain the situation, and start these troopers on the trail; if not they might fail to understand and ride on thoughtlessly. What such a body of mounted men were doing in the neighborhood I could merely guess at—either they were riding through to New York on some matter of importance, or else had been sent out hurriedly to discover what had become of Delavan's foragers. This supposition was the more likely, and they had taken the wrong road, thus missing Grant and his men in the darkness.

They must have cut through the orchard, leaping the low fence, for I heard the thud of hoofs even as I drew back into the upper hall. Then a voice gave a sharp command.

"Circle the men about the house, Simmons. There is something wrong here, and I saw a fellow at that upper window as we came down the hill. Move quick, now!"

I must face them, and went forward to the head of the stairs, anticipating an easy explanation of my presence within. Already quite a squad was inside the front door bending over the bodies and staring about curiously.

"Pine Robbers, eh, Colonel?" said one contemptuously. "That fellow has cutthroat written all over him. Don't see any signs of our men here."

"Queen Ranger lying back of the stairs, sir," reported a soldier briefly; "Irish lookin' mug."

The man addressed as Colonel, a Ranger himself from his green uniform, looked up quickly and saw me. He called out an order, and three or four men sprang up the stairs, grasping and leading me down. I made no resistance, not realizing I was in any danger. The Colonel, a tall man with gray moustache and goatee, and dark, searching eyes, faced me sternly.

"What are you doing here, sir? Come, speak up! What does all this mean?" and he swept his hand about in gesture.

"I came along about thirty minutes ago," I explained, beginning to appreciate my situation, from the suspicious glances cast at me, and recalling how disreputable my appearance must be. "I found things just as they are now, sir. There's been a fight and robbery."

"That's plain to be seen; are these all the bodies?"

"Yes, sir, but the house is upside down from end to end."

"You saw no one? No British soldiers?"

I shook my head, conscious of the fierce grip with which I was being held. A couple of the men dragged out the body from behind the stairs, and as the face came into the light, the Colonel's eyes saw it. I heard the sharp breath expelled through his lips, as he stared down into those ghastly features.

"Good Lord! Mike! What in the name of heaven does this mean? He was supposed to be with Claire!"

"There must be some mistake, Colonel Mortimer," insisted the other officer gravely. "Perhaps we can get the truth out of this bumpkin, if we take the lash to him."

I understood in a flash, and as swiftly chose a course of action. This gray-headed Colonel was her father, and I would serve her in this emergency without thought of my own danger. No threat of a whip would open my lips, but memory would.

"Come, you dog!" burst out the Colonel fiercely. "You know more than you have told. Speak up, or we'll skin you alive."

"I will, Colonel Mortimer," I said, looking him straight in the eyes. "Not because of your threats, but because I wish to serve you. Now I know who you are, and I will tell you all I know about this whole affair."

"Was—was my daughter here?" he interrupted.

"Yes, sir."

"My God! and Eric?"

"Not to my knowledge—there was a man called Peter, this fellow, and a black slave or two. They were all I saw."

"But why should Claire have been here," he asked, as though dazed, "unless she came to meet her brother? I supposed her safe in the city."

"I do not pretend to understand the cause of her presence. But if you listen to my story you may know what to do." I paused an instant to get a grip on my thoughts. I need not tell all, confess my identity, or mention my personal relations with the daughter. "I am a soldier, Colonel Mortimer, in Maxwell's Brigade, of Washington's army. What brought me here has nothing to do with the present story. I was in the fight over yonder near Mount Laurel night before last when we captured Delavan's forage train—"

"What!" burst in the dragoon officer. "Was Delavan defeated, then? Hadn't Grant joined him?"

"Yes to both questions, sir. Delavan was killed, and Grant surrendered. He and his men were paroled, and started for Philadelphia last evening from here."

"From here!" incredulously. "That must be a lie, Colonel, for Mount Laurel is between here and the city."

"Nevertheless, it is no lie," I retorted promptly, looking the young fool in the eyes. "I was hiding here for reasons of my own when they came tramping in along that road about the middle of the forenoon yesterday. There was near a hundred Hessians and Rangers, with two German officers, and Grant. I heard them tell Mistress Mortimer this was the nearest place where they were sure of finding provisions, and that they intended to remain until night. I don't know what happened after that, except that the officers went inside, and the men marched around to the back to eat their breakfast."

"What became of you?"

"Oh, I had other business, and never got back along here until just at daylight this morning. Then I found things this way."

"You don't know what occurred, then?"

"No more than you do. But I've got my opinion. It's this—Grant and his fellows must have left as soon as it was dark, taking the west road, which was the cause of your missing them. It is likely from this man Mike's body, that your daughter and her party were still in the house. It couldn't have been much later when these others got here and made the attack. Mike must have fought them at the front door, but that was all the fight made; there's no sign of any struggle inside."

"Then they never got Claire," declared Mortimer positively. "That's a certainty, Seldon."

"She would have fought, sir?"

"Like a tiger. I know my little girl. And, besides, Peter would have died before the hand of one of those villains was ever laid upon her."

"But," I protested, "I have searched the house, Colonel."

"I imagine your acquaintance with the house is somewhat limited," he replied coldly, turning away. "Seldon, place this fellow under guard in the library here. We will learn later what his business might be in the Jerseys."



CHAPTER XX

AT CROSS PURPOSES

It could not be considered an unpleasant place of imprisonment, yet it was useless for me to contrive any plans of immediate escape, for the door was securely locked, and two heavily armed dragoons sat within eying me rather malevolently. My attempt at approaching the window was instantly checked by a threatening gesture, and I sat down in the reading chair to await developments. They could not muffle my ears, however, and I heard the swift hoof-beats of an approaching horse being ridden furiously up the gravel driveway. At the door he was hastily checked, and a voice spoke peremptorily:

"Here you, take the rein!"

The fellow came up the steps hurriedly, almost ignoring the sentry at the door.

"I haven't time to stand here, you fool," he exclaimed roughly. "My uniform is pass enough. I wish to see Colonel Mortimer at once—at once." There was a pause, and then the same voice, and I recognized it now as Grant's beyond a doubt. "Ah, Colonel, what in God's name has happened here? I heard that you were out hunting us at Farrell's blacksmith shop, and came back as swiftly as I could ride. But I never suspected this. Who were the miscreants?"

"That is a question not yet answered, Captain Grant," replied Mortimer slowly. "It looks like the work of Pine Robbers. Do you recognize this fellow?"

"Ay," and from the muffled tone he must have been bending over the body, "that is 'Tough' Sims, a lieutenant of 'Red' Fagin; there's one more devil gone to hell. But when did the attack occur? We left here after dark, and all was quiet enough then. Claire—"

"She was here then? I hardly believed it possible."

"I talked with her—quarrelled with her, indeed. Perhaps that was why she refused to accompany us to Philadelphia. But what did you mean, Colonel, when you said you hardly believed it possible she was here? Did some one tell you?"

"Yes; we caught a fellow in the house when we arrived. He had no time for escape—rough-looking miscreant, claiming to be a Continental. We have him under guard in the library."

"He confessed to the whole story?"

"Not a word; claimed to know nothing except that Claire was here. Said he saw you, and then went away, not getting back again until this morning."

"The fellow is a liar, Colonel. Let me see him; I'll lash the truth out of his lips. Where did you say he was—in the library?"

I had barely time to rise to my feet when he entered. His eyes swept across the guard, and then centred upon me. Instantly they blazed with excitement, although I noticed he took a sudden step backward in the first shock of surprise, his hand dropping to the butt of a pistol in his belt.

"By all the gods!" he exclaimed sharply. "If it isn't the spy! I miss the red jacket, but I know the face, Mister Lieutenant Fortesque."

"Major Lawrence, if you please," I returned quietly.

"We'll not quarrel over the name. I've had occasion to know you under both; bearing one you was a spy, beneath the other a leader of banditti. I'll hang you with equal pleasure under either." Suddenly he seemed to remember where we were, and his face flushed with newly aroused rage. "But first you'll explain what you are doing here at Elmhurst. Do you know whose home this is?"

"Most assuredly," determined not to lose my temper, or to be moved by his threats. "It is the property of Colonel Mortimer, of the Queen's Rangers."

"And—and you—you came here to again see—the daughter?" he questioned, as though half regretting the indiscretion of such a suspicion.

"Oh, no, Captain; you do the lady a grave injustice. I came here a prisoner, very much against my will, not even aware whose plantation this was. I had no suspicion that Mistress Mortimer was outside Philadelphia until I overheard your conversation with her."

"Overheard! You! In God's name, where were you—"

"In this room; with both doors ajar it was impossible not to hear. You spoke somewhat angrily, you may remember, not finding the lady as gracious in her reception as expected."

The sarcasm in my tone stung him, but the surprise was so great that he could only rip out an oath.

"I thought you would have also enjoyed swearing at that time," I continued coolly, "only you scarcely dared venture so far. You had previously boasted to me of your engagement to the lady, and it naturally was a surprise to observe how lovingly she greeted you—"

"Hell's acre!" he burst out. "Did the minx know you were there?"

"If you refer to Mistress Mortimer, I presume she suspected it. At least she came to me shortly thereafter."

"Then I understand better what troubled the girl. But, in God's name! how did you ever escape me? I was in every room of the house."

I smiled pleasantly. There was nothing for me to gain, or lose, by goading him, yet it was rather enjoyable.

"That, of course, I must naturally refuse to answer, Captain. I might need to resort to the same methods again."

"There will be small chance of your having opportunity. Mortimer will hang you fast enough when I tell my tale. Don't look for mercy at his hands, for he's prouder than Lucifer of his family honor."

He was out of the door, striding down the hall, bent on carrying out his purpose. I heard his voice asking where the Colonel was to be found; then the guard closed the barrier between us. Very well, of the two I would rather leave my fate to Mortimer than to him, and felt profoundly grateful that the Captain was not in command. Had he been I should doubtless have been hung without the slightest formality of trial, but Mortimer would at least hear my version first; indeed I could hardly believe he would issue so stringent orders without listening also to his daughter's story. I was an officer of rank; the consequences might prove rather serious were I to be executed summarily, and without proper trial. No matter how hot-headed Colonel Mortimer might be, on an occasion like this he would certainly require more convincing evidence than Grant's unsupported statement, before pronouncing such a sentence. In truth Grant possessed no facts, merely suspicions. He had reasons to believe me a spy, but there was not a paper on my body to confirm that suspicion, and my having been in apparent command of the minute men in their attack on Delavan's foragers was no license for hanging. That was an incident of war, and might have occurred in the direct performance of a soldier's duty. Altogether I was satisfied that Mortimer would merely hold me prisoner, reporting the affair to Clinton.

I had scarcely reasoned this out, however, when a corporal threw open the door, ordering my guard to conduct me into the Colonel's presence. I was taken to the parlor, where the furniture had been somewhat rearranged, and found myself confronting Mortimer, the officer I had heard addressed as Seldon, and Grant. The latter was speaking vehemently:

"I tell you, Colonel, this has got to be done; he is a spy, and here for some infamous purpose."

"Well, I've sent for the fellow, Grant; what more do you want? I'll give him five minutes in which to explain, and that is all. Seldon, have the men go on ahead along the trail."

"Yes, sir, they are off already."

"Very well. Have our horses outside; we can catch up within a mile or two." He wheeled sharply about, and looked at me sternly. "Well, sir, I have very little time to waste on you at present, but I advise truthful answers. What is your name?"

"Allen Lawrence."

"You claim to be in the Continental service—what rank?"

"Major in the Maryland Line, Maxwell's Brigade."

"Dressed hurriedly, probably, and forgot your uniform."

"I have lately been serving with the Jersey militia, sir, as Captain Grant can testify," I answered civilly.

"And Captain Grant is only too anxious," broke in that officer impatiently. "If you will listen to me, Colonel, I'll tell you what I know in two minutes or less. It will settle this fellow's status."

Mortimer glanced from my face to that of the speaker, evidently attracted by the vindictiveness of the voice.

"All right, Grant, go on," he said shortly, "only I shall pass judgment as a soldier, and not because of any personal quarrel. What is it you know?"

"That this man came into Philadelphia three days ago dressed as an officer of British Infantry. He claimed to be Lieutenant Fortesque, of the 42nd Foot, with despatches from New York. Howe vouched for him, and furnished him with a pass and orderly. He put in the whole day studying the positions of our troops, and in the evening was a guest at the Mischianza—Andre gave him a card, I heard—and danced there with your daughter. I doubted the man from our first meeting, and later picked up certain rumors which convinced me he was a spy. Some words passed between us on the dancing floor, and as a consequence I asked the man to meet me below. Some one either told him he was suspected, or else he had the heart of a coward, for he failed to appear."

"Did you intend to fight him?"

"No; we planned an arrest. I reported to MacHugh what I had heard, and he had Carter close at hand with a squad of the guard."

"A very pretty trick on mere suspicion," commented the Colonel in some disgust. "But go on with your story."

Grant sucked in his breath quickly, evidently surprised at the remark.

"Claire was waiting for me upstairs in the dining-room, but after Carter had scattered his men to the outposts, I took a turn about the grounds in hope of thus running across the fellow. Luck favored me, but, damn him, he jumped into me like a fighting cock, struck me in the face, and taunted me into meeting him there and then."

"Good boy! the right stuff, eh, Seldon?"

"I supposed it all a bluff," went on Grant, paying no heed to the interruption, although his cheeks flushed, "but we went at it, behind the pavilion, and I had pricked him twice, when the guard came up and separated us. At that the fellow took to his heels, and, by Gad! got away—swam the Delaware, while we were beating the west shore. The next I saw of him he was in command of those ragamuffins who attacked us out yonder. Now he shows up here looting this house on the trail of 'Red' Fagin. I'd hang him offhand if it was me."

Mortimer looked across at me earnestly, but with an expression of doubt in his eyes. As for myself I hardly knew what to say, or do. Grant had no corroborative proof for his assertions, unless I was returned to Philadelphia. I could emphatically deny that I was the man, insist on my right to a fair trial. But how could I account in any reasonable way for my presence at Elmhurst, or even successfully sustain my claim to being a Continental officer. I could not tell Colonel Mortimer that I had been taken prisoner by his daughter, masquerading as a lieutenant of dragoons. Apparently he knew nothing of this escapade, and she would scarcely forgive me for exposure; besides, for all I knew to the contrary, the girl might have thus been attempting to serve the Colonies, and a word of betrayal might seriously injure our cause. Of course this was merely conjecture, a wild guess, although there was one fact I could not ignore in this connection—she had twice defended me from capture, and I dare not bring any suspicion upon her. Then Grant had barely mentioned her name, in no way involving her in my escape. Whatever the result my lips were sealed. All this flashed over me before Mortimer spoke.

"Have you any proofs, sir, that you are an officer of Maxwell's brigade?"

"Not here," and I glanced down at my rough clothing, "yet with a little delay that could be easily ascertained."

"On what service are you in the Jerseys?"

"I must decline to answer."

"Were you in Philadelphia, wearing British uniform three days ago?"

"If I should say no, it would be merely my word against Captain Grant—you would doubtless prefer to believe him."

Grant whispered in his ear, the Colonel listening quietly.

"I am informed that you have already acknowledged being concealed in this house yesterday."

"I have, sir."

"Did any one know of your presence here?"

"I was brought here—a prisoner."

"What!" in decided surprise. "Prisoner to whom?"

"I was captured by three men, dressed as Queen's Rangers, on a road some miles to the west. They made no explanation, although I have some reason to believe I was mistaken for another. I was held in a strong room in the basement overnight."

"You were not there when I searched the house," broke in Grant hoarsely.

"No," and I turned and smiled at him. "I had been brought upstairs before you arrived."

"Then you saw your captors by daylight?"

"Two of them, yes—a man called Peter, and an Irish fellow, with chin beard."

"What!" and Mortimer started forward. "Peter and Mike in uniform! This is beyond belief. Were they alone?"

"They were apparently under the orders of a young lieutenant—the same who had command of Delavan's advance guard. I was unable to distinguish the lad's face."

"Delavan's advance guard!" and the Colonel turned toward Grant. "What do you know about this, sir? Who was he?"

The Captain hesitated, shifting uneasily on his feet.

"I—I do not know, sir," he explained finally, driven to answer. "I merely had a glimpse of the boy when I first joined the column. I—I thought I recognized him, but was not sure."

"Who did you suppose him to be?"

"Your son, Eric, sir."



CHAPTER XXI

AGAIN THE CELLAR-ROOM

The father sank back in his chair, breathing heavily.

"Eric here, making use of this house, and my servants," he muttered. "I can scarcely believe it true. Was—was he here yesterday morning when you came?"

"I found no trace of his presence, sir."

There was a moment of silence, broken unexpectedly by the rustle of a dress. I turned in surprise, and saw Claire standing quietly in the doorway.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," she said softly, "but perhaps I can explain much of this mystery, and establish the identity of Major Lawrence."

Seldon sprang forward and offered her a chair, but she merely thanked him with a bow, and remained standing, her eyes upon her father. Not once had she even glanced toward either Grant or me, but I noticed the deep flush of color on cheek evidencing her excitement. What was she going to explain? How account for the strange actions of the past few days? How came she to be here at all? Would she confess the truth openly before us all, or would she feel justified in concealment? I could not, did not, doubt the honesty of the girl's intent, and yet was it possible for her to compel these men to accept her version of all which had occurred? Would she venture a falsehood to protect me, or to save herself?

"I—I have already explained much," I hastened to say, thinking she might wish to know.

"I overheard what has already been said," she returned quickly, but without looking toward me, "and appreciate the care with which my name has thus far been guarded. Now I am ready to make my own explanation."

"But, first, Claire," said her father soberly, "how does it happen you are here? We supposed you in the hands of 'Red' Fagin, and a squadron of my men are out now tracking the fellows."

"I was not in the house when they came, father; Peter and I were back of the stables, fortunately mounted. We were obliged to ride hard as we were chased several miles, and returned as soon as it appeared safe."

"And Eric?"

"He departed before Captain Grant arrived," she replied unhesitatingly, "and must be already safe within his own lines."

"It was Eric, then?"

"Who else could it be? Surely Captain Grant told you as much."

The Colonel's eyes wandered about the little group, and his doubt and bewilderment were clearly evident.

"Do you know Eric's purpose in coming here? in presuming to act as an officer in Delavan's company?"

"He did not inform me, sir."

"You know this man?"

She turned, and looked at me for the first time, a silent plea in her blue eyes.

"I do—he is Major Lawrence of General Washington's army," her voice low, but distinct. "I have known him since the Continental troops were first quartered in Philadelphia."

I started slightly, yet as instantly recovered my outward composure, realizing that this strange girl again purposed protecting me from exposure, even at the expense of a falsehood.

"Indeed; you were doubtless aware then that he was within Sir Henry Clinton's lines as a spy?"

"Far from it," she laughed easily, not glancing toward me, but permitting her eyes to rest upon the bewildered face of Captain Grant. "Why, that idea is perfectly absurd. Did you tell my father so ridiculous a story, Captain?"

"Did I! What else could I say?" he growled indignantly. "He was within our lines in British uniform."

Her long lashes veiled the blue depths modestly.

"Yet there might be other reasons for such masquerade, gentlemen," she confessed. "Would it be impossible, think you, that he should have taken so great a risk to again meet with me?"

There was a silence following the simple question, broken by Seldon's laugh, as he slapped his knee in appreciation.

"Good enough, by Gad!" he exclaimed heartily. "The lass has cleared the mystery with a word. The fellow would be a poor soldier indeed to fail in such a test—eh, Grant?"

The Ranger scowled at him in sullen response, his face dark with passion.

"Hell's acre! This sort of thing may touch your humor, but not mine. What is the meaning of your words, Mistress Claire? Are you shameless, forgetting the pledge between us?"

She turned her face toward him as a queen might, her head held high, her cheeks flaming.

"You have had your answer once for all, Captain Grant. There is no pledge between us."

"But, daughter," broke in the Colonel, still bewildered by this sudden explosion. "I can scarcely comprehend; surely it was understood that you were affianced to this son of an old neighbor."

"Understood, yes, by those who kindly arranged the affair, but the fact that I might possess a heart of my own was entirely overlooked. As a child I permitted you to plan my future without protest. I am a woman now; I have been out in the world; the war has taken all girlhood from me. If this were not true the way Captain Grant has watched my every action in Philadelphia would have disgusted me with the thought of ever intrusting my happiness to him. He has openly quarrelled with every man I have spoken to, or danced with. He has made me the sport of all the city gallants by jealous wrangling. Now it is done with. 'Tis in shame that I am driven to say all this here in presence of these gentlemen, but I will not stand in silence while Major Lawrence is being condemned as a spy. He was at the dance to meet again with me, and for no other purpose."

Colonel Mortimer's face had expressed many emotions, while she was speaking, but now it hardened into military severity, his hand clinched on the arm of the chair.

"Do I understand then that this officer was there at your request?"

"I think," hesitating slightly, "he knew he was not unwelcome."

"And," his voice breaking slightly, "he came here also to meet you?"

"Certainly not," her head lifting indignantly. "I am your daughter, and am guilty of nothing unworthy our family name. I have no shame to confess. Major Lawrence is an officer and a gentleman, the friend of Washington, and my friend also. At any other time he would be a welcome guest at our table. If he risked his life to meet with me in Philadelphia it was done openly and honorably in the midst of acquaintances. There has been nothing hidden or clandestine. He was brought to Elmhurst a prisoner, bound to his horse, guarded by armed men. In the morning I learned his identity, and at once had him released. That is all," and she gave a gesture with her hands, "and I trust, gentlemen, my explanation will be sufficient."

"And you warned him of my suspicions in Philadelphia," exclaimed Grant, "causing him to attack me, and then released him from arrest here."

"That is partially true; you endeavored to provoke a quarrel the moment you met. I had no desire he should fall into your hands as a prisoner. When you appeared at this house I assisted his escape."

"But, Claire, how came you here? Why did you leave Philadelphia?"

"Because I have a brother, sir, whom I can only meet in secret," she replied quietly. "I came without thought of danger, for war has not cost us friends in this country; our home has remained until now untouched by vandals, and I felt amply protected by those who accompanied me upon the ride—our old house servants." She knelt at the side of his chair, her head bowed upon its arm, and his hand stroked her hair. "I regret if I have seemed unmaidenly, or done what you may deem wrong, father, for it has all seemed right to me."

The Colonel looked at us silently for what seemed a long while, his fingers fondling the tresses of the girl's hair.

"This situation leaves me in an embarrassing predicament," he admitted at last slowly. "I hardly know what is my duty either as a father, or an officer of the King. No matter what his purpose may have been this man penetrated our lines in disguise; he admittedly exercised command of those irregulars who attacked and routed Delavan's column, and has since been prowling about disguised as a countryman. Merely because my daughter confesses to a friendship between them can hardly justify me in setting him at liberty."

He paused, rising to his feet, his eyes on my face. The girl lifted her head, looking up at him.

"Major Lawrence, I shall hold you prisoner of war, referring your case to Sir Henry Clinton. In the meanwhile you shall receive every consideration possible in accordance with your rank. I am now going to join my men in pursuit of Fagin. Captain Grant, you will accompany me, and, Mr. Seldon, I shall leave you in charge of the prisoner until we return."

He took a step toward the door; then turned to his daughter.

"I shall expect you to be ready to ride with us on our return to Philadelphia, Claire," he said kindly. "It is evidently not safe for you to remain here alone."

"Very well, father."

"Come, Grant, we shall have to ride hard to overtake our men."

The captain started reluctantly, scowling at me as he passed.

"I should enjoy having the privilege of being left in charge here," he said, for my benefit.

"No doubt, sir," returned Mortimer coldly. "But I have already selected Mr. Seldon for that duty."

They left the house together, and I watched them ride past the window, followed by a dozen soldiers. As they disappeared Seldon turned his eyes to my face. He was rather a pleasant looking young man, but possessed an aggressive chin.

"While I have no orders to that effect, Major," he said quietly, "I would take the responsibility of accepting your parole."

"Are you not rather reckless?"

"Oh, I think not," smilingly. "I would have you give it to Mistress Mortimer—surely under those conditions you would never run away."

She stole a swift glance at me, shaking her head.

"That would be too strong an imprisonment," I responded instantly. "Under all conditions I prefer not to give my parole."

"Very well, sir," more stiffly, his geniality vanishing with my rather curt refusal. "Then I shall take all necessary precautions to prevent escape." He stepped aside to the hall door. "You may send two men in here, Ferguson."

They entered quietly, glancing about with some curiosity, but taking position on either side of me at Seldon's command. Claire stood beside the table in silence, her glance out the window. Only as we wheeled about to leave the room did her eyes meet mine. That swift glimpse beneath the dark lashes caused me to leave the room with swiftly beating heart. At the door I stole another glance backward but she had sunk into a chair, her face concealed in her hands. With Seldon ahead, and the two guards behind, I tramped down the stairs into the basement, and was again locked within the walls of the strong room.

As the lock clicked I sat down upon the bunk far from being disheartened. Fate had been playing strange pranks, but I was not left without hope, for I felt assured I had read correctly the swift message of those uplifted blue eyes. She had not wished me to accept parole; then there must be some plan of escape already formulated in her mind. It was clearly enough to her own interest for me to get safely away; otherwise she would necessarily have to appear before Clinton, and her testimony would scarcely pass unchallenged in presence of MacHugh and those others. To be sure she had told no direct falsehood; it amused me to recall how carefully she had chosen expression. I had attended the ball for no other purpose than to once again meet her, a fact of which she had taken the utmost advantage. Yet why? For what end was this daughter of a loyalist continually exposing herself in thus protecting me? Why was she sufficiently interested for so grave a sacrifice? I was not altogether devoid of conceit, but I could not persuade myself that affection prompted this action. We had met so briefly, always with me in the role of hunted fugitive, that it was impossible to conceive that love was the motive power of control. The thought even was almost preposterous; much as I should have rejoiced to believe it true the very ridiculousness of it caused me to smile bitterly. Perhaps her action had some connection with her brother—her protection of me might also protect him. There was a thread of mystery running through everything in which Eric's name continually figured. I had not seen him, was not even convinced he was in the Jerseys, yet this was the most natural explanation of these peculiar events; surely it was either Eric's safety she was battling for so heroically, or else she was at heart a pronounced patriot.

However, these thoughts helped me little, nor did contemplation of the surrounding stone walls inspire me to attempt escape. Already had I tested each separate stone, the solid oaken door, and the iron-barred windows. I could only wait quietly, striving to solve the meaning of those suddenly uplifted blue eyes, and the promise they contained.



CHAPTER XXII

THE LADY'S PLAN

I must have remained there an hour undisturbed, listening to faint sounds in the rooms above, and peering out between the iron bars at a little square of blue sky, and some waving tree branches. Once, with ear pressed against the door, I could distinguish the regular steps of a sentinel pacing back and forth, and out of the window I caught the silhouette of a cocked hat and brown gun barrel. Seldon was evidently guarding me with the utmost care.

By the light I judged the time somewhat beyond noon, when the door opened suddenly, and Peter appeared bearing a tray. He was as mysteriously silent and professional as upon his first visit, not even favoring me with a glance, his mind apparently intent upon his duties, moving about noiselessly, wiping the table, and placing his load of dishes thereon with great care that all should be arranged in perfect order. The door remained ajar during these preparations, a Queen's Ranger standing there motionless, leaning on his gun, and eying us steadily. At last Peter drew up a chair, dusted it, and with wave of the hand invited me to be seated. I ate as slowly as possible, while he stood over me, anticipating my every want. I endeavored to converse on commonplace topics, hoping thus to kill time, and possibly lead him to some word of guidance, but his answers were monosyllables, most respectfully uttered, and meaningless. As he passed back and forth about the table his face remained vacant of expression, his eyes devoid of intelligence. He might have been a wax figure, so mechanically did he operate, and the sentinel never for an instant relaxed his scrutiny.

I had picked up almost the last crumb, toying with it in desperation, when a voice spoke apparently from the head of the stair. The Ranger turned his head to answer, and at the instant a paper pellet was crushed into my hand. Instinctively my fingers closed over it, and as the guard turned back again, gruffly ordering us to hurry up, Peter was at the opposite side of the table gathering up the dishes, his bald head shining brilliantly, his eyes as dull as those of a fish. I leaned back watching him, clutching the paper pellet in the palm of one hand, until he passed out with his tray, and the door clicked behind him. Not once did he glance toward me, or acknowledge my presence. Fearful lest I might be spied upon, my heart beating wildly in anticipation, I lay down in the bunk with face to the wall, and unrolled the pellet. It contained but a few words, hastily scribbled, in a lady's delicate handwriting. "Don't despair; if they are away until after dark I will arrange. Can do nothing before." There was no signature, but I needed none to know whose fingers had held the pencil. My lips pressed the paper ere I tore it into fragments, and scattered them outside the bars.

The hours of that afternoon dragged themselves along with exasperating slowness, as I listened for hoof-beats, imagining every sound the approach of returning horsemen. With no longer any doubt of her intention, my apprehension riveted itself on the possibility of the British getting back before darkness gave opportunity for putting her plans into execution. As to what they might be I cared nothing, being ready to assume any risk which would lead to escape. The room I occupied must have been upon the west side of the house, as the afternoon sun streamed in through the bars, and stretched golden across the floor. I could almost count the minutes as those shafts of light crept up the wall, and then slowly faded. The silence all about was intense, even the branches of the trees without having no movement. As the gray of twilight approached, my ears, strained to the slightest sound, distinguished the changing of sentinels. But I waited vainly for any visitor; darkness closed me in, but no one came with food.

I pressed my face against the bars striving to look into the night, my only reward the glimpse of a few distant stars. Suddenly, as I stood there, voices sounded at a distance, the words indistinguishable, and then footsteps crushed along the gravelled footpath, as though a number of men were running toward the back of the house. They were below my range of vision, but a moment later I heard the sounds of scattered shots, and saw the sharp flash of firing. I was still clinging to the bars, trying to determine what it all meant, when the door was opened. The light of a lantern in his hand revealed a green and white uniform, and the deeply seamed face of a man of fifty.

"Quick now, yer damned rebel," he said hoarsely. "Be up an' lam me one, an' here's the rope."

"What!"

"Didn't yer hear? or wasn't yer told the game? Sufferin' Moses, it's got to be played swift, or ye'll lie here an' rot. That's what that bald-headed skate is out thar leadin' 'em off for. I'm ter come in wid yer supper; ye slug me first sight, bind me up wid the rope, and skip. 'Tis a dirty job, but the friends of ye pay well for it, so come on now."

I comprehended the plan in a flash. She had discovered a sentry money would buy; to lead the others away long enough to effect my escape, Peter had taken to the woods with a gun. Whether he escaped or was captured, the delay would be short. With the knowledge came action. I bore the unresisting Ranger to the floor, hurling down the tray of food he bore in a mass of broken crockery, and bound him hand and foot, leaving the fellow lying across the open doorway. He was without arms, except his heavy gun, which I left beside him. An instant I paused to ask a question, holding aloft the lantern so as to see his face.