"Landlord, our horses, quick!" said the foremost of the troopers, as the face of Captain Clarence Howard appeared from amid the folds of his cloak, with every sign of life or color vanished from his features, while his voice was low and tremulous with emotion. "Our horses, landlord!" he continued flinging a purse upon the table, and then with unsteady steps, moved with his companion toward the door.

66 By ***, Monthermer !" he cried, as his hand was upon the latch of the door," you will make me as mad as yourself! My brain burns like a coal of fire-let's into the open air!"

"Be gaw!" muttered Sergeant Hamsdorff," the Captain might a spoke to me. Didn't say anything to me. Dd bad taste. Ha, ha, ha!"

“Friend Hamsdorff, a word with thee," exclaimed a mild, soft voice, as the door opened, and a man of some thirty-three winters came gliding with a cat-like pace toward the light. "Friend Hamsdorff, a word with thee!”* "Gilbert Gates! as sure as my name's Hessian Dick!" cried the Sergeant, as, turning to one side, he surveyed the stranger with a drunken leer. Why, Gilbert, what's broke loose?"

And as the light flashed over the face and form of the stranger, he nodded with an insinuating smile to Iron Tom and Gotlieb Hoff, but it was perceiv able that neither the blacksmith or his companion regarded the new comer with feelings of the most favorable kind.

Tall and slim in figure, the gaunt form of the stranger was attired in the drab coat, the drab vest, and breeches of the Quaker faith; and his broad brimmed hat, half screened from the lamp beams, a long, thin visage, marked by a sharp, prominent nose, thick, bushy eyebrows over-arching a cold, grey eye, whose look had something of deep and cautious scheming in its slightest glance; a small mouth, with thin pinched lips, while, swept back from his low, broad forehead, his brown hair fell in curling locks behind his ears, giving a mild and saint-like expression to his solemn and peaceful countenance.

"Friend Hamsdorff," he exclaimed, with the calm, quiet voice of one desirous of conciliating the good opinion of all men, "I came to tell thee that thee friend Howe, can have the provisions he bargrined for,-in truth can he. I am a plain man—a quiet man of peace, my friend, and would

* With regard to the character here introduced, a single word of comment may seem necessary. The unflinching integrity-the consistent patriotism, and the unvarying devotion of the great body of the brethren of William Penn, to the cause of freedom, is too well known to require mention at my hands. But that traitors and refugees, spies and to. ries, assumed the garb and speech of the Quaker faith for the purposes of deceit and wrong, is a fact which the history of the times insinuates, and legend and tradition amply attest and fully confirm. The illustration of that fact is attempted in the text. The author's opinion of the integrity and virtue of the Quaker patriots, may be gleaned from "Herbert Tracy," the first Revolutionary Novel of the series, where the character of "Joab Smiley" together with the contest between principle and feeling, in the heart of a strong, honest man, is endeavored to be delineated.

fain persuade friend Howe to refrain from bringing war into the land; therefore do I advise him to go away in peace and quiet; therefore do I sell him provisions, else might he rob my neighbors; in truth, it is so, my friend, Friend Hamsdorff," he continued, hissing a whisper in the ear of the trooper, with a voice sharp as a dagger'spoint, "have thy men ready at the midnight hour-have them ready in the meadow of the Brandywine. Mayland is the spy-I will see him presently-should the fair maiden, Mary, his daughter, come to reason, well. At all events, friend Hamsdorff, let thy men have their pieces loaded-thee knows thee orders! I, myself, will give the word!"

And, as he spoke, the smooth and insinuating Gilbert Gates glided out of the room with the same cat-like pace with which he had entered, and, at his heels, with steps unsteady from intoxication, followed the corpulent Hamsdorff, shaking the floor as he stumbled onward.

In a moment, the stout blacksmith stood in front of the fire, now faint and flickering, fixing his clear, grey eyes upon Gotlieb Hoff, who stood opposite, with a glance that expressed the dark and fearful thoughts that could not be told in words, while Hirpley Hawson, who had just entered, stepped between the twain, and, looking from one to the other, whispered their mutual suspicions to the ears of his listeners in his own peculiar and biting vein, “Iron Tom, what d'ye think o' it?" he exclaimed. "Better look to the priming of your rifle! Where Gilbert, Gates goes, there follows mischief. what say you? Hunt up your bullet mould now ?"

Gotlieb,

CHAPTER FOURTH.

THE EXILE AND THE MAIDEN-NORMAN FRAZIER AND THE DESOLATE

HEARTH-SIDE.

"NAY, Blanche, neice of mine, never start thus suddenly, never frown thus darkly. I' faith, you were wrong-wrong, Blanche, wrong. What! discredit the sincerity of the Englisher? Ha, ha, Blanche, by the sword of old Simon Lovat, you are a sad girl. Refuse an English Lord! Tut, tut, girl, this lordling was sincere-I doubt it not a whit; not I. Are not the English noted for their good faith? Tell me, girl, when did an Englisher violate solemn oath, or perjure himself more than once a day? I' faith, Blanche, I like that blush! The spirit of my ancestors glows on thy cheek, and flashes from thy eye!"

"Name him not, my uncle, name not the proud English lordling. He knelt to me with proposals of dishonor he knelt to me; and, as he knelt,

the blood of my race throbbed in my temples and fired in my veins! He knelt to me as the proud lord, offering homage to the nameless girl."

"He crept from thee, as the thing of shame ever skulks from the face of a virtuous thought! Thou'rt a true Frazier! By the sword of old Lovat, but thou look'st the queen!"

"So should the neice of Norman Frazier look! A queen too proud for he homage of an English lordling, whose flatteries were the vilest calamny !"

And as she spoke, standing in the centre of the floor, her form upraised to its queenly stature, one fair white arm outstretched in sudden gesture, while the other, hidden in the folds of the snow-white sleeve, hung, with the small, delicate hand, drooping by her side, a queen in majesty of look, action, and gesture, Blanche Walford was disclosed in the light, a beautiful picture of womanly indignation and womanly scorn.

And over her face of beauty, shaded by raven locks of glossy hair, and over her form of queenly grace, robed in vestments of white, floating gracefully around the maidenly outlines of her shape, was flung the mellow light of the lamp beams; and her eye, full, black and shadowy, shone like a star from the shadow of the long, trembling fringes of the eyelashes, over-arched by the dark eyebrows; and her full cheek flushed and glowed with its rich vermillion bloom, bursting from the clear white of the maiden's countenance; while, heaving upward amid the folds of the snow-white robe, her bosom rose and fell with that beautiful pulsation which now avoids and now wooes the light; and from the calm, open forehead to the small and chisseled foot, each look, every gesture, each motion of the soft and rounded limbs, the extended arm, the trembling fingers, the breast heaving upward, and the proud arch of the queenly neck, all were alive and animate with thought, all were roused into action by sudden, and enthusiastic feeling.

The beams of the lamp, standing upon the centre-table, fell around the apartment, revealing the quaint carvings of the wainscotted walls, with here and there a picture framed in oak, and hung with folds of Highland plaid, while, over the hearth, broad and spacious, yet uncheered by fire, shone a broadsword side by side with a glittering rifle, inwreathed with the antlers of the wild deer; and opening to the south, were three large windows, reaching from ceiling to floor, the sashes thrown open, and the balcony without sweet with the perfume of autumnal flowers, the pleasant valley of the Brandywine beyond, and the distant hills, all silvering in the light of the rising moon, were disclosed to the view, while the silence of the air, scarce broken by the distant note of the night-bird or the murmur of the rushing stream, gave an air of thought and solemnity to the scene.

The parlor was carpeted with elegance; the furniture, the massive sideboard glittering with the signs of festival hospitality; the high-backed chairs, the circular mirror over the mantel, and the perpendicular glasses between

the lofty windows, all were ancient in shape and fashion, yet there was an air of ease and comfort about the place that never found residence in the loftiest temple or the proudest palace, and it seemed well fitted for the home of rustic pleasures and woodland joys, combined with the luxuries of arti ficial life.

Sitting beside the centre-table, in a capacious armed-chair, was a man of some fifty years, tall and majestic in stature, broad in chest, and somewhat portly in figure, with a fine commanding face, marked by a bold forehead, surmounted by masses of dark hair slightly sprinkled with grey-large, expressive, grey eyes, an acquiline nose, high cheek bones, with broad, expansive cheeks, while the determined mouth and the full, square chin, gave some indications of the character and will of the old soldier, who, attired in the uniform of the old Provincial service-the blue coat faced with silver lace, the breeches of buckskin, and the square-toed shoes, brilliant with buckles of silver-now sat in the full light of the lamp, with his eyes intently fixed upon the form of the fair girl, who stood glowing and blushing before him.

"Blanche, you are a true Frazier!" exclaimed the soldier, as, rising from his seat, he took the maiden by the hand and led her toward the central window. 66 By the sword of Lovat, when I look upon your fair face, and mark the rich bloom deepening over your cheek, the clear light flashing from your full, dark eye, the lip wreathing with such pretty scorn, and the brow clouded by so pretty a frown, methinks I see one of the high-born damsels of our clan-the damsels of the olden time of blood and warstanding before me!"

“Uncle-nay, my more than uncle-my father!" the girl exclaimed, raising her proud form to its full height, while her beaming face was all affection. "My father, say rather, I am worthy of-thee !"

And as she stood in the full glow of the rising moon, her robes of white glistening in silvery light, and her form shown in all its beauty of proportion, its delicacy of outline, the uncle turned for a moment and gazed upon her fair face with all a father's love-all a father's pride.

The face was beautiful! oh, how beautiful!-Such a face as visits the poet in his dreams-the artist in his reverie-a face where thought, and tenderness, and love and innocence, speak in the glance, in the blush, in the slightest look, or the faintest smile-a face fair and lovely as the face of an angel form enshrouded by a gold-hued cloud, and looking forth smilingly on the gentle sleep of childhood-a face all dream, and vision, and grandeur, and beauty commingled-each outline waving with the line of grace-each look beaming with soul-every expression full of the magic of the mysterious fascination, which the loveliness of woman holds over the heart of man with a spell that may not be described, cannot be broken.

The uncle gazed upon that fair face again and again. The features, even and regular, were shaded by glossy locks of jet-black hair, swept aside

from the open forehead and gathered within the circlet of a slight band of gold, brilliant with a single jewel, they fell waving along the cheek and over the snow-white neck. The nose was small and Grecian, the eyebrows dark and arching, the eyes full, black, and dreamy, the fringes long and quivering, the cheeks rounded and swelling, the lips small, and trembling with expression while the hue of the maiden's countenance, clear and snowywhite, deepened into ruby on her lips, and bloomed into a delicate carmine on the smooth and velvet cheeks.

"Blanche, you spoke the name of father?" said Colonel Frazier, drawing the maiden nearer to the balcony, while, pressing her hand within his own, he looked upon her, with his keen grey eyes, with a look that was meant to read her very soul. "You spoke the name of-father, my niece?" A shadow came over the countenance of the fair girl, and her lip quivered, while her hand trembled in the grasp of her uncle.

"Father! said you the word, my uncle?" she exclaimed, casting her full, dark eyes on his soldier-like countenance-" the word has ever been a strange sound to me. Other father than you, my uncle, had I never. Your daughter my pretty cousin, Rose, was, it is true, denied a mother's tenderness, but then she had you-you, uncle, her-father! Father! mother! Ah, me !—the meaning of the words is all unknown to me!"

A tear emerged from each fringed eyelid, and stole down the swelling cheeks of the maiden.

"Uncle, tell me tell me!" she suddenly exclaimed, as she grasped his hand convulsively, "the mystery-the gloom-the shadow-which has hung over my existence, aye, from very birth. What means it all? My parents who were they!" Her breath came thick and fast, and her bosom throbbed as though the heart were bursting. "And, uncle," she exclaimed, fixing her dark eyes upon his countenance, with a low and thrilling whisper, my mother!-my mother !·

66

The voice of the maiden failed-and, with throbbing bosom and gasping utterance, she started forward, gazing in the face of Colonel Frazier as though she would read his very heart of hearts.

"Blanche, the time has come !" exclaimed her uncle, leading her forward on to the southern balcony, where the moon-beams were playing amid the tendrils of the wild vines entwining around each gnarled and knotted column. "The time has come Blanche-the hour is calm and solemn—the Grange is silent. Your cousin, Rose, the mischievous minx, is not here to interrupt us with her girlish pranks; you know she is on a visit to her uncle, Philip Walford, down at Rock .Farm, seven miles away. The hour is still and silent, and here, in the full glow of the moon-beams, will Norman Frazier tell to Blanche Walford the story of his life, and of her own!"

Blanche looked into the face of the soldier, with a look that was all interest and attention.

'Blanche !" exclaimed the Colonel in a voice that was strangely altered