The salutations of the young men were cordial and frank, and, on the part of Henry Wharton, as collected as if nothing had occurred to disturb his self-possession.
After exchanging greetings with every member of the family, Major Dunwoodie beckoned to the sentinel to leave the room. Turning to Captain Wharton, he inquired mildly:
"Tell me, Henry, the circumstances of this disguise in which Captain Lawton reports you to have been found; and remember--remember--Captain Wharton, your answers are entirely voluntary."
"The disguise was used by me, Major Dunwoodie," replied the English officer, gravely, "to enable me to visit my friends without incurring the danger of becoming a prisoner of war."
"But you did not wear it until you saw the troop of Lawton approaching?"
"Oh, no!" interrupted Frances, eagerly, "Sarah and myself placed them on him when the dragoons appeared; it was our awkwardness that led to the discovery."
The countenance of Dunwoodie brightened, as, turning his eyes in fondness on the speaker, he listened to her explanation.
"Probably some articles of your own," he continued, "which were at hand, and were used on the spur of the moment."
"No," said Wharton, with dignity; "the clothes were worn by me from the city; they were procured for the purpose to which they were applied, and I intended to use them again in my return this very day."
"But the pickets--the party at the Plains?" added Dunwoodie, turning pale.
"I passed them, too, in disguise. I made use of this pass, for which I paid; and, as it bears the name of Washington, I presume it is forged."
Dunwoodie caught the paper eagerly, and stood gazing on the signature for some time in silence, during which the soldier gradually prevailed over the man; then he turned to the prisoner with a searching look, as he asked:
"Captain Wharton, whence did you procure this paper?"
"This is a question, I conceive, Major Dunwoodie has no right to ask."
"Your pardon, sir; my feelings may have led me into an impropriety. This name is no counterfeit. Captain Wharton, my duty will not suffer me to grant you a parole; you must accompany me to the Highlands."
"I did not expect otherwise, Major Dunwoodie."
"Major Dunwoodie," said Frances, "I have already acknowledged to you my esteem; I have promised, Dunwoodie, when peace shall be restored to our country, to become your wife; give my brother his liberty on parole, and I will this day go with you to the altar, follow you to the camp, and, in becoming a soldier's bride, learn to endure a soldier's privations."