Sir
Henry Clinton, and that his visit to you was not merely a cloak to
other designs?"

"How can I know it?" said Mr. Wharton, in alarm. "Would Sir Henry
trust me with such business?"

"Know you anything of this pass?" exhibiting the paper that Dunwoodie
had retained when Wharton was taken.

"Nothing--upon my honor, nothing," cried the father, shrinking from
the paper as from contagion.[105]

[Footnote 105: communication of disease by contact.]

"On your oath?"

"Nothing."

"Have you other testimony? This does not avail you, Captain Wharton.
You have been taken in a situation where your life is forfeited. The
labor of proving your innocence rests with yourself. Take time to
reflect, and be cool."

There was a frightful calmness in the manner of this judge that
appalled the prisoner. In the sympathy of Colonel Singleton, he could
easily lose sight of his danger; but the obdurate and collected air of
the others was ominous of his fate. He continued silent, casting
imploring glances towards his friends.

Dunwoodie understood the appeal, and offered himself as a witness. He
was sworn, and desired to relate what he knew. His statement did not
materially alter the case, and Dunwoodie felt that it could not. To
him personally but little was known, and that little rather militated
against the safety of Henry than otherwise. His account was listened
to in silence, and the significant shake of the head that was made by
the silent member too plainly told what effect it had made.

"Still you think that the prisoner had no other object than what he
has avowed?" said the president, when he had ended.

"None other, I will pledge my life," cried the major.

"Will you swear it?" asked the immovable judge.

"How can I? God alone can see the heart. But I have known this
gentleman from a boy; deceit never formed part of his character. He is
above it."

"You say that he escaped and was taken in open arms?" said the
president.

"He was; nay, he received a wound in the combat."

To Henry there now remained but little hope; his confidence in his
security was fast ebbing, but with an indefinite expectation of
assistance from the loveliness of his sister he fixed an earnest gaze
on the pallid features of Frances. She arose, and, with a tottering
step, moved towards the judges; the paleness of her cheek continued
but for a moment, and gave place to a flush of fire, and with a light
but firm tread she stood before them.