ght she would remain so. She was then in
Virginia with her father, who is a very active rebel, you know."

Not listening to her last remark, the thought at once struck me that I
would write to her to assure her of my constancy, and would try to send
my letter by means of the gentleman Mrs Von Tromp mentioned. My good
hostess was, however, terrified when I made the proposal.

"Oh, dear--no, no, it would never do!" she explained. "It would be a
great deal too dangerous to attempt. The letter would be intercepted,
and we should be accused of corresponding with the enemy, and some of us
would be hung to a certainty. Just think, how should you like to suffer
the fate of poor Major Andre? Ah, poor young gentleman! he was, indeed,
a fine, handsome man--or almost a boy, I might say--he looked so young;
he was so civil and polite and kind. I can't think of his cruel death
without crying, that I can't."

Major Andre had been captured by the Americans, having crossed into
their territory for the purpose of communicating with General Arnold,
who succeeded in escaping from them and joining the British forces. He
was considered as a spy, and as such, tried, condemned, and had just
before this been executed--his hard fate creating much commiseration
even in the bosoms of his enemies. He was fully as brave, talented,
polite, and accomplished in every way as the widow described him. I
assured her that I had no wish to share his lamentable fate, but that,
as I was not holding any treasonable correspondence with the enemy, I
could not be found guilty of so doing. I argued the subject with her
for some time.

"Ah, you know the way to an old woman's heart as well as to that of a
young one!" at last exclaimed the good-natured dame. "I cannot refuse
you. Write the letter, and I will do my best to forward it. But be
careful what you say. Nothing but love, remember, nothing but love--
don't forget that."

"No fear, no fear," I answered, laughing. "I'll stick to my text,
depend on it."

"I don't doubt you, and a pretty long one it will be, I suspect," she
remarked, as I got up to go off to my room. "When it is ready, bring it
to me. I will do my best, and if it does not reach its destination,
that is no fault of mine."

I hurried up-stairs to the room I slept in, and was soon deeply immersed
in the occupation of writing a letter to Madeline. I had no fears how
it would be received, so I seized my pen, and, after a few