to the room where I had
seen the lady. An impulse I could not resist induced me to open it.
The noise caused by my so doing made the lady turn her head. Her
countenance was very pale and tearful. She looked up at me; her eye
brightened: I sprang forward and threw myself at her feet. Madeline
Carlyon was before me. So astonished and overcome by numberless
conflicting feelings was she that I thought she would have fainted. She
uttered my name in a tone of doubt and hesitation, as if she did not
believe in the reality of what she saw before her. I took her hand and
pressed it to my lips.
"It is I, Madeline, who have never ceased thinking of you since we
parted," I exclaimed,--"one whose only wish has been to find means to
make you his own when the blessings of peace have been restored to our
country--one whose earthly hopes are all centred in you. You are
indulging in no dream--no fancy--I am really and truly before you."
However, I need not repeat all I said on the occasion. I had no great
difficulty in persuading Madeline that I was really before her; but when
she inquired how it was that I came to be there, unwilling indeed I felt
to tell her that I had come in hostile guise. At last, however, I had
to confess the truth.
"Then I understand it all," she exclaimed hurriedly. "Oh, believe me,
you are beset with dangers. I ought not to betray the councils of my
countrymen, and yet I cannot let you fall into the trap which has been
laid for you. Your arrival in the river was immediately known, and a
plan was forthwith formed to cut you off. The whole country has been
for some hours alarmed. My own father heads the force, consisting, I
heard, of more than four hundred men, who are about to take post at
Mackey's Mills to cut off your retreat. Silently as you may have come
up the river, your progress has been, without doubt, closely watched.
Perhaps even now your presence here is known, and anxiety on my father's
account prevented me from retiring to rest, and little did I think who
was in command of the British boats. I knew not even that you were on
the coast. But I must not lose time in talking. What advice can I give
you? Stay, oh, let me consider! The party must already have nearly
reached Mackey's Mills. They will be there before you can possibly pass
that narrow part of the river. Oh, this cruel, cruel war! What ought
to be done? I am sure that my father himself would deeply grieve to
find
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