n which Major Scott had found a refuge for
himself and the prisoner, whom all his influence had scarcely been able
to protect. To remove him from Havre de Grace in the light of day, and
under the eyes of his infuriated enemies, was too hazardous a project to
be attempted; and by the advice of some who seemed disposed to second
his efforts for his safety, he had delayed his departure till night
should veil the obnoxious features of the British officer.

At the parsonage, death had accomplished his work, and the room in which
we have already seen Mr. Sinclair, bears the solemn impress of his
presence. Beside the bed on which the lifeless limbs have been composed
with tender care, the pastor kneels. His prayer is no longer, "Let this
cup pass from me"--he is struggling for power to say, "Father, not my
will, but Thine be done!" In an upper room lies Mary Sinclair. Tears are
falling fast as summer rain-drops from her closed eyes; but she utters
neither sob nor moan, and by the dim light of the shaded lamp she seems
to the two women, who, with well-meant but officious kindness, have
insisted on watching with her through the night, to sleep. A slight
noise in the street causes one of these women to start, and she whispers
to the other, "I am 'feard of every thing to-night--the least noise puts
me all of a trimble, for I'm thinking of my Jack. He's gone to guard
that British soger, and I shouldn't wonder if he had a skrimmage about
him before morning."

"And I must say, Miss Dunham, if he did, it would be nothin' more than
them deserves us would go for to guard them cruel British."

"But they do say, Miss Caxton, that this Capin--for Jack says he is a
Capin--was better than the rest--that he took the part of our people
every where when he found there wasn't any fair fight, and that he was
drivin' his men to the ships when we caught him."

"Them may believe that that will, but for my part I think that it must
be a poor, mean speritted American that will hold guard over one of them
British----"

"Not so mean speritted as you think perhaps," said Jack's mother with a
flushed face.

"Well, I must say, Miss Dunham, I never thought Jack would do such a
thing--if I had----"

Miss Caxton stopped abruptly, but her companion would hear the
whole--"Well ma'am, if you had--what if you had?"

"Why, then, Miss Dunham, I shouldn't have been so well pleased to see
him keepin' company with my Sarah--but after this, of course, that's a