l, quietly; and she
looked unflinchingly in her questioner's face.

"And at the first opportunity, I suppose, you will betray us into the
enemy's hands?"

"Oh no, sir," said the girl, with the tears in her eyes, as she glanced
at Fred. "I would sooner try and save you, though you are the enemies
of our king."

"Silence, girl! there is no king now in England, only a man who calls
himself king. A tyrant who has been driven from the throne."

The girl flushed and held up her head.

"It is not true," she cried, proudly. "God save the king!"

"What!" cried Colonel Forrester, in a voice of thunder; and for the
first time the innkeeper spoke, his ruddy face now mottled with white,
and his hands trembling as he placed them together beseechingly.

"Don't take any notice of what she says, sir. She's a foolish, wilful
girl, sir. I've been a miserable coward to hold my tongue so long, but
I will speak now. It was all my doing. I held back so as not to seem
in the business, because I wanted to be friends with both sides, sir;
but I could not bear to see the young squire carried off a prisoner, and
I winked at it all. It was my doing, sir. Don't believe a word she
says."

"Father, what have you said?" cried his child, clinging to him.

"Hush! Hold your tongue," he whispered angrily.

"So we have the truth at last," said the colonel. "You convict yourself
of being a spy and traitor; and you know your fate, I suppose?"

As Colonel Forrester spoke, he rose and walked to the window, made a
sign with his hand, and directly after heavy steps were heard upon the
stairs, accompanied by the clank of arms.

In an instant the girl was at the colonel's feet.

"Oh, sir, what are you going to do?" she shrieked. "He is my father."

The guilty innkeeper's lips were quivering, and the white portions in
his face were gradually increasing, to the exclusion of the red, for the
steps of the soldiers on the stairs brought vividly before his eyes the
scene of a spy's fate. He knew what such a traitor's end would be, and,
speechless with terror, he could hardly keep his feet, as he looked from
his child to the stern colonel and back again.

"Father!" she cried, "why don't you speak? Why don't you ask him to
forgive us?"

"Mercy--mercy!" faltered the wretched man.

"What mercy did you have on my poor boy?" cried the colonel, fiercely.
"Through your treachery, he was surrounded by five times the number of
his own men; and, f