Chapter 4

"It is the form, the eye, the word,
The bearing of that stranger lord,
His stature, manly, bold, and tall,
Built like a castle's battled wall,
Yet molded in such just degrees
His giant strength seems lightsome ease.
Weather and war their rougher trace
Have left on that majestic face;
But 'tis his dignity of eye!
There, if a suppliant, would I fly,
Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief,
Of sympathy, redress, relief--
That glance, if guilty, would I dread
More than the doom that spoke me dead."
"Enough, enough!" the princess cried,
"'Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride!"
--WALTER SCOTT.

The party sat in silence for many minutes after the peddler had
withdrawn. Mr. Wharton had heard enough to increase his uneasiness,
without in the least removing his apprehensions on behalf of his son.
The captain was impatiently wishing Harper in any other place than the
one foe occupied with such apparent composure, while Miss Peyton
completed the disposal of her breakfast equipage, with the mild
complacency of her nature, aided a little by an inward satisfaction at
possessing so large a portion of the trader's lace; Sarah was busily
occupied in arranging her purchases, and Frances was kindly assisting in
the occupation, disregarding her own neglected bargains, when the
stranger suddenly broke the silence by saying,--

"If any apprehensions of me induce Captain Wharton to maintain his
disguise, I wish him to be undeceived; had I motives for betraying him,
they could not operate under present circumstances."

The younger sister sank into her seat colorless and astonished. Miss
Peyton dropped the tea tray she was lifting from the table, and Sarah
sat with her purchases unheeded in her lap, in speechless surprise. Mr.
Wharton was stupefied; but the captain, hesitating a moment from
astonishment, sprang into the middle of the room, and exclaimed, as he
tore off the instruments of his disguise,--

"I believe you from my soul, and this tiresome imposition shall continue
no longer. Yet I am at a loss to conceive in what manner you should
know me."

"You really look so much better in your proper person, Captain Wharton,"
said Harper, with a slight smile, "I would advise you never to conceal
it in future. There is enough to betray you, if other sources of
detection were wanting." As he spoke, he pointed to a picture suspended
over the mantel piece, which exhibited the British officer in his
regimentals.

"I had flattered myself," cried young Wharton, with a laugh, "that I
looked better on the canvas than in a masquerade. You must be a close
observer, sir."