Chapter 8 - Page 2

brother, kindly, and stretching out the injured limb to manifest the
truth of his declaration. Caesar threw a look of bitter animosity on the
irregular warriors who were thought to have had an agency in the deed,
and left the room. A few more words sufficed to explain all that Captain
Wharton knew relative to the fortune of the day. The result he thought
yet doubtful, for when he left the ground, the Virginians were retiring
from the field of battle.

"They had treed the squirrel," said one of the sentinels abruptly, "and
didn't quit the ground without leaving a good hound for the chase when
he comes down."

"Aye," added his comrade dryly, "I'm thinking Captain Lawton will count
the noses of what are left before they see their whaleboats."

Frances had stood supporting herself, by the back of a chair, during
this dialogue, catching, in breathless anxiety, every syllable as it was
uttered; her color changed rapidly; her limbs shook under her; until,
with desperate resolution, she inquired,--

"Is any officer hurt on--the--on either side?"

"Yes," answered the man, cavalierly, "these Southern youths are so full
of mettle, that it's seldom we fight but one or two gets knocked over;
one of the wounded, who came up before the troops, told me that Captain
Singleton was killed, and Major Dunwoodie--"

Frances heard no more, but fell lifeless in the chair behind her. The
attention of her friends soon revived her when the captain, turning to
the man, said fearfully,--

"Surely Major Dunwoodie is unhurt?"

"Never fear him," added the guide, disregarding the agitation of the
family. "They say a man who is born to be hanged will never be drowned;
if a bullet could kill the major, he would have been dead long ago. I
was going to say, that the major is in a sad taking because of the
captain's being killed; but had I known how much store the lady set by
him, I wouldn't have been so plain-spoken."

Frances now rose quickly from her seat, with cheeks glowing with
confusion, and, leaning on her aunt, was about to retire, when Dunwoodie
himself appeared. The first emotion of the agitated girl was unalloyed
happiness; in the next instant she shrank back appalled from the unusual
expression that reigned in his countenance. The sternness of battle yet
sat on his brow; his eye was fixed and severe. The smile of affection
that used to lighten his dark features on meeting his mistress, was
supplanted by the lowering look of care; his whole soul seemed to be
absorbed in one engrossing emotion, and he proceeded at once to
his object.

"Mr. Wharton," he earnestly began, "in times