Chapter 19

No longer then perplex the breast--
When thoughts torment, the first are best;
'Tis mad to go, 'tis death to stay!
Away, to Orra, haste away.
--Lapland Love Song.

While his comrades were sleeping, in perfect forgetfulness of their
hardships and dangers, the slumbers of Dunwoodie were broken and
unquiet. After spending a night of restlessness, he arose, unrefreshed,
from the rude bed where he had thrown himself in his clothes, and,
without awaking any of the group around him, he wandered into the open
air in search of relief. The soft rays of the moon were just passing
away in the more distinct light of the morning; the wind had fallen, and
the rising mists gave the promise of another of those autumnal days,
which, in this unstable climate, succeed a tempest with the rapid
transitions of magic. The hour had not yet arrived when he intended
moving from his present position; and, willing to allow his warriors all
the refreshment that circumstances would permit, he strolled towards the
scene of the Skinners' punishment, musing upon the embarrassments of his
situation, and uncertain how he should reconcile his sense of duty with
his love. Although Dunwoodie himself placed the most implicit reliance
on the captain's purity of intention, he was by no means assured that a
board of officers would be equally credulous; and, independently of all
feelings of private regard, he felt certain that with the execution of
Henry would be destroyed all hopes of a union with his sister. He had
dispatched an officer, the preceding evening, to Colonel Singleton, who
was in command of the advance posts, reporting the capture of the
British captain, and, after giving his own opinion of his innocence,
requesting orders as to the manner in which he was to dispose of his
prisoner. These orders might be expected every hour, and his uneasiness
increased, in proportion as the moment approached when his friend might
be removed from his protection. In this disturbed state of mind, the
major wandered through the orchard, and was stopped in his walk by
arriving at the base of those rocks which had protected the Skinners in
their flight, before he was conscious whither his steps had carried him.
He was about to turn, and retrace his path to his quarters, when he was
startled by a voice, bidding him,--

"Stand or die!"

Dunwoodie turned in amazement, and beheld the figure of a man placed at
a little distance above him on a shelving rock, with a musket leveled at
himself. The light was not yet sufficiently powerful to reach the
recesses of that gloomy spot, and a second look was necessary before he
discovered, to his astonishment, that the peddler stood before him.
Comprehending, in an instant, the danger of his