The traveller replied, while a faint tinge gathered on his features—­ “Mr. Harper.”

“Mr. Harper,” resumed the other, with the formal precision of the day, “I have the honour to drink your health, and to hope you will sustain no injury from the rain to which you have been exposed.”

Mr. Harper bowed in silence to the compliment, and seated himself by the fire with an air of reserve that baffled further inquiry.

The storm now began to rage without with great violence, and on the way being led to the supper-table a loud summons again called the black to the portal.  In a minute he returned and informed his master that another traveller desired shelter for the night.

Mr. Wharton, who had risen from his seat in evident uneasiness, scarcely had time to bid the black show the second man in before the door was thrown hastily open and the stranger himself entered the apartment.  He paused a moment as the person of Harper met his view, and then repeated the request he had made through the servant.

Throwing aside a rough great-coat, the intruder very composedly proceeded to allay the cravings of an appetite which appeared by no means delicate.  But at every mouthful he turned an unquiet eye on Harper, who studied his appearance with a closeness that was very embarrassing.  At length, pouring out a glass of wine and nodding to his examiner, the newcomer said, “I drink to our better acquaintance, sir; I believe this is the first time we have met, though your attention would seem to say otherwise.”

“I think we have never met before, sir,” replied Harper, with a slight smile, and then, appearing satisfied with his scrutiny, he rose and desired to be shown to his place of rest.

The knife and fork fell from the hands of the unwelcome intruder as the door closed on the retiring figure of Harper; listening attentively he approached the door, opened it—­amid the panic and astonishment of his companions—­closed it again, and in an instant the red wig which concealed his black locks, the large patch which hid half his face, the stoop that made him appear fifty years of age, disappeared.

“My father! my dear father!” cried the handsome young man.

“Heaven bless you, my Henry, my son,” exclaimed the astonished and delighted parent, while his sisters sank on his shoulders dissolved in tears.

A twelvemonth had passed since Captain Wharton had seen his family, and now, having impatiently adopted the disguise mentioned, he had unfortunately arrived on the evening that an unknown and rather suspicious guest was an inmate of the house.

“Do you think he suspects me?” asked the captain.

“How should he?” cried Sarah, his elder sister, “when your sisters and father could not penetrate your disguise.”

“There is something mysterious in his manner; his looks are too prying for an indifferent observer,” continued young Wharton thoughtfully, “and his face seems familiar to me.  The recent fate of Andre has created much irritation on both sides.  The rebels would think me a fit subject for their plans should I be so unlucky as to fall into their hands.  My visit to you would seem to them a cloak to other designs.”