II.—­The Disguise That Failed

The morning still forbade the idea of exposing either man or beast to the tempest.  Harper was the last to appear, and Henry Wharton had resumed his disguise with a reluctance amounting to disgust, but in obedience to the commands of his parent.

While the company were yet seated at breakfast, Caesar, the black, entered and laid a small parcel in silence by his master.

“What is this, Caesar?” inquired Mr. Wharton, eyeing the bundle suspiciously.

“The baccy, sir; Harvey Birch, he got home, and he bring you a little good baccy.”

To Sarah Wharton this intelligence gave unexpected pleasure, and, rising from her seat, she bade the black show Birch into the apartment, adding suddenly, with an apologising look, “If Mr. Harper will excuse the presence of a pedlar.”

The stranger bowed a silent acquiescence, while Captain Wharton placed himself in a window recess, and drew the curtain before him in such a manner as to conceal most of his person from observation.

Harvey Birch had been a pedlar from his youth, and was in no way distinguished from men of his class but by his acuteness and the mystery which enveloped his movements.  Those movements were so suspicious that his imprisonments had been frequent.

The pedlar soon disposed of a considerable part of the contents of his pack to the ladies, telling the news while he displayed his goods.

“Have you any other news, friend?” asked Captain Wharton, in a pause, venturing to thrust his head without the curtains.

“Have you heard that Major Andre has been hanged?” was the reply.

“Is there any probability of movements below that will make travelling dangerous?” asked Harper.

Birch answered slowly, “I saw some of De Lancey’s men cleaning their arms as I passed their quarters, for the Virginia Horse are now in the county.”

“You must be known by this time, Harvey, to the officers of the British Army,” cried Sarah, smiling at the pedlar.

“I know some of them by sight,” said Birch, glancing his eyes round the apartment, taking in their course Captain Wharton, and resting for an instant on the countenance of Harper.

The party sat in silence for many minutes after the pedlar had withdrawn, until at last Mr. Harper suddenly said, “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 sisters sat in speechless surprise, while Mr. Wharton was stupefied; but the captain sprang into the middle of the room, and exclaimed, as he tore off his disguise, “I believe you from my soul, and this tiresome imposition shall continue no longer.  You must be a close observer, sir.”

“Necessity has made me one,” said Harper, rising from his seat.

Frances, the younger sister, met him as he was about to withdraw, and, taking his hand between both her own, said with earnestness, “You cannot, you will not betray my brother!”