When passing into the Highlands from her now desolated home, Frances Wharton had noticed under the summit of one of the rockiest heights, as a stream of sunlight poured upon it, what seemed to be a stone hut, though hardly distinguishable from the rocks.  Watching this place, for it was visible from her new home, she had fancied more than once that she saw near the hut a form like that of Harvey Birch.  Could it be one of the places from which he kept watch on the plains below?  On hearing of her brother’s escape, she felt convinced that it was to this hut that the pedlar would conduct him, and there, at night, she repaired alone—­a toilsome and dangerous ascent.

The hut was reached at last, and the visitor, applying her eye to a crevice, found it lighted by a blazing fire of dry wood.  Against the walls were suspended garments fitted for all ages and conditions, and either sex.  British and American uniforms hung side by side.  Sitting on a stool, with his head leaning on his hand, was a man more athletic than either Harvey or her brother.  He raised his face and Frances instantly recognised the composed features of Harper.  She threw open the door of the hut and fell at his feet, crying, “Save him, save my brother; remember your promise!”

“Miss Wharton!” exclaimed Harper.  “But you cannot be alone!”

“There is none here but my God and you, and I conjure you by His sacred Name to remember your promise!”

Harper gently raised her, and placed her on the stool, saying, “Miss Wharton, that I bear no mean part in the unhappy struggle between England and America, it might now be useless to deny.  You owe your brother’s escape this night to my knowledge of his innocence and the remembrance of my word.  I could not openly have procured his pardon, but now I can control his fate, and prevent his recapture.  But this interview, and all that has passed between us, must remain a secret confined to your own bosom.”

Frances gave the desired assurance.

“The pedlar and your brother will soon be here; but I must not be seen by the royal officer, or the life of Birch might be the forfeit.  Did Sir Henry Clinton know the pedlar had communion with me, the miserable man would be sacrificed at once.  Therefore be prudent; be silent.  Urge them to instant departure.  It shall be my care that there shall be none to intercept them.”

While he was speaking, the voice of the pedlar was heard outside in loud tones.  “Stand a little farther this way, Captain Wharton, and you can see the tents in the moonshine.”

Harper pressed his finger to his lip to remind Frances of her promise, and, entering a recess in the rock behind several articles of dress, was hid from view.

The surprise of Henry and the pedlar on finding Frances in possession of the hut may be imagined.

“Are you alone, Miss Fanny?” asked the pedlar, in a quick voice.

“As you see me, Mr. Birch,” said Frances, with an expressive glance towards the secret cavern, a glance which the pedlar instantly understood.