“But why are you here?” exclaimed her astonished brother.

Frances related her conjecture that this would be the shelter of the fugitives for the night, but implored her brother to continue his flight at once.  Birch added his persuasions, and soon the girl heard them plunging down the mountain-side at a rapid rate.

Immediately the noise of their departure ceased Harper reappeared, and leading Frances from the hut, conducted her down the hill to where a sheep-path led to the plain.  There, pressing a kiss on her forehead, he said, “Here we must part.  I have much to do and far to ride.  Forget me in all but your prayers.”

She reached her home undiscovered, as her brother reached the British lines, and on meeting her lover, Major Dunwoodie, in the morning learned that the American troops had been ordered suddenly by Washington to withdraw from the immediate neighbourhood.

VI.—­Last Scenes

The war was drawing to its close when the American general, sitting in an apartment at his headquarters, asked of the aide-de-camp in attendance, “Has the man I wished to see arrived, sir?”

“He waits the pleasure of your excellency.”

“I will receive him here, and alone.”

In a few minutes a figure glided in, and by a courteous gesture was motioned to a chair.  Washington opened a desk, and took from it a small but apparently heavy bag.

“Harvey Birch,” said he, turning to the visitor, “the time has arrived when our connection must cease.  Henceforth and forever we must be strangers.”

“If it be your excellency’s pleasure,” replied the pedlar meekly.

“It is necessary.  You have I trusted most of all.  You alone know my secret agents in the city.  On your fidelity depend not only their fortunes, but their lives.  I believe you are one of the very few who have acted faithfully to our cause, and, while you have passed as a spy of the enemy, have never given intelligence that you were not permitted to divulge.  It is impossible to do you justice now, but I fearlessly entrust you with this certificate.  Remember, in me you will always have a secret friend, though openly I cannot know you.  It is now my duty to pay you your postponed reward.”

“Does your excellency think I have exposed my life and blasted my character for money?  No, not a dollar of your gold will I touch!  Poor America has need of it all!”

“But remember, the veil that conceals your true character cannot be raised.  The prime of your days is already past.  What have you to subsist on?”

“These,” exclaimed Harvey Birch, stretching forth his hands.

“The characters of men much esteemed depend on your secrecy.  What pledge can I give them of your fidelity?”

“Tell them,” said Birch, “that I would not take the gold.”

The officer grasped the hand of the pedlar as he exclaimed, “Now, indeed, I know you!”