In an instant both the young ladies were on their feet and at the window, for such an announcement was cause enough for excitement in that time of war, when the “sojer gemplemans” might prove to be either friends or foes.  Charleston had already narrowly escaped capture during the previous summer by General Prevost, who, although compelled to retire on Savannah, had worsted Lincoln’s militia army, destroying about one-fourth of the little force.  In October had occurred the disastrous, attack upon Savannah, in which the gallant Pulaski lost his life, and Jasper, the hero of Fort Sullivan, received his death-wound.  Sumter, the “Game-Cock” of Carolina, had retired from the State with his handful of followers badly demoralized; Marion, the “Swamp-Fox,” was concealed with his little band among the cypress-bays and canebrakes of the Pedee; and a tone of gloom and despondency prevailed among the people.  In the neighborhood of Charleston all was uncertainty.  The plantation residences were occupied chiefly by ladies, the gentlemen being generally with the army.  Tarleton’s Legion had become widely known and feared on account of the dashing forays which that famous command was constantly making under the lead of its brave and impetuous chief.  No wonder, then, that the hearts of the two young ladies at Oaklands beat quick with anxiety as they strained their gaze down the avenue, uncertain whether they should see the hated scarlet uniforms of the British troopers or the welcome blue of the Continental cavalry.

But the “big gate” to which Billy had alluded was a full quarter of a mile distant, and although the first glance satisfied the excited watchers that their visitors were friends, little more could be certain until they should approach more nearly.  Patience, however, was hardly to be expected under the circumstances, and its place was effectually supplied by a little red morocco-covered spy-glass which Miss Elliott took from the table.  Scarcely was it brought to bear upon the approaching horsemen when she laid it down as suddenly as she had seized it, the rich color mantling to her forehead.

“Why, Jane,” said her friend, “am I not to have a look at the strangers?  Oh, I declare—­yes, I do believe I know that horse.  It must be—­”

“It is Colonel Washington and some other officer whom I do not know,” said Miss Elliott, who had regained her self-possession completely.  “You have your wish, Rebecca.”

The two visitors cantered rapidly up the broad avenue, and found Billy waiting to receive them.  One was a tall, soldierly-looking man of about twenty-eight, his fine face bronzed by exposure, and his easy seat in the saddle betokening one who had been a horseman from his youth.  He wore the blue coat with yellow facings and the buckskin breeches of the Continental cavalry, his red sash bound over a broad sword-belt which supported a strong sabre, while the handsome and well-muscled bay mare which he rode carried a