“Will you be kind enough to come with me, Sir Henry?” she asked.  “I have something of great interest to show you.”

“With pleasure,” he replied, rising with alacrity, and following her from the room.

She led the way to the lookout in the upper story, and pointed to the northern side of the hill, where could be seen the American flag, proudly waving over the ranks of the retiring army.  They were marching in close array into the open plain of Bloomingdale.

“How do you like the prospect, Sir Henry?” she calmly inquired.  “We consider the view from this side an admirable one.”

What Sir Henry replied, history has not recorded.  No doubt it lacked the quality of politeness.  Down the stairs he rushed, calling to his officers as he passed, leaped upon his horse, and could scarcely find words in his nervous haste to give orders for pursuit.

He was too late.  The gap was closed; but nothing, except such baggage and stores as could not be moved, remained in the trap which, if sprung an hour earlier, would have caught an army.

Only for Mrs. Murray’s inestimable service, Putnam and his men would probably have become prisoners of war.  Her name lives in history among those of the many heroines who so ably played their part in the drama of American liberty, and who should hold high rank among the makers of the American Commonwealth.

A QUAKERESS PATRIOT.

In Philadelphia, on Second Street below Spruce, formerly stood an antiquated mansion, known by the name of “Loxley’s House,” it having been originally the residence of Lieutenant Loxley, who served in the artillery under Braddock, and took part in his celebrated defeat.  During the Revolution this house was the scene of an interesting historical incident, which is well worth relating.

At that time it was occupied by a Quaker named Darrah, or perhaps we should say by his wife Lydia, who seems to have been the ruling spirit of the house.  During the British occupation of Philadelphia, when patriots and royalists alike had to open their mansions to their none too welcome guests, the Darrah mansion was used as the quarters of the British adjutant-general.  In that day it was somewhat “out of town,” and was frequently the scene of private conferences of the higher officers, as being somewhat secluded.

On one chill and snowy day, the 2d of December, 1777, the adjutant-general appeared at the house and bade Mrs. Darrah to prepare the upper back room for a meeting of his friends, which would take place that night.

“They may stay late,” he said, and added, emphatically, “be sure, Lydia, that your family are all in bed at an early hour.  When our guests are ready to leave the house I will give you notice, that you may let us out and extinguish the fire and candles.”

Mrs. Darrah obeyed.  Yet she was so struck by the mystery with which he seemed inclined to surround the projected meeting, that she made up her mind to learn, if possible, what very secret business was afoot.  She obeyed his orders literally, saw that her people were early in bed, and, after receiving the officers, retired herself to her room, but not to sleep.  This conference might presage some peril to the American cause.  If so, she wished to know it.