The news of so important an event as the capture of Mr. Mowbray was not long in traveling to Mrs. Blakeley’s. One morning, as she and her niece sat at work together, the butler rushed into the room, betraying considerable agitation. We have already alluded to his pomposity and affectation of high-sounding phrases; another foible, the desire to play an important part, sometimes got the better of his discretion, as in the present instance.

“I’ve just heard such news, Missus Blakeley,” he exclaimed, breathlessly, wiping the perspiration from his face. “It’s completely admonished me. I’se run all de way from de head of de abenue, where I heard it from Jim Benson, who listed wid de British, and is now going home on a furbelow; a berry respectable person he is for a Tory and a common white man. In his new uniform he looks almost like an officer, I insure you!”

Here the old man paused, overcome by the rapidity of his utterance. Both Mrs. Blakeley and her niece understood his peculiarities too well to interrupt him, but they looked up smiling.

“Such news!” he began again. “I hope young missus won’t faint. Be sure, such things must recur; but to think it should happen to Mr. Mowbray—Lor’ save us.”

Kate, at the mention of her father’s name, turned pale, and could no longer endure the speaker’s prolixity.

“What is the matter with my father?” she gasped, “Is he dead?”

“Oh, no, missus—only taken by de Tories. But dey say he is to be hung.”

The sight of Kate’s ghastly face stopped the officious announcement—but it was too late; with a shriek she fell to the floor. At this spectacle, the old slave, struck with sudden remorse, cried, wringing his hands,

“I have killed her. Oh, Lor’!—oh, Lor’!—will she ever survive again?”

“You have only made her swoon by your hasty announcement of this terrible news,” said Mrs. Blakeley, sternly. “Run and send her maid.”

It was long before Kate was restored to consciousness. Meantime, Mrs. Blakeley learned from old Jacob all he had to impart. Of her brother’s ultimate fate she could scarcely entertain a doubt. She well knew the character of that bitter warfare. The orders of Lord Rawdon, the then superior officer of the royal army in South Carolina, had just been repeated, that all who had once signed the protection, yet subsequently been captured in arms against the king, should be summarily executed. The sentence of Mr. Mowbray, according to old Jacob’s report, was already issued. Mrs. Blakeley was scarcely less shocked than her niece, but her fortitude was required to sustain Kate, and she struggled to appear composed.

“Let us go to Col. Watson at once,” were almost the first words of Kate, on recovering her senses. “Surely he will not refuse us. He was but lately your guest—how can he then deny your prayer.”

“Alas! my child,” replied her aunt, with tears in her eyes, “war converts men into fiends, and dries up all the kindlier feelings of the soul; but especially in a civil war like this, no such thing as friendship is acknowledged. Have you forgotten the fate of Gabriel Marion, the neighbour of the general—youthful, beautiful, unoffending, the pride of that old man’s heart? He was taken in a skirmish, and, as soon as recognized, told to make ready for death. His prayers for a respite—for paper to write to his uncle—for time to make his peace with God, were alike denied him.” She shuddered as she continued. “They made him kneel on the highway, and then basely murdered him.”

“But they will not, they cannot murder my father thus. The men who did that foul deed were Tory outcasts. Col. Watson has a kind heart; he will spare my father’s life.” And Kate, clasping her hands, addressed her aunt supplicatingly, as if on the words she might speak hung her parent’s existence.

Mrs. Blakeley could not reply for some time for weeping. Twice she essayed to speak: twice tears choaked her utterance. At last she shook her head mournfully.

“Say not so—you do not mean it,” cried Kate, eagerly.

“Alas! alas! my darling,” sobbed Mrs. Blakeley, clasping Kate in her arms, “I would as willingly hope as you; but there is no hope. Was not solicitation, influence, promises, every thing exerted to save Col. Hayne; but to no purpose? They are inexorable. Did not the general say, in refusing a pardon, that if it were his own brother, he could do no more?”

At these words the full truth of her father’s situation seemed for the first time to break on Kate, who hitherto had hoped that aid from some quarter, her own prayers, or other influence, might save his life. During the time Mrs. Blakeley was speaking, the unfortunate girl gazed with stony eyes upon her, every feature rigid, her arms motionless and set, hanging by her side, and her head slightly advanced, with half parted lips, listening eagerly. Even when the speaker ceased, only a vague sense of what she said seemed to rest on Kate, and she murmured vacantly,

“No hope!—none, did you say?”

Mrs. Blakeley shook her head, mournfully. Her own heart was swelled to bursting; that stony look, those rigid lips, made her tremble for the reason of her niece.

“No hope!” whispered Kate, in those thrillingly low tones that are more eloquent than all the accents of despair. “Oh, just Heaven!” she exclaimed, suddenly elevating her voice; and she raised her outstretched hands on high, “wilt thou see this foul injustice done?”

But here the pitch of horror to which the unfortunate girl had been wound up, proved too much for a frame already weakened by preceding agitation, and she suddenly fell back, rigid and paralyzed, in another fainting fit.

All that day, and part of the night, Mrs. Blakeley watched over her niece. Toward midnight the sufferer sank into a slumber. On awaking in the morning, wan and haggard, she seemed only the shadow of her former self; but she had gained composure; though in the quivering lip, and the eye that filled unconsciously with tears, might have been read the agony of a breaking heart.

But though Mrs. Blakeley did not allow herself to hope, and thought it her duty to bid her niece discard all expectation of the prisoner’s pardon, she nevertheless resolved to do every thing that could be done to induce Col. Watson to save Mr. Mowbray’s life, or at least to grant a respite until head-quarters could be heard from. Accordingly, she spent the hours of the night, after Kate, stupefied alike by exhaustion and by narcotics, had sunk into slumber, in writing to Col. Watson. She also penned a hasty epistle to Major Lindsay, beseeching his interposition; for though Mrs. Blakeley was well aware of his pretensions to the hand of her niece, she thought this no time for morbid delicacy. These epistles being indited, and confided to the hand of a trusty servant, with orders to spare neither whip nor spur until he reached Col. Watson’s quarters, Mrs. Blakeley, toward morning, sought her couch, almost as much exhausted, both physically and mentally, as her unfortunate niece.

The morning broke in that once happy mansion as on a house of death. The shutters were half closed, as if to exclude the light, and the servants stole noiselessly to and fro, speaking in whispers scarcely above their breath. The morning meal remained almost untouched. Kate could eat nothing; and often set down her teacup, while her eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Blakeley, spite of all her self-control, was nervous and trembling. The old butler, who remained in the room, often turned his back, and brushed the honest tears from his eyes; for though unwilling to betray his emotion, he was unable to prevent it. Even Mrs. Blakeley’s pet grey-hound seemed to know and participate in the grief; for, instead of rushing up to his mistress boisterously, when she came down stairs, as had been his wont, he walked slowly and sadly toward her, looking up appealingly into her face, as if assuring her of his sympathy. The same dull pantomime was gone through with when Kate entered, and made her lip quiver.

Mrs. Blakeley had informed her niece of what she had done, and said that nothing now remained but to wait an answer to her letters. Kate, however, begged that she might be allowed to go to Col. Watson’s head-quarters to see her father; and though Mrs. Blakeley strove to dissuade her from this purpose, believing that the interview would only harrow up unnecessarily the feelings of both, filial love prevailed, and Kate extorted a lingering consent that they should set forth as soon as the heavy, lumbering carriage could be prepared.

It was during this delay that the galloping of a horse arrested her ear, and Major Lindsay was seen to alight on the lawn. During the moment that elapsed before his announcement, Kate had time to indulge in a thousand wild speculations. Hope whispered to her that Major Lindsay had procured the pardon of her father, or else come to announce a reprieve. Breathless and trembling, she did not wait for his entrance, but hurried to the door of the parlor. Mrs. Blakeley was almost equally agitated. Her first supposition was that Major Lindsay had received her note, and hurried at once to their aid; but a moment’s reflection satisfied her that time enough for this had not elapsed. She concluded then that he had hastened, on his own suggestion, to comfort them; and she advanced to meet him as eagerly as Kate.

Major Lindsay met them at the door. He started back at the sight of Kate’s wan face, for never could he have believed it possible that human agony could be so forcibly depicted on the countenance; but, recovering himself he advanced eagerly, and clasping the hand of each lady in his own, looked from one to the other with a smile, not gay yet encouraging.

“You bring us good news, I know,” said Kate, turning deadly pale, and then flushing to the forehead.

“I hope so,” said he, with marked emphasis. “God grant it!”

“God grant it, indeed,” faltered Mrs. Blakeley, in reply, the blood going back coldly on her heart at these equivocal words.

Kate, however, did not notice this: hope blinded her eyes, willingly; and she eagerly answered,

“I knew you would bring us words of cheer. He is free—he is on his way hither; he will be here soon. Is it not so?” and she looked so beautifully earnest, as she lifted her eyes eagerly to Major Lindsay’s face, that he vowed inwardly no obstacle should prevent him from winning so charming a bride.

“Not exactly that,” he replied, with some hesitation. “Mr. Mowbray is not free yet—but I hope, nay, I may promise that he is in no danger—that is, provided,” he stopped, embarrassed.

Mrs. Blakeley looked searchingly at the speaker, yet her heart would not allow her to entertain the suspicion that had flashed across her, and she discarded it indignantly. Kate, hurled suddenly from her pinnacle of hope, trembled, and clung speechlessly to her aunt’s arm.

Major Lindsay’s embarrassment continued. He looked imploringly at Mrs. Blakeley, as if he half expected her to come to his aid. But Mrs. Blakeley was as agitated as Kate. She struggled to subdue her emotion, saying, eagerly,

“Do not torture us by suspense, I implore you, Major Lindsay. If any thing is expected of us, fear not to tell us at once; we will strip ourselves to the uttermost farthing, if a heavy fine can save my brother’s life.”

Major Lindsay, thus thrown on his own resources, hesitated and stammered, but found words at length to say,

“Do not be alarmed, ladies. I repeat it, there is nothing to fear. But I come rather as an ambassador than as the herald of joy. In other words, I have certain matters to mention, which are preliminary, I regret, to the pardon of Mr. Mowbray. My message, too, is exclusively to Miss Mowbray, and I fear can be delivered to her alone. But understand me, there is no doubt of all yet going well.”

“I will leave you with this dear girl at once,” said Mrs. Blakeley, imprinting a kiss on Kate’s brow. “I need scarcely say how deeply she has been agitated, and beg you to spare her as much as possible.”

“I will do it,” said Major Lindsay earnestly, his eyes compassionately bent on Kate; and Mrs. Blakeley, notwithstanding her suspicions, could not doubt his sincerity.

Kate trembled with a strange foreboding feeling, as she saw the door close on her aunt; and yet what was there of alarm in this approaching interview? Were not the words and looks of Major Lindsay kind and encouraging? Yet still Kate trembled to find herself alone with him.

——