Miss Gansevoort’s week of dreadful expectation had passed away, and the day of her expected sacrifice arrived. Her father in the meantime had used every means both to persuade and frighten her into a peaceable compliance with his wishes. Fancying he perceived an increased docility in her conduct, he relaxed a portion of his severity, and tried the effect of kindness. Although closely watched, she was no longer confined to her room. When the appointed day arrived without bringing Sir Philip, she felt a temporary relief; but she then had the additional agony of suspense to endure. Hope, vague and indefinite, began to dawn in her breast; but its light was scarcely more than sufficient to reveal the depth of her despair. Every foot-fall alarmed her. Every voice quickened her pulsation.

In this state of mind, she was astonished and delighted by the unexpected reception of a letter from her brother. It was delivered in the evening to a servant at the door, by a man cloaked and muffled, who immediately departed. It informed her that, having heard of her situation, he had provided means for her immediate rescue; that at the hour of nine in the ensuing evening, a carriage would be in attendance at the corner of the street, displaying a single light in front; and that if she could escape her father’s surveillance long enough to reach the vehicle, she would be safe. A confidential friend of her brother would there receive her, and convey her before morning to the fort. Every thing, he said, was arranged to avoid detection or arrest upon the route.

There were no bounds to the ecstasy of Miss Gansevoort on the receipt of this letter. She resolved to brave every danger, for the purpose of escaping the one which she dreaded most. Never did time travel so slowly as on the ensuing day. Every moment was an age of fear and suspense. Could she manage to make her escape? Would not Sir Philip arrive? Would there be no failure or mistake on the part of her brother’s friend? Who was that friend? These, and a thousand similar questions, continually passed through her mind, and kept it in a state of the most violent agitation. She was obliged to confide her secret to one of her maids, who readily promised all the aid in her power, and even consented to be the companion of her flight. Through her agency, when the appointed hour arrived, she was enabled to transfer a few indispensable articles to the carriage; and when she herself tremblingly prepared to depart, it was without an article of dress about her which could create a suspicion of her design. As the clock struck nine, she rose from her seat in the drawing-room, and with careless air approaching the outer door, suddenly opened it, and darted, fawn-like, down the street. She heard the alarm behind. She heard the clattering steps of her pursuers; but she saw the signal-light at hand. The carriage-door stood open, and a cloaked stranger at its side. Without a word he lifted her in—followed—closed the door—and the cracking of the coachman’s whip, and the rattling of the wheels, mingled with the shouts and execrations of the pursuers.

“My maid! my maid!” exclaimed Ellen, “she is left!”

“Silence! it is too late!” was the answer in a low voice. The noise made by the rapid motion of the coach, for some time effectually debarred any further attempt at conversation; but thinking only of her escape, Miss Gansevoort easily postponed her curiosity, convinced that their present velocity would soon carry them beyond the danger of pursuit, and admit of a more moderate speed. Worn out with fatigue and anxiety, she fell into an uneasy sleep, but was soon awakened by the stopping of the coach. Confused noises were heard without. Angry questions and replies were followed by a demand to open the door. Her companion suddenly let down a window and looking out, uttered a few words in a low tone. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” was the reply; and without further questions the carriage was allowed to proceed. Ellen strove hard, but in vain, to catch a glimpse of her mysterious companion’s face. She again sunk to sleep, and was again awakened to witness a similar scene. Every thing presented itself to her mind in a mystified and unnatural manner. Darkness and drowsiness, commingled dreams and realities, passing lights, strange voices, half understood sentences, beginning close at hand, and dying away in the distance, all contributed to complete her confusion, and prevent the obtaining of one distinct idea. It is not surprising that she yielded herself again and again, contentedly to sleep, for the one dominant hope of her waking moments became a glorious certainty in her dreams, and she smiled in security under the assured protection of him to whom, unawares, she had long since yielded up the priceless treasure of her heart.

Once, on awakening, the gurgling, rippling sound of water reached her ears. They were crossing the river at a ferry. The vehicle being stationary, it was a favorable moment to address her companion, which, with trembling voice, she hastened to do. The long, hard breathing of a sleeper was her only reply. Abashed and alarmed, she desisted from her inquiries, and in a few moments they were again in rapid motion. Fully awakened now by her fears, she slept no more.

Leaving the main route, the carriage at length entered a dark and narrow defile of the mountains, and for more than an hour slowly pursued its labarynthine course, amidst a gloom rendered tenfold by the surrounding forests. Having stopped at last before a small and obscure looking house, her companion alighted, and was received by several individuals, who seemed to have been awaiting his arrival. Laughter and congratulations ensued. Several of the bystanders approached the carriage, and in no gentle terms requested Ellen to alight. Hurried into the cottage, as soon as her bewildered faculties were enabled to comprehend the answers to her incoherent questions, she learned in substance that she was among a band of Tories and savages, a prisoner, and a hostage for the safety of Sir Philip Bender.

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