"Tis a very pretty hazard, Captain Ireton. But can it be brought off successfully, think you?"  
"As I have said, it hangs somewhat upon the safety of my portmanteau. If that has come through unseized to Mr. Pettigrew at Charlotte, and I can lay hands on it, 'twill be half the battle."
 
"You say you left it behind you at New Berne?"
 
"Yes; Mr. Carey was to forward it as he could."
 
Colonel Davie had given me bite and sup, and I was ready to take the road. My plan, such as it was, had been determined¹ upon, and to the furthering of it, the colonel had written me a letter to a friend in the town who might shelter me for a night and make the needed inquiry² for my belongings³. Also, he had given me another letter, of which more anon, and had pressed upon me a small purse of gold pieces—a treasure rare enough in patriot⁴ hands in that impoverished⁵ time.
 
When all was done, two of my late captors were ordered to set me straight in the road; and some half-hour past noon I had shaken hands with the big fellow in homespun who had been so bent⁶ upon hanging me without benefit of clergy⁷, had crossed the river, and was making the first looping in a detour⁸ which should bring me into Charlotte from the westward⁹.
 
'Twas drawing on toward evening, and I had recrossed the river a mile or more below Appleby Hundred, when I began to meet the outposts of the British army. I was promptly¹⁰ halted by the first of these; but my borrowed uniform and a ready word or two passed me within the lines as a courier riding post to headquarters from Major Ferguson in the west.
 
The lieutenant¹¹ in command of the first vedette line was not over-curious. He asked me a few questions about the major's plans and dispositions,—questions which, thanks to Colonel Davie's information, I was able to answer glibly¹² enough, swallowed my tale whole, and was so obliging as to give me the password for the night to help me through the inner sentry¹³ lines.
 
Thus fortified¹⁴, I rode on boldly, and having the countersign¹⁵ the difficulties vanished. When I was come to town it was well past candle-lighting; and the patrol was out in force. But by dint¹⁶ of using the password freely I made my way unhindered to the house of the gentleman to whom Colonel Davie's letter accredited¹⁷ me.
 
Here, however, the difficulties began. Though the camp of the army lay just without the town to the southward, the officers were quartered in every house, and that of Colonel Davie's friend was full to overflowing¹⁸. What was to be done we knew not, but at the last moment my friend's friend thought of an expedient¹⁹ and wrote a note for me whilst I waited, half in hiding, in the outer hall.
 
"'Tis a desperate chance, but these are desperate times," said my would-be helper. "I am sending you to the town house of one of our plantation²⁰ seigneurs—a man who is fish, flesh or fowl²¹, as his interest demands. I hear he came in to-day to take protection, and there is a chance that he will shelter you for the sake of your red coat and a gold piece or two. But I warn you, you must be what you appear to be—a soldier of the king—and not what this note of Colonel Davie's says you are."
 
Seeing a wide field of danger-chances in this haphazarding, I would have asked more about this trimming gentleman to whom I was to be handed on; but at that moment there came a thundering at the door, and my anxious host was fain to hustle²² me out through the kitchen as he could, catching²³ up a black boy on the way to be my guide.
 
"God speed you," he said at parting. "Make your footing good for the night, if you can, and we'll see what can be done to-morrow. I'll send your portmanteau around in the morning, if so be Mr. Pettigrew has it."
 
With that I was out in the night again, turning and doubling after my guide, who seemed to be greatly afeard lest I should come nigh enough to cast an evil eye upon him.
 
'Twas but a little distance we had to go, and I had no word out of my black rascal²⁴ till we reached the door-stone of a familiar mansion²⁵ but one remove from the corner of the court house green. Here, with a stuttering "D-d-dis de house, Massa," he fled and left me to enter as I could.
 
Since the street was busily astir with redcoat officers and men coming and going, and any squad²⁶ of these might be the questioners to doubt my threadbare courier tale, I lost no time in running up the steps and hammering a peal²⁷ with the heavy knocker. Through the side-lights I could see that the wide entrance hall was for the moment unoccupied; but at the knocker-lifting I had a flitting glimpse of some one—a little man all in sober black—coming down the stair. There was no immediate²⁸ answer to my peal, but when I would have knocked again the door was swung back and I stepped quickly within to find myself face to face with—Margery.
 
I know not which of the two of us was the more dumbfounded; but this I do know; that I was still speechless and fair witless when she swept me a low-dipped curtsy and gave me my greeting.
 
"I bid you good evening, Captain Ireton," she said, coldly; and then with still more of the frost of unwelcome in her voice: "To what may we be indebted for this honor?"
 
Now, chilling as these words were, they thrilled me to my finger-tips, for they were the first she had spoken to me since the night of my offending in the black gorge³⁰ of the far-off western mountains. None the less, they were blankly unanswerable, and had the door been open I should doubtless have vanished as I had come. Of all the houses in the town this was surely the last I should have run to for refuge had I known the name of its master; and it was some upflashing of this thought that helped me find my tongue.
 
"I never guessed this was your father's house," I stammered³¹, bowing low to match her curtsy. "I beg you will pardon me, and let me go as I came."
 
She laid a hand on the door-knob. "Is—is there any one here whom you would see?" she asked; and now her eyes did not meet mine, and I would think the chill had melted a little.
 
"No. I was begging a night's lodging³² of a friend whose house is full............