tress
Cannon, dressed in man's clothes, commanded the band."

A deep, chuckling interest, like the sound of a hidden brook, attended
Van Dorn's recital, and he was blushing like a girl.

"At Slabtown, a nondescript spot a mile above Cannon's, the
light-marching band crossed in a row-boat; they piled brush and bent
down saplings in the traveller's road, where he should almost reach the
brow of the hill in his buggy, and when the fleshmonger halted at the
obstacle, _chis, hola!_ they let him have it on both sides, and sent
icicles to his heart. He drew a pistol, but in a dying hand. 'Away!'
cried the assassins; 'he is not dead.' His horse, in fright at bursting
firearms in the evening shades, leaped the brushy barriers and galloped
to Laurel, and delivered there an ashy-visaged effigy, down whose beard
the red dye of his life dripped audibly, as he sat stiff in death in the
buggy. His name was only guessed; how happy he in that!"

"And what was the fate of the murderers?" Hulda asked, with less horror
than Levin showed.

"Three of them were arrested; one of the Griffins exposed his brother
and Captain Brereton; these two died on the gallows at Georgetown, young
Brereton exerting himself under the noose to prevent his injudicious
comrade saying too much on peerless Patty Cannon and her fair sisters,
and thinking on their interests more than on this living child. Ha!
Hulda _Brereton?_"

"The other Griffin also suffered death?" suggested Hulda, with a pale,
unevasive countenance.

"Yes, your fond grandma, then in her blazing charms, drew him to her
band again with the lure of Widow Brereton's hand; he killed a constable
to recommend himself the better, and died on the gallows at his native
Cambridge. _Hala hala!_ she gave your mother, wild-flower Hulda, to Joe
Johnson next to wife."

"It is an awful story," Levin said, "but Hulda never saw it."

"I can remember my father," said Hulda; "a large, strong man, with a
slow, heavy face, but he never smiled on me."

"Well, here is the cross-roads," said Van Dorn. "What shall I do with
this letter, bad wild-flower?"

"Read it, if you will, or take this English shilling and post it."

Van Dorn shrank back, rejecting the money.

"Will you not buy it back, Hulda," he whispered, "with love?"

"Never."

"You may pay for this letter this night with your life or modesty!"

"You dare not kill me," Hulda said.

"You will see," said Van Dorn.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

PA