e valley, at full speed, by its various roads.

[Footnote 43: using but few words.]

The suspense of the party within, who were all highly interested
witnesses of this scene, was shortly terminated; for the heavy tread
of the dragoon soon announced his second approach. He bowed again
politely as he reentered the room, and, walking up to Captain Wharton,
said with mock gravity:

"Now, sir, my principal business being done, may I beg to examine the
quality of that wig?"

The British officer imitated the manner of the other, as he
deliberately uncovered his head, and handing the wig observed, "I
hope, sir, it is to your liking."

"I cannot, without violating the truth, say it is," returned the
dragoon; "I prefer your ebony hair, from which you seem to have combed
the powder with great industry. But that must have been a sad hurt you
have received under this enormous black patch."

"You appear such a close observer of things, that I should like your
opinion of it, sir," said Henry, removing the silk, and exhibiting the
cheek free from blemish.

"Upon my word, you improve most rapidly in externals," added the
trooper; "if I could but persuade you to exchange this old surtout[44]
for that handsome blue coat by your side, I think I never could
witness a more agreeable metamorphosis,[45] since I was changed myself
from a lieutenant to a captain."

[Footnote 44: overcoat.]

[Footnote 45: change.]

Young Wharton very composedly did as he was required, and stood an
extremely handsome, well-dressed young man. The dragoon looked at him
for a minute with the drollery that characterized his manner, and then
continued:

"This is a newcomer in the scene; it is usual, you know, for strangers
to be introduced; I am Captain Lawton, of the Virginia horse?"

"And I, sir, am Captain Wharton, of his Majesty's Sixtieth regiment of
foot," returned Henry, bowing stiffly, and recovering his natural
manner.

The countenance of Lawton changed instantly, and his assumed
quaintness vanished. He viewed the figure of Captain Wharton, as he
stood proudly swelling with a pride that disdained further
concealment, and exclaimed with great earnestness:

"Captain Wharton, from my soul I pity you!"

"Oh, then," cried the father, in agony, "if you pity him, dear sir,
why molest him? He is not a spy; nothing but a desire to see his
friends prompted him to venture so far from the regular army, in
disguise. Leave him with us; th