y either Butler or Robinson. Tremblingly and
mistrustfully, she gave a feeble tap with her hand against the sash.
There was no answer: the sleep within was the sleep of tired men, and
was not to be broken by the light play of a maiden's fingers. She now
picked up a pebble from the ground, and with it again essayed to wake
the sleepers. This, too, was unsuccessful. In utter hopelessness of
accomplishing her purpose by other means, she ventured upon raising the
sash; and having done so, she thrust her head partially into the room as
she held up the window-frame with one hand, crying out with an almost
choked voice.

"Mr. Butler! Mr. Butler! For mercy, awake!"

There was no other response but the deep breathings of the sleep-subdued
inmates.

"Oh! what shall I do?" she exclaimed, as her heart beat with a violent
motion. "I might as well call to the dead. Mr. Galbraith Robinson! Ah
me, I cannot rouse them without alarming the whole house! Major Butler,"
she continued, laying a particular stress upon this designation of his
rank, "Oh, good sir, awake!"

"What do you want?" muttered Butler in a smothered and sleep-stifled
voice, as he turned himself heavily on his pillow, like one moved by a
dream.

"Oh, heaven, sir, make no noise! I am ashamed to tell you who I am,"
said the terrified girl, "but I come for your good--I have something to
tell you."

"Away, away!" cried Butler, speaking in his sleep, "I will not be
disturbed: I do not fear you. Begone!"

"Oh, sir, hear me," entreated the maiden, "the people in this house know
you and they are contriving evil against you."

"It makes no difference," muttered the only half-awakened soldier. "I
will ride where it suits me, if the Tories were as thick as the leaves
of the trees."

"There are people gathering to do you harm to-morrow," continued Mary,
not suspecting the unconsciousness of the person to whom she addressed
herself, "and I only come with a word of warning to you. Do not ride by
the Dogwood Spring to-morrow, nor take the right hand road at the first
forks: there are wicked men upon that road. Have your eye," she
whispered, "upon my uncle Walter. Ride fast and far, before you stop;
and pray, sir, as you think fairly of me--Mary Musgrove, sir,--the
daughter of Allen Musgrove, the miller--oh, do not tell my name. If you
knew John Ramsay, sir, I am certain you would believe me."

The watch-dog had growled once or twice during the period while Mary
spoke, and