s numbers, nor upon trial unworthy
of its fame, in the sad history of the sufferings of Carolina.

The evening of the day on which Mildred arrived at the mansion brought
rumors of a brilliant exploit achieved by Marion; and more
circumstantial accounts on the following morning confirmed the good
tidings. The alert partisan had fallen upon the track of the freebooters
who had been marauding on the confines of North Carolina, and whose
incursion had expelled our travellers from Wingate's cabin. Marion had
overtaken them before sunrise, on the bank of the Pedee, where they had
been detained by reason of Peyton's successful removal of the boats. A
short but most decisive combat was the consequence, and victory, as she
was wont, had seated herself upon Marion's banner. The chieftain and his
followers had, as usual, disappeared, and the whole country was in a
state of agitation and dread; the one side fearing a repetition of the
blow in some unlooked-for quarter, the other alarmed by the expectation
of quick and bloody reprisal.

These events still more contributed to fortify Mildred's resolution to
remain another day under the shelter of Mrs. Markham's friendly roof,
before she would venture forth in the further prosecution of her
journey.

Here, for the present, we must leave her.

CHAPTER XLIII.

OCCURRENCES AT MUSGROVE'S MILL.

She passed by stealth the narrow door,
The postern way also,
And thought each bush her robe that tore,
The grasp of a warding foe.--JOANNA BAILLIE.

The month of September was more than half gone. The night had just set
in, and the waxing moon shone forth from a clear heaven, flinging her
rays upon the rippling surface of the Ennoree and upon the glossy leaves
that flickered in the wind by the banks of the stream, when Mary
Musgrove, with wary and stealthy pace, glided along the path, intricate
with shrubbery, that led upwards immediately upon the margin of the
river. For a full half hour had she toiled along this narrow way since
she had stolen past the sentinel near her father's gate. The distance
was not a mile; but the anxious maiden, pursued by her own fears, had
more than once, in the fancy that she was followed, stopped in her
career and concealed herself in the thick copse-wood, and listened with
painful intensity for the footsteps of those whom her imagination had
set upon her track. There was, however, no pursuit: it was the prowling
fox or the raccoon wh