"Let her go, mistress," urged the landlady; "surely there be naught to fear for her." Then she said confidently, as Dorothy passed through the door and out into the hall: "She be that young an' tender that no one would harm her,--least of all, General Washington. No doubt she'll be just the one to touch his heart with her pleadin' for the young man. No one would have the heart to say no to her, she be so little an' sweet." Mary felt her own helplessness to turn Dorothy from her purpose. Indeed she did not dare to say, even to herself, that it was not the girl's solemn duty to do as she had proposed. And so she sat silent, with clasped hands, musing over all these things, while Mistress Trask removed the dishes. And while she was doing this, the landlady told for the first time--the excitement having driven it from her mind--how Johnnie Strings had appeared at an early hour, and bade her say that he was forced to go across country to carry a despatch, but would return by noon, to escort the two girls to Dorchester. Dorothy took her way up the stairs toward the room above. All the girlishness within her was now dead, and the expression in her pale face was that of a woman--and one whose heart was wrung by bitter sorrow. The door was closed, and in front of it a man was seated. A musket lay across his knees, and his head was sunk on his breast as if he were buried in his own meditations. But as Dorothy drew near, he looked up, and she saw that it was none other than Fisherman Doak. "Mistress Dorothy!" he gasped, staring open-mouthed at her white face as though doubtful of her being a reality. "Yes," she said quickly, "and I am glad it is you, Doak." "Sweet little mistress," he exclaimed, amazement showing in every lineament of his honest visage, "in Heaven's name, whatever be ye doin' here?" "Never mind, Doak," she answered, "what I am doing here. I wish to see--to speak with General Washington, and at once." "You--you?" he stammered, rising slowly to his feet, and shaking himself in the effort to collect his scattered wits. "Yes," she said impatiently. "You are on guard here--he knows you are outside his door?" "Why, yes, mistress--o' course. I'm to be here in case he needs aught, as well as to keep folk out. He be alone, an' has ordered thet he's not to be disturbed." "If he is alone," and her tone expressed relief, "so much the better for me. I must have speech with him this very minute." Doak opened his mouth in remonstrance, but she would not permit him to speak. "Do you hear?" she demanded. "I must see him this minute. Go and tell him so; and tell him it is upon a matter of life and death." He said nothing more, but, looking more dazed than ever, turned and rapped on the door. A voice whose deep tones had not yet left Dorothy's ears gave permission to enter, and Doak, after bidding her to stop where she was, went into the room.