"It would seem, sweetheart," he said, "as if that might be the wisest course for me to pursue; for how can I find heart to take up arms against the country and people--aye, against the very kindred--of my own wife?" A look of sorrowing dread swept all the light from Dorothy's face; but the brightness returned somewhat as he said more cheerily: "Well, well, my little one, it is waste of time to talk of such matters now, for you see I am not free to go anywhere just at this present. 'Sufficient for the day,' you know, 'is the evil thereof;' and surely we have evil to fear, even yet. But nothing can daunt me now--now that my honor is cleared; and that, too, by such an unlooked-for ray of light from Heaven, and with it the knowledge that you love me, and dared so bravely to save my life." The door-knob was now rattled with a warning significance, and the two sprang away from each other as General Washington slowly entered the room. His face bore an odd expression, and one that was pleasant to look upon, as he glanced from Dorothy to her husband. Then his eyes returned to the girl's face, and he asked, with no attempt to conceal a smile, "Well, my child, is all settled to your satisfaction, and"--after a second's pause--"liking?" She tried to answer him, but could not. Her heart was too overflowing with gratitude, happiness, hope. They all seemed struggling for precedence in the words that should come from her lips, and she found herself unable to speak. Her eyes filled, and she looked up as though imploring him to find in her face all that her lips failed to say. Then she sprang forward, and seizing his hand, pressed it to her lips. He appeared to understand fully the cause of her silence and agitation,--to know and appreciate the emotions that rendered her dumb; and the lines of his face resumed their accustomed gravity as he withdrew his hand from her clasp and laid it gently upon the curly head so far beneath his own majestic height. "God bless you, my daughter, and keep you--always!" No father could have spoken more tenderly to his child; and the words came to Dorothy as a benediction from him who had so recently passed away. Washington now addressed himself to Captain Southorn. "You have in this child a priceless treasure," he said. "God grant that you ne'er forget the fact, nor the debt you owe her." "I never will--I never can, sir," the young man answered with unmistakable sincerity, as he came and took his wife by the hand. "Of that, sir, you may rest assured," he added, in a voice shaking with strong emotion. Washington bent his head in approval. "For the present," he continued, "I deem it proper that you remain as before. I purpose stopping here until afternoon, and will then have you taken to Cambridge, unless some unforeseen matter shall arise to alter my plans." The prisoner bowed in silence; then, as Washington went toward the door to summon Doak, the young man turned to smile hopefully into his wife's eyes.