"You are just worn out, poor child," said Mary, in a soothing, motherly fashion; "and no wonder, with all you've gone through this night. And now," she added with decision, "I shall put you straight to bed, this very minute. I want to go myself, but cannot until you become quiet." With this she began tugging at the fastenings of the unfamiliar garments; and Dorothy, despite her tears, commenced to laugh, but in a nervous, unnatural way. "Never mind," she said; "I will do all that, Mary, for I understand it better than you. And," straightening herself, "I'll stop crying. I never knew I could be such a fool." Long after Mary was sleeping, Dorothy was still lying awake listening for her brother's return. She knew she would hear him, for his room was just across the hall, opposite her own. As she nestled among the lavender-scented pillows, visions would keep coming to her of the handsome face she had seen that morning, and again that very night. The purple-hued eyes, edged so thickly with swart curling lashes, seemed to be looking into her own, as when she held his wounded head pillowed against her knee, while his voice yet thrilled in her ears as had never any man's before. And then came the realization that this man was her country's avowed enemy,--a hated Britisher! Her conscience smote her as she thought of the trick she had played him, recalling how trustingly he had entered the dark shed, and how silent he had been at first, when she slammed the door and shot the wooden bar across. Then how fiercely he had seemed to fling his broad shoulders against the door of his prison, making her fear that he would be able to come forth and visit his wrath upon the audacious young rebel who had served him such a trick. But she could find some comfort in thinking of how she had stolen back, and called him by name, at which the blows became stilled; and of how she had then told him to have no fear for his safety, as in a short time he would be released, to go where he pleased. Mary, did she but know all these thoughts, would be angry, and call her unfaithful to the cause. And Jack, and her father--what would her father say to her? She had never in her life feared him. But now a quaking dread beset her as to what the morrow might bring from him of censure and displeasure. And at this she began to cry again--softly, but bitterly. Whether the girl knew it or not, her nerves had by this time become strained to the uttermost; and sleep, the blessed healer that comes so readily to the young and healthful, was beginning to woo her away from all her troubles, when a slight noise startled her into new wakefulness. Listening intently, she heard her brother enter his room; and she heard him say something to their father, who was passing on toward his own apartments. Rising hastily, Dorothy thrust her little bare feet into some wool slippers and drew a bed-gown over her night-dress; then she stole softly across the passage to her brother's room.