“Oh! the uniform is all right.” Robert gave a dry laugh, “it got me inside the American lines, As for him”—the boy gave an agonized glance at the dead man, “he is no Britisher. Look under his coat and see what uniform he wears.” They bent and turned back the long coat, and sure enough there was the tattered Continental suit, which, during his time of backsliding, Mason had had neither chance or inclination to change. “Upon my soul!” cried Harding springing to his feet, “this looks like mischief!” “I was trying to capture him”—Shirtliffe’s thoughts had never been clearer, and his words seem to flow unconsciously,—“when a cowardly knave fired at me”— “From ambush?” asked Norton keenly. “How, else?” Shirtliffe replied, “but as I was saying, when the ball went through my hand I saw my prisoner falling; I quite forgot my own hurt until all was over, then I went up the bank to”— “Here’s some water, Morley,” Harding interrupted, taking the thing for granted, and producing his bottle, “you’d find little water up there, everything’s frozen stiff. Let’s see your hand, boy. There is mischief on foot, and we must hurry on.” Shirtliffe, keeping his face turned as if wincing at the touch, gave the wounded hand to the young officer. Every moment was precious. The real Morley might return at any minute, Robert did not know he had come and gone—and although he had promised to wait until his return, under the circumstances he must try and get away, and not be taken into the camp of the Britishers and presented to them who knew the true Morley better, and to Morley himself. That would mean sure death, and in Robert’s breast lay a secret which would give life and hope to the suffering army of men in General Lee’s command. “You shiver like a girl, Morley,” laughed Harding, as a nervous tremor went over Shirtliffe’s body; “the men in your regiment have talked of your nerve: it can not all have oozed out of this little hole. There, I’ll wrap it in my handkerchief until you get to the surgeon. Better go on slowly, we’ll overtake you. You look fit to faint.” “Perhaps Morley better take one of our horses and ride on; he’s lighter than you or me. My horse is about done for, and can go at a trot at the best.” Norton looked sharply at the boy, “The sooner you get back to your own officers, the better, lad, you’re too young to be trusted far; you’ll get into mischief yet. Go as fast as you can, tell General Howe that Washington is advancing with fourteen thousand men. His aim is at—” “Yes, yes,” Robert broke in, for a rustling among the dead leaves, added to the pain in his hand, made him quiver. “I know, Dorchester Heights, you forget I have listened too! Which horse! Quick! anything more?” He sprang to the saddle, and the tired horse jumped as the weight touched his sore flesh. It was none too soon. The rustling among the leaves was no scurrying animal, as Shirtliffe, with bowed head dashed on, Morley on his return beat, came up to the group: