Beat the drum bravely, Molly my boy! See the sun is tinting the far east. Go with the others. Your task is done, and in the future loving hearts will arise to call you blessed for this night’s work! CHAPTER VIII. ANOTHER MESSAGE FOR DEBBY. He was alone! The others had departed. Washington had said that at break of day they might rejoin the army. The sun was streaking the sky and a chiller air stirred the bare trees. Robert knew in what direction the army had gone, and, after eating the dry rations left over from his evening meal he hung his drum around his neck, and staggered away. His head ached dully and his body was stiff and sore, but he must not be found in the deserted camp. That would mean—certain death! He laughed weakly,—certain death! if he could only be _sure_ of that he would not fear so greatly, but suppose he was only wounded—and carried away a prisoner? Ah! God! _that_ he could not stand! He pressed his hand against the pistol in his pocket, it was safe,—and his gun? Yes, it was loaded and in order. Sick and exhausted as he was he must make a break for safety. See! the sun shone among the trees! Was it too late? A new strength came to him with the horror of the thought, and he bounded into the shadow and made for the direction the army had taken. On, on he ran hearing as he went the movement and stir of a distant body of men. It was the enemy awakening to the daily duties, and the lines would soon be pushing forward. Robert’s brain reeled, and in coming to a cross road he paused to consider his course. There was a certain rock to guide him, but in his bewilderment and dazed condition he could not find it, and so took the wrong road. “Who goes there?” The voice drove the blood from Shirtliffe’s heart. After all this time, there in the lonely Jersey woods, he was to meet again the boy who had shot at him, and killed old Mason in New England. “’Tis I,” he faltered, as the oncomer bore down upon him. “You!” Morley dropped the gun he had leveled at the foe and gazed in amazement at the face so wondrously like his own; “you! here! My God! are you a ghost to haunt me so? What do you want?” “I want to get back to my people.” “Back to your people, you rebel fool!” Morley laughed the old scornful laugh; “your people are behind you! You are running away from them my brave lad. But it little matters, we have them tight and safe, come along with me, your people will join you later!” “If I go,” Robert’s voice rang clear, “you will have to carry me dead. When we met before I was unarmed; like a coward you shot at me, and killed an innocent man. I am prepared now, let us fight honestly.” “Honestly?” Morley sneered, “much you know of honor. I trusted you once, and a nice trick you played me. I trusted the old fellow I shot, I put him on sentry duty, but he got drunk, the knave, while I turned my back. A fine lot you are, confound you!”