Ardent as were the lady's desires to escape the welcome of the return for that night, she was doomed to a disappointment. The bustle of arrival broke the Captain's slumbers, and he rushed into the porch, after a host of domestics bearing lights, expressing his rapture that 'his dear Harry' had arrived at such a lucky time; "For," said he, "we've laid in two hundred and fifty charges for the six-pounder, and we'll have such a roaring racket as has never been heard this ten years; and there's Tom Terry, the trumpeter,--was regularly brought up in the troop school, and blasts a charge to make your blood boil! and there's the drums and fifes! and there's my boy Haman to read the Declaration! and, by the lord, now I think of it, there's the Battle of Brandywine and Tom Loring dying! There never was such likenesses painted by mortal man." The Captain yawned fearfully while he spoke; but his enthusiasm was fast dispelling his drowsiness. Miss Falconer groaned in spirit; but woman's wit came to her assistance. She imitated his example, opened her lovely mouth, with an expressiveness his own could not resist, exclaimed, "Oh, how tired I am!" and concluded by vowing she could not keep her eyes open, but must retire to rest forthwith. In this manner, she succeeded in escaping to Catherine's chamber, whence she immediately expelled both Phoebe and her mother, charging the latter, as the Captain had also signified his disposition to retire, to lock up the house, and admit no visiters to disturb her or her companion. As soon as these instructions were given, she turned to Catherine, and cried, with extraordinary eagerness, "The man with the red hat! that fellow that helped the painter out of the brook,--what has become of him?" "I know not," replied Catherine, surprised at the question. "What! has he never been seen in Hawk-Hollow again?" "Really, I know not--I have never heard: I suppose not." "Oh, you poor owls! blind birds that you are!" exclaimed Harriet, laughing, yet preserving an earnest air: "I believe, if Beelzebub himself came riding into the valley, nobody would suspect him to be a bad Christian, provided he kept his tail in his coat-pocket. As for the cloven hoof, he might wear that naked; no one would think of looking at it. And Gilbert, the Hawk of the Hollow? have you heard of him no more?" "Oh, there is some idle rumour among the people, but I think it foolish. But, Harriet, you got my letter, with the advice I gave you? You must know, I had that from a sensible person I was obliged to take into the secret"---- "Good Heaven!" cried Harriet, in alarm, "you have not told any one? Catherine, how could you? This may ruin all." "I do not know what it is to ruin, Hal; but it will not ruin by betrayal of the secret. Mr. Hunter is"----