CHAPTER III.

THE STRANGE FACE.

The ladies of the garrison for some time had been suffering _ennui_, and after holding a consultation, they resolved to petition for some change to break the monotonous life. Accordingly, when all their feminine forces were brought to bear upon the officers, they forthwith yielded, and it was determined that the following night--the night after the soldiers’ return--should be a gala occasion; a night devoted to Terpsichore.

The ladies set to work with an ardent zeal, decorating the hall where the ball was to be held. It was a long barracks used for the officers’ mess-room. The regimental flags were placed here and there about the room, and foliage, brought from the woods, ornamented the walls, so that in a short time the place had assumed quite a festive appearance.

During the afternoon of this day, and while everybody in the fort seemed to be talking about him, Captain Sherwood made his appearance. He was pale, and looked fatigued; his uniform showed marks of hard usage, being badly torn and bespattered with blood.

An eager crowd was soon collected around him to listen to his exploits. All were greatly surprised upon learning that he had not been taken prisoner as was supposed. His story was as follows:

During the battle he had come in hand-to-hand combat with an Indian who appeared to be the leader of the Tory party, as Iron Hand himself was not with them. He finally managed, after a hard contest, to wound the arm of his antagonist, whereupon the savage turned about and took to flight. The captain hotly pursued, and in a few moments, both were separated from the main body of the combatants in a secluded portion of the woods; however, the officer was fast gaining ground on the Indian, and in a few moments would have had him in his power, when suddenly he received a shot from some unseen foe. Staggering forward he fell, and this was the last he remembered.

He had fainted, and when he recovered, he found himself prone in a hole in the earth about four or five feet deep, with a heap of hemlock boughs covering the top. The dirt had been just thrown out, and whoever had dug the hole had undoubtedly intended it for his grave. But they probably had been frightened away, and consequently left their work only half accomplished.

When the captain had thoroughly revived, and became aware of his situation, he managed to crawl out of the horrid place and drag himself to a stream near by, where he quaffed a draught which started his blood on the regular course again and restored vitality.

After bathing a wound in his leg--which was not serious, as the ball had merely cut the flesh--and bandaging it up with his handkerchief, he started for the garrison, where he had arrived, weak and exhausted from loss of blood and want of food.

Every attention was now paid to him, for Captain Sherwood had become a great favorite with all since his first entering the fort. The surgeon was summoned immediately to dress his wound, and the cooks of the garrison vied with each other in serving up their best dish for the gallant officer in the quickest possible time. The ladies offered their services also, but the captain declared that he would not have any thing more done for him. He was as well as any of them, he said, having partaken of a good dinner, and to prove this, he marched to the mess-room and spent the remainder of the afternoon in assisting the fair ones arranging the hall for the evening entertainment.

And now, dear reader, while our hero is there amusing himself, let us transport ourselves from the fort to a pretty, white cottage, which stands half-way down the side of a large hill three miles in the distance.

It was near sunset. A sunset more brilliant than common. The western sky was filled with masses of colored clouds, on which gold and purple and blue mingled together in gorgeous magnificence; and in which the eye of the beholder could not fail to note the outlines of strange forms, and fancy them bright and glorious beings of another world. It was a picture to gladden the eye, to give joy to the heart that was sad, and make happier the happy.

All this beauty was not unobserved. Eyes were dwelling upon it--beautiful eyes--and yet there was a sadness in their look, that ill-accorded with the picture on which they were gazing. Though apparently regarding the sunset, the thoughts which gave them expression were drawn from a far different source. The heart within was dwelling upon another object.

The owner of those eyes was a beautiful girl, or rather a fully-developed woman. She was tall and majestic, of soft graces and waving outlines. The lady was Imogene Lear. She was walking backward and forward in a little garden at the back of the house, as if waiting for the arrival of some one.

Every now and then her eyes sought the grove of cedars at the foot of the inclosure, through whose slender trunks gleamed the silvery surface of a stream. Upon this spot they rested from time to time, with an expression of strange interest. No wonder that to those eyes that was an interesting spot--it was there where love’s first vows had been uttered and two young hearts plighted forever.

Often as she gazed at this place a look of sadness would steal over her face as if some thought were flying through her brain that was unpleasant, and it brought with it clouds upon her brow, and imparted an air of uneasiness. What was that thought?

Ah! a stern father caused it. No longer could she meet that lover, who had rendered this grove sacred, openly as in former times, but was obliged to resort to deceit and have their interviews in secret.

Sometimes she had been half tempted to forsake her home and go with Edgar Sherwood. But no, she could not do that; sober thought always brought her back to reason, and she would determine again to stay by him and tend him in his old age, for she was his only child and comfort, and then before this trouble he had ever been very kind to her and undoubtedly, ere long, he would relent and give his consent to her marriage with Edgar.

Such were the thoughts she consoled herself with.

Imogene Lear was naturally open and frank, and the deceit which she now practiced on her father was something altogether new and foreign to her noble nature, and it troubled her exceedingly, but then her love for Edgar Sherwood was strong, and love prevailed over conscience.

While continuing her walk up and down the garden path she stopped short, as if having taken some sudden resolution.

“I will go--I ought to gratify him!” she muttered to herself. Sitting down upon a bench near by, and opening a folded slip of paper, she read:

“DEAR IMOGENE--I have just returned from the war-path safe, and wish to see you very much. We are to have a ball at the garrison to-night. You must come--do not refuse, dearest one. If you do I shall be miserable all the evening. As soon as your father has retired for the night, hasten to our old place of meeting with your brave steed, where I shall be in waiting. Adieu, my dearest, for a few hours. E.”

When she had finished reading the note, she pressed it to her lips and kissed it fervently.

“No, Edgar, I will not refuse: I will go!” she murmured, and thrusting the letter into her bosom, she glided softly into the house.

A few hours after sunset, and when it was dark, Imogene again stole forth into the garden. This time she was closely muffled in an ample cloak and her head was donned with a riding-hat.

After proceeding a short distance she stopped and listened. Perfect stillness reigned around the cottage. Then there came a low whistle from the lower end of the garden, and she tripped along over the sanded walk to the place, on reaching which she called:

“Jeff?”

“Here, lady,” answered a man, stepping a little more into the light. He was her trusty servant.

“All saddled?”

“Yes, Miss Imogene.”

“Is _he_ here?”

“Out there on the road waiting.”

The man assisted his mistress to mount, and the next moment, giving her steed a tap with her whip, she dashed away to meet her lover.

As Edgar and Imogene met, their eyes sparkled with the thought of love, but neither gave utterance to their thoughts until their horses had borne them away from the cottage. Edgar was the first to speak.

“Were you intending to ride over to the garrison to-night, Imogene?” he said.

“No, not until I received your note.”

“My note?” and Edgar looked puzzled.

“Yes.”

“Why, Imogene, I sent you no note.”

“I have got it in my pocket.”

“Let me see it.”

She handed the note to him which she had received, and he ran his eye over the contents.

He looked astonished.

“By Heavens!” he exclaimed, “somebody is plotting against us; but, thank God, I was in time to frustrate their plan!”

“Then you really did not write it?” and Imogene appeared frightened.

“I never saw this note before--I did not even know you were going to the fort until I met your servant on the edge of the grove, who said you would be ready in a few moments, and then hastened away before I could speak to him.”

“Who could have done this? Oh, Edgar, I fear there is some dreadful mystery about this!”

“No, no, Imogene! there is nothing of the kind,” he said, observing her alarm; “do not let this frighten you. Undoubtedly some one of your servants did this with no good design, but he will not dare try the same trick again.”

Here a new thought seemed to enter Imogene’s brain and she asked, quickly:

“Your dream, Edgar? has any thing come from it?”

“No,” replied he, forcing a laugh; “how foolish I was to let a silly dream trouble me!”

“I am very glad; it annoyed me much.”

“Let it be forgotten, dearest, for it was nothing more than a common dream, although at the time I was quite certain it was a vision--a presentiment.”

They were now entering a straggling patch of woods, which stood at either side of the road but a short distance from fort. Imogene was about to speak again, when her quick ears caught a sound that appeared odd to her. It was but a slight rustling among the autumnal leaves that were lying in heaps along the roadside, and might have been caused by the wind had there been any, but not a breath was stirring. Something else had caused it. What could it be?

Edgar and Imogene turned their heads simultaneously and looked behind. At the same moment each caught a glance of the face and form they had seen a few nights previous in the grove near the cottage--the face that Edgar had declared he had seen in his dream! There it stood in the middle of the road, wrapped in a white, shaggy cloak, which gave the mysterious form a frightful appearance, and the face, pale and motionless, gazing after them.

In a moment it had disappeared, and Edgar and Imogene each drew a long breath. Captain Edgar Sherwood was no coward--was a brave man, and had often stood face to face with death; but this was an apparition, something mysterious which he could not understand. His lips grew white, and the perspiration leaped into drops upon his forehead. He was about to turn his horse’s head and ride back to where the specter had stood, but Imogene was very much agitated, and urged him forward to the fort.

Around the entrance of the garrison a large crowd of soldiers were collected, to observe the guests as they arrived, and when Edgar and Imogene passed through the men gave them a loud and hearty cheer. This seemed to awaken the couple from the lethargy into which they had fallen after beholding the apparition.

Dismounting, they hurried to the ball-room, where they found a gay assembly. The hall was brilliantly lighted and handsomely decorated. The music, which consisted of the regimental band, was playing a waltz, while a throng of dancers whirled round the room.

There was a large number of persons present, composed of the officers and their ladies, and the patriots dwelling in the neighborhood. It was a merry company, and one that seemed to dispel all troubles from the minds of our hero and heroine.

Imogene had hardly entered the room before she became the center of attraction. The captain led her to the upper end of the room, where they joined Colonel Hall, the commander of the garrison, and his lady.

Now it was that the wound in his leg annoyed the captain, for it kept him from engaging in the dance with Imogene. In order to keep the knowledge of this from her, he was obliged to find a partner for her among the lieutenants. A lucky accident for them, and the fortunate one appreciated it, too.

While the dance was going on, and when the company seemed in the hight of enjoyment, a man dressed in the garb of a hunter, entered the hall, and forced his way to the colonel. It was a noted American spy, Hank Putney by name, who had been dispatched the day previous to search for Captain Sherwood. He whispered a few words to the commander, and both retired from the room together, but so quietly that no one perceived them.

Upon leaving the hall, they directed their steps to the colonel’s head-quarters, where the following conversation took place between them:

“You say that you have news of importance, Putney?” said the colonel, handing the scout a seat.

“Indeed, very important, colonel,” answered Putney, taking a folded paper from his pocket and laying it upon the table. “If ye’ll just run yer eye over that, perhaps ye’ll understand what it is.”

Colonel Hall took up the paper, and with some difficulty managed to read the poorly-written and badly-spelled document. It was a description of the notorious Iron Hand.

“Well, really, this is good news, Putney. How did you succeed in obtaining a sight of him?”

“Oh, easy enough! The band forgot to cover their trail this time, and I tracked ’em. But look ye again at th’ paper. Do ye not know him? You’ve seen him a hundred times.”

The colonel read the description over again carefully, then paused for a moment in thought.

“There is a man in the garrison,” said he, “who answers to this description, but then of course we should be mad to think it meant Captain Edgar Sherwood!”

“I thought ye’d know him!” said Putney, and his eye twinkled with satisfaction. “No madness about it, colonel. He’s the man--this villain Iron Hand and our cap’n are one!”

“Why, man, it is impossible!” cried the colonel, starting to his feet, with astonishment. “What! Sherwood a British spy! No, no, no!”

“Sartin, sir, sartin! Bill Hawkins and I saw him in their camp yesterday, and he war their leader. I took down his description, and we’ll sw’ar to it.”

Colonel Hall paced up and down the floor in great agitation. Every little circumstance which had taken place during the past few days again appeared to him, but in a changed form. After a few moments’ thought, he was obliged to admit that some things had transpired which looked suspicious. Sherwood’s story about being nearly buried, might be only a fabulous invention gotten up to cloak his real actions, and the wound, perchance, he may have received in the fray.

It also occurred to him now, that Sherwood, during the past month, had been frequently absent from the fort, sometimes for a day and night together. Then, again, the father of his betrothed, Thomas Lear, was known to be a stanch Tory, and although it was reported that Sherwood and he had quarreled when the former entered the American army, yet this might have been done for the purpose of carrying out their deception.

“I suspect that’s why the cap’n was late with th’ soldiers th’ night th’ Tories attacked the Whig’s house, ’cause he war waitin’ for ’em to finish th’ job,” said Putney, adding additional fuel to the fire.

“Great heavens!” exclaimed the colonel, stopping short in his walk. “Have we all been blinded by this villain? Can it really be that Sherwood is a traitor?”

“He’s Iron Hand, I’m sure o’ that!” again added Putney.

“Well, man,” Colonel Hall turned about so as to face the scout, “I shall have him arrested at once, but if it turns out that the charge is false, you shall be punished in his stead. Now I ask you once more, are you sure he is the man?”

Putney turned very pale, but answered:

“I am.”

The colonel then dispatched him for an officer. In a short time, guards began to appear at the different places of ingress and exit to the ball-room. The assembly noticed this and the dance stopped suddenly. A sergeant entered the room, and informed Captain Sherwood that the colonel requested his presence. The company stood still with astonishment. What had happened--were the British approaching?

In a moment the news spread like wild-fire in the assembly, that Captain Edgar Sherwood was arrested, and imprisoned on a charge of being the Tory chieftain, Iron Hand, and a British spy! At this announcement, a loud shriek burst forth from the upper end of the room, and Imogene Lear sunk fainting to the floor.