passed by your home had I known how much suffering my coming was to cause."
The stranger did not venture to approach the fireplace, but stood in the middle of the room holding the candle, as if purposely, that his face might be seen, and by this time, thanks to his gentle words, the girls mustered up sufficient courage to look at him boldly.
"Was it you, sir, who locked the door?" Dorothy asked after a long pause.
"Yes, my child. The key was in the lock. I judged from the appearance that the house was owned by some influential man of the city, and believed that once hidden here I would be in comparative safety, unless it so chanced that he proved to be a rank rebel who would think he was doing his full duty by throwing me back to the wolves."
"My father is one whom the king's people call a rebel, sir," Dorothy interrupted, now so much assured of safety from a murderer's knife as to remember her manners by dropping him a curtsey.
"Where is he now, my dear?"
"At Bowling Green, helping make the bonfire, sir. He is a Son of Liberty."
The stranger looked nervously around as a hunted animal might have done, and then setting his lips firmly together, he asked:
