Miss Gansevoort’s week of dreadful expectation had passed away, and the
day of her expected sacrifice arrived. Her father in the meantime had
used every means both to persuade and frighten her into a peaceable
compliance with his wishes. Fancying he perceived an increased docility
in her conduct, he relaxed a portion of his severity, and tried the
effect of kindness. Although closely watched, she was no longer confined
to her room. When the appointed day arrived without bringing Sir Philip,
she felt a temporary relief; but she then had the additional agony of
suspense to endure. Hope, vague and indefinite, began to dawn in her
breast; but its light was scarcely more than sufficient to reveal the
depth of her despair. Every foot-fall alarmed her. Every voice quickened
her pulsation.
In this state of mind, she was astonished and delighted by the
unexpected reception of a letter from her brother. It was delivered in
the evening to a servant at the door, by a man cloaked and muffled, who
immediately departed. It informed her that, having heard of her
situation, he had provided means for her immediate rescue; that at the
hour of nine in the ensuing evening, a carriage would be in attendance
at the corner of the street, displaying a single light in front; and
that if she could escape her father’s _surveillance_ long enough to
reach the vehicle, she would be safe. A confidential friend of her
brother would there receive her, and convey her before morning to the
fort. Every thing, he said, was arranged to avoid detection or arrest
upon the route.
There were no bounds to the ecstasy of Miss Gansevoort on the receipt of
this letter. She resolved to brave every danger, for the purpose of
escaping the one which she dreaded most. Never did time travel so slowly
as on the ensuing day. Every moment was an age of fear and suspense.
Could she manage to make her escape? Would not Sir Philip arrive? Would
there be no failure or mistake on the part of her brother’s friend? _Who
was that friend?_ These, and a thousand similar questions, continually
passed through her mind, and kept it in a state of the most violent
agitation. She was obliged to confide her secret to one of her maids,
who readily promised all the aid in her power, and even consented to be
the companion of her flight. Through her agency, when the appointed hour
arrived, she was enabled to transfer a few indispensable articles to the
carriage; and when she herself tremblingly prepared to depart, it was
without an article of dress about her which could create a suspicion of
her design. As the clock struck nine, she rose from her seat in the
drawing-room, and with careless air approaching the outer door, suddenly
opened it, and darted, fawn-like, down the street. She heard the alarm
behind. She heard the clattering steps of her pursuers; but she saw the
signal-light at hand. The carriage-door stood open, and a cloaked
stranger at its side. Without a word he lifted her in—followed—closed
the door—and the cracking of the coachman’s whip, and the rattling of
the wheels, mingled with the shouts and execrations of the pursuers.
“My maid! my maid!” exclaimed Ellen, “she is left!”
“Silence! it is too late!” was the answer in a low voice. The noise made
by the rapid motion of the coach, for some time effectually debarred any
further attempt at conversation; but thinking only of her escape, Miss
Gansevoort easily postponed her curiosity, convinced that their present
velocity would soon carry them beyond the danger of pursuit, and admit
of a more moderate speed. Worn out with fatigue and anxiety, she fell
into an uneasy sleep, but was soon awakened by the stopping of the
coach. Confused noises were heard without. Angry questions and replies
were followed by a demand to open the door. Her companion suddenly let
down a window and looking out, uttered a few words in a low tone. “Oh,
it’s you, is it?” was the reply; and without further questions the
carriage was allowed to proceed. Ellen strove hard, but in vain, to
catch a glimpse of her mysterious companion’s face. She again sunk to
sleep, and was again awakened to witness a similar scene. Every thing
presented itself to her mind in a mystified and unnatural manner.
Darkness and drowsiness, commingled dreams and realities, passing
lights, strange voices, half understood sentences, beginning close at
hand, and dying away in the distance, all contributed to complete her
confusion, and prevent the obtaining of one distinct idea. It is not
surprising that she yielded herself again and again, contentedly to
sleep, for the one dominant hope of her waking moments became a glorious
certainty in her dreams, and she smiled in security under the assured
protection of him to whom, unawares, she had long since yielded up the
priceless treasure of her heart.
Once, on awakening, the gurgling, rippling sound of water reached her
ears. They were crossing the river at a ferry. The vehicle being
stationary, it was a favorable moment to address her companion, which,
with trembling voice, she hastened to do. The long, hard breathing of a
sleeper was her only reply. Abashed and alarmed, she desisted from her
inquiries, and in a few moments they were again in rapid motion. Fully
awakened now by her fears, she slept no more.
Leaving the main route, the carriage at length entered a dark and narrow
defile of the mountains, and for more than an hour slowly pursued its
labarynthine course, amidst a gloom rendered tenfold by the surrounding
forests. Having stopped at last before a small and obscure looking
house, her companion alighted, and was received by several individuals,
who seemed to have been awaiting his arrival. Laughter and
congratulations ensued. Several of the bystanders approached the
carriage, and in no gentle terms requested Ellen to alight. Hurried into
the cottage, as soon as her bewildered faculties were enabled to
comprehend the answers to her incoherent questions, she learned in
substance that she was among a band of Tories and savages, a prisoner,
and a hostage for the safety of Sir Philip Bender.