"Listen, my good people!" he shouted. "There must be some here who know me. I am an American soldier, and my companion is not a spy—"

It was no use. He could not make himself heard. Closer and closer pressed the mob, inflamed and urged on by the ruffian, Burd. The sight of the lad's drawn pistol kept the foremost back a few paces, but those in the rear began to hurl missiles. Stones and clubs struck the wall on both sides of Nathan, and a rotten apple burst on Godfrey's shoulder. The crowd was increasing, and the clamor was waking noisy echoes in other quarters of the town.

Nathan's pallor gave way to a flush of anger. "Keep back!" he roared. "Keep back, or I'll fire. You cowards! Give me a chance to speak."

The uproar deepened, but the circle widened a little at the ominous look of the weapon. Then, just as a rush began in the rear, a hoarse shout of "The watch! the watch!" rose above the clamor of voices. The sound of dull blows were heard, and right and left through the parting crowd, wielding their staves at every step, came a dozen men of the town watch. At their head, and seemingly acting as the leader, was a man wearing a sword and a military coat. Without ceremony he snatched Nathan's pistol.

"Keep close to me," he commanded, "and walk boldly."

At once the men of the watch surrounded the two lads and led them quickly across Chestnut Street. The crowd followed, hooting and yelling, but taking good care not to venture within reach of the staves. Right into the State-House marched the officer, the watch, and the prisoners, and a moment later Godfrey and Nathan crossed the threshold of the large chamber on the eastern side of the first floor—the same in which the memorable Declaration of Independence had been signed.

Here several lights were burning, and a number of men were standing about in groups. The watch had halted in the hall, but the officer entered with the lads, and turned to a man who had just come forward. The latter was tall and wore a long cloak of light material. As the glow of a lamp flashed on his face it revealed the familiar features of General Washington.

"Sir, I have obeyed your orders," said the officer. "These young gentlemen were the cause of the disturbance, and they can explain for themselves. I think you will recognize one of them—"

"Nathan Stanbury!" exclaimed Washington. He held out his hand, and the stern expression of his face relaxed.

"It is I, sir," replied Nathan, stammering in his surprise. Before he could say more two arms were thrown around him from behind, a kiss was planted on his forehead, and the familiar voice of Cornelius De Vries cried: "My dear lad! God be praised!"

Again and again the worthy old Hollander embraced the lad, giving him scarcely a chance to breathe. Finally, in his delight, he turned to Godfrey, and would have embraced him as well. But Washington held up his hand with a smile.

"Master Stanbury," he said, "I did not expect to find you in Philadelphia so soon, nor was I certain that you had escaped the bloodshed at Wyoming. It affords me the highest pleasure to know that you are safe, for I assure you that I have not forgotten your valuable and trusty services in the past. But a short time ago I was telling Master De Vries how gallantly you fought at Monmouth, and what a narrow escape you had from hanging when you saved my papers at Valley Forge."

"You do me too much honor, sir," said Nathan, with a blush.

"Not enough, my brave lad," replied Washington. "But come, I forget that you may speedily fall in my good graces," he added, in a jesting tone, "since you are accused of disturbing the peace of this good and loyal town of Philadelphia. You shall give me an explanation, and account for your companion."

"That I will gladly do, sir," declared Nathan.

"But I can spare you only a little time," added Washington. "I left my army at White Plains, on the Hudson, and made a quick journey here to confer with some of my Quaker friends on matters of importance. I must be starting back by morning, and before my presence becomes generally known in the town. And I prefer to talk apart from these worthy gentlemen."

He led the way to a far corner of the room, bidding Cornelius De Vries follow himself and the lads. With as much brevity as possible Nathan told his story, and he was careful to omit nothing, since he knew that the whole truth would be best for the interests of Godfrey.

Washington listened intently, now smiling, now frowning at parts of the narrative. "I have already heard the news from Wyoming," he said, when the lad had finished, "but not so clear an account as yours. You seem to have displayed your usual bravery and clear-headedness, Master Stanbury, and you have certainly had more than your share of perils and adventures. I deplore the loss of Barnabas Otter, who was a trusty and valuable man, and I regret that you have not fathomed this strange mystery with which your father seems to be connected. I confess that it has a deep interest for me. As for the recent brawl out in the street—why, it seems that you are not to blame. But it was imprudent for your companion to have entered Philadelphia, and I hardly know what disposition to make of him." He paused a moment, smiling. "Is he disposed to turn patriot?"

"He is not, sir, with all due respect to you," Godfrey answered, firmly.

"Let him accompany me, sir," exclaimed Nathan. "He risked his life to save myself and my friends. He is not a spy, and he should not be held as a prisoner. Help him to get back to the British lines."

Washington shook his head. "I can't do that," he replied. "I can't lend my aid to such a purpose. But Master Spencer deserves to be rewarded for his gallant conduct, which I do commend most heartily. So I shall let him accompany you to visit your father, Master Stanbury, and I dare say he will be making a little trip over to Long Island one of these days. Is that satisfactory?"

"Quite so," replied Godfrey, with a smile, "and thank you, sir."

Washington turned to Nathan. "Now, my boy, you will want to get speedily to your father?" he asked.

"As soon as possible, sir," Nathan replied, eagerly. "Please tell me how he is? Have you heard lately?"

"At last accounts he was doing well, but he was not able to be moved, else I should have sent a party for him. I will not deny that he is in some danger of capture by raiding-parties of the enemy, so you had better get to him without delay. What is your opinion, Master De Vries?"

"I agree with you, sir," answered the Hollander, "much as I should like the lad to spend a day or two with me in Philadelphia. But it is all for the best."

"Yes, I must start at once," assented Nathan. "And how shall we go, sir? By land?"

"I think not," replied Washington; "the roads through the Jersies are bad and lonely, and you would run a risk of meeting bodies of the enemy. As it happens, there is a sailing vessel lying now down at South Street wharf, and I can arrange with the captain to take you along the coast and up the Shrewsbury. He and his crew are loyal and trusty men, and have been engaged in secret service for me for some time past. Master De Vries," he added, "you know the place and the man. Suppose you make the necessary arrangements at once, and as soon as that is done the lads can go secretly to the river. By then the streets will be quiet."

"It is a wise plan, sir," agreed the Hollander, "and I will see to the proper arrangements."

He departed immediately, and then Washington drew Nathan a little apart from Godfrey.

"I can spare but a moment more," he said, in a low tone. "You are a brave lad, Master Stanbury, and an honor to your country and to your father. I shall not forget you in the future, and I predict that you will have an officer's commission before you are much older. I will speak to you of other matters at a better opportunity. I trust that you will reach your father safely, and that he and you will speedily be within the shelter of my lines at White Plains. When you leave the farm-house with him come by way of New Brunswick, where you will find American out-posts. You will both be needed. A battle cannot be long delayed, and by this time the French fleet has probably arrived off Sandy Hook. As for Master Spencer, to whom you owe much—why, I leave his interests in your hands, and I trust no harm will befall him."

Washington shook hands with both lads, and spoke a word of farewell. Then he joined the gentlemen who were waiting for him, and an aid shortly conducted Nathan and Godfrey to another apartment of the State-House. Here they remained three hours, at the end of which time Cornelius De Vries returned to announce his complete success. The town was now quiet, and the lads safely reached South Street wharf. It was not quite midnight when they parted from the old Hollander and went on board the sloop "Speedswift," and when they came on deck in the morning, after a good night's rest, the vessel was many miles down the Delaware.

No British men-of-war were met with, but, owing to bad weather, the voyage was prolonged to nearly a week—a delay that sorely tried Nathan's patience.

At last, one dark and sultry July night, the "Speedswift" entered the mouth of the Shrewsbury, and sailed cautiously along the south shore.

When the channel became shallow a small boat was lowered, and two of the crew rowed the lads to a point near the head of the river. The captain, who knew the locality thoroughly, went along with the party, and when they landed in a little cove he pointed to a road that skirted the north shore of the river.

"That's your way, my young gentlemen," he said. "Follow the road for two miles, and you'll come to Jonas Welfare's place. You can't miss it, for it's the first house."

A moment later the boat was pulling back to the vessel, and the two lads were walking rapidly toward their destination. Nathan was in a state of doubt and suspense—now confident of finding his father, now fearing that he was dead or captured. He kept Godfrey almost on a run, and after half an hour's tramp they reached an old stone farm-house standing in a yard full of pine trees.

No light was to be seen, and with a fast-beating heart Nathan mounted the porch and rapped on the door. It was opened almost immediately by an elderly man, who carried a candle in his hand.

He looked at the lads suspiciously, and with an air of disappointment, and then gruffly demanded their business.

"Are you Jonas Welfare?" Nathan asked, eagerly.

"That's my name, sir."

"Well, I am Captain Stanbury's son. Is—is he still here?"

"Captain Stanbury's son?" exclaimed the farmer, incredulously. "Yes, you look like him. Come right in."

The lads followed Mr. Welfare into the hall, and after closing and barring the door he led the way to an apartment on the left. Here a lamp was burning, and in a large chair sat a bearded man with sunken eyes and pale and hollow cheeks. With an eager cry he rose to his feet, and the next instant Nathan was clasped in his father's arms.

Godfrey discreetly stepped back into the hall, and when he entered the room five minutes later, the farmer had left it by a rear door. Nathan was kneeling by his father's side, and the captain's hand rested lovingly on the lad's head.

"Who is this?" he asked, looking up. "Did he come with you, my boy?"

"He is an old friend," replied Nathan, motioning Godfrey to sit down. "He saved my life. But I will explain presently. You have been very ill, father. Are you getting better and stronger now? Tell me all about it."

"I have improved wonderfully in the last week," replied Captain Stanbury, "though it will be some time before I am quite myself again. And there is but little to tell, my boy."

His face suddenly became grave, and he fixed his eyes on the floor.

"The wound I received at Monmouth was more painful than dangerous, and when I came to my senses I was a prisoner with the enemy's rear-guard of Hessians. After carrying me some miles on the retreat they brutally assaulted me with bayonets and clubbed muskets, and left me for dead along the road. This kind-hearted farmer found me and brought me here, and to him and his faithful wife I owe my recovery."

"I was sure you were alive," said Nathan. "I never quite lost hope, father, and now you will want to hear my story—"

"Yes, if you can make it brief. There are reasons, my boy. I heard of your perilous journey through Jonas Welfare, and when news of the Wyoming massacre reached me I feared greatly for your safety. God has been very good to us both."

"I will tell you all about the journey," said Nathan, "but there is something to come first." In a few words he related Noah Waxpenny's visit to the Indian Queen tavern, and mentioned the name of the legal firm that he represented. "The man was trying to find you, father," he added, "and also Major Langdon, of the British army."

Captain Stanbury's face turned even whiter, and there was a strange look in his eyes. "Sharswood & Feeman, Lincoln's Inn!" he muttered, half to himself. "It has come at last, after all these years! And at a time when I despise and spurn it for myself! But for the sake of my son—" He paused abruptly. "You should have told me this before, my boy," he added.

"I had so little chance," Nathan replied, "and most of the time I forgot it."

"And have you seen this man since?"

"That is part of my story, father. I am coming to it—"

"Go on quickly, lad. I am listening."

Accordingly, as briefly and clearly as he could, Nathan described his adventurous travels, telling how desperately Simon Glass tried to get the papers for Major Langdon, and how Godfrey saved the lives of the prisoners. He told all the leading incidents of the cruise down the river, and concluded with the escape of Noah Waxpenny from Fort Hunter and the sad death of Barnabas.

Captain Stanbury listened with a countenance as rigid as marble, and when the story was done he rose to his feet and feebly paced the floor half a dozen times. On his agitated features were depicted grief, passion, and unutterable horror. Finally he paused in front of the lads, and took Godfrey's hand in his own cold and trembling grasp. "My brave boy, I want to thank you," he said hoarsely. "Your conduct has been indeed noble. I could not feel more gratitude and respect for you were you a patriot at heart, instead of one who has clung to the cause of oppression. But party feeling shall make no breach between us. Sir, you are a hero."

Turning to Nathan he went on hastily, and with an air of confusion: "This is a terrible story, my boy, terrible. I hardly know what to make of it. By God's mercy you have escaped death a dozen times over. And so Barnabas Otter is dead! You say he perished with this Tory ruffian. A braver man, and a truer friend never lived. But the packet of papers, my boy? I fear they are lost."

"They will be recovered with the body," replied Nathan, "and if Noah Waxpenny has not been caught—"

"Never mind about him," interrupted Captain Stanbury. "The papers are the most important, and for your sake I trust they will be found."

"For my sake!" exclaimed Nathan. "Father, what does this mean? Why do you speak and act so strangely? What did Major Langdon want with the papers, and why is Noah Waxpenny seeking you both?"

Captain Stanbury pressed one hand to his brow, and a look of anguish appeared on his face. "My boy, you shall know all," he said, in a tone of hoarse resolve. "Sooner or later the truth would have to come out. Major Langdon is—"

Just then the rear door opened noisily and Jonas Welfare hurried into the room. "Captain, they are coming!" he exclaimed. "I hear the tramp of the horses on the road."

CHAPTER XVII
IN WHICH MR. WAXPENNY ASSERTS THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW, AND THE CURTAIN FALLS

"Coming, are they?" said Captain Stanbury. "Well, I am ready." He buttoned his coat across his breast, and picked up a hat that lay on the table. "Can you furnish a couple of extra mounts, Welfare?" he added.

"Yes, I can fix you," said the farmer. "I have three horses in the barn."

"Father, where are you going?" exclaimed Nathan.

"I am about to leave this noble gentleman's house for a safer refuge," Captain Stanbury answered. "To be brief, my boy, I fear I am in some danger. Last night the farmer's hireling, a surly fellow, whom I have long suspected, vanished mysteriously. I concluded that he had gone to New York to denounce me, and Welfare shared my opinion. He spent the day in beating up a score of loyal yeomen, and they are now here to take me to New Brunswick. You and Godfrey will go along, of course. The fact that the enemy have been raiding almost nightly between here and Sandy Hook, made a large escort necessary for my safety."

Meanwhile the muffled sounds of hoofs and a jangle of equipments had been heard in the yard, and, now, just as the Captain finished his explanation, there was a sharp rap on the front door.

"Is that you, Ruggles?" the farmer called loudly, as he led his companions into the hall.

"Yes," was the almost inaudible response. "Open quickly!"

"It's a strange voice!" gasped Welfare. "We are betrayed—the enemy are here!"

"Already," murmured the Captain. "It can't be possible!" Godfrey and Nathan turned pale.

There was a brief wait, and then the rap was repeated. "Open in the King's name, Jonas Welfare," demanded an angry voice.

"Who are you? What do you want?" cried the farmer.

"We want the rebel officer whom you are sheltering," came the reply. "If you value your life you will let us in at once. The house is surrounded, and it is useless to resist."

Welfare snatched two loaded muskets from a rack on the wall, and gave one to the Captain. "The first red-coat that tries to break into this house, dies," he shouted loudly.

"My good sir, this won't do," Captain Stanbury said firmly. "You shall not risk your life for mine. Open the door and let them take me."

"Never," declared the farmer. "I'll protect you as long as I can. Man, do you want to end your days on one of those rotten prison ships?"

"I am likely to die more speedily," muttered the Captain, half aloud, and a terrible expression crossed his face. "You had better open the door, Welfare," he added, "but first find a hiding-place for these lads. Their presence can hardly be known, and this one will probably be hanged if he is found here."

"I know that, sir," interrupted Godfrey, "but I will stand by the rest of you."

"And so will I, father," Nathan cried, hoarsely. "Do you think I would desert you at such a time? Mr. Welfare, can't you give me a gun or a—"

Crash! A musket butt thundered against the panels of the door. Crash! crash! The blows rained hard and fast, and the timbers began to split. The farmer cocked his weapon, and held it ready.

"I'll keep my word," he muttered. "If we can hold out a bit the yeomen may arrive—"

"By that time the house will be taken," cried Captain Stanbury. "There is only one course, Welfare." He stepped toward the door, but before he could reach it the report of a musket rang loudly, and a clatter of hoofs was heard on the road. Then came yells and cheers, the pounding ceased, and there was a rush of heavy feet off the porch. Crack! crack! crack! Firearms were blazing noisily, and the night rang to the din of angry voices and frightened and plunging steeds.

"Our fellows have arrived," cried the farmer, "and are engaging the enemy."

"God grant they conquer!" said Captain Stanbury, throwing an arm around Nathan's shoulder.

For two or three minutes the fusillade and din lasted. Then a bugle note rang clear, followed by triumphant shouts and furious clatter of hoofs.

"The enemy are off!" cried Welfare. "We are saved!"

As he spoke the porch echoed to the tread of many feet, and hearty voices demanded admission.

The farmer flung open the shattered door, and half a dozen sturdy yeomen pushed into the hall, bearing in their arms a motionless form clad in a red coat.

"We just got here in time, Jonas," cried the leader of the party. "The enemy are kitin' for Sandy Hook, with two-thirds of our boys at their heels. We shot three of 'em, but we lost poor Lige Garret. And here's a British officer with a bullet in his breast."

"Put him on the couch in the room yonder, Ruggles," said the farmer.

The wounded man was borne in and laid down, and a pillow was pressed under his head. Nathan and Godfrey, who had drawn near out of curiosity, were startled to recognize Major Langdon.

"It's all up with him," said Ruggles. "I know the signs. A little brandy might make him last longer, though it's a doubtful mercy."

"I'll get some," replied Welfare, hurrying to a closet and producing an earthen jug. A drink of the potent liquor had a speedy and reviving effect on the Major. He lifted his head a little, and opened his glassy eyes. There was blood on the breast of his coat, and a few drops oozed from his lips.

Just then Captain Stanbury came forward, and at sight of the wounded officer he uttered a low cry.

"My good fellows, I wish to speak to this man alone," he said, hoarsely. "Be assured that I have a sound reason. Pray leave us together for a few minutes. Nathan, you remain. And you, too, Godfrey."

All the rest left the room, wondering at the Captain's agitation and request. Welfare, who went last, softly closed the door after him.

For a moment Major Langdon stared silently at Captain Stanbury and the lads, and it was evident that he knew all three. His face was white with pain, but it showed no trace of anger or hatred. In his eyes was a look of unutterable self-reproach and contrition.

"Dick," he whispered faintly, "this is the end."

"Yes, I fear it is," said Captain Stanbury. "God have mercy on you! Nathan," he added, "this man is my younger brother Gerald—my brother and your uncle!"

"Your brother!" gasped Nathan, and Godfrey uttered a cry of astonishment.

"It is a strange story," resumed the Captain. "Let me tell it in a few words. My father was the Earl of Ravenswood, and at Ravenswood Court, near Nottingham, in England, the three brothers of us were brought up. Anthony, the eldest, died in 1760, and that same year I married the daughter of a retired sea-captain of Bristol. Mary Harding was the equal of any woman in the world, but my father chose to think that I had disgraced him and the family. We had a bitter quarrel, and he disowned me and cast me out. Being the oldest living son, I was then Lord Langdon, but I cared nothing for the title. I came to Philadelphia under an assumed name, Nathan, and there you were born and my beloved wife died. Since then I have lived only for you, my boy, and that you might some day come into your inheritance, I preserved the papers relating to my marriage and your birth. They were in the packet you found under the floor of my cabin. And from the day I left England I neither saw nor heard of my brother Gerald until we met after the battle of Monmouth."

Captain Stanbury sank into a chair, covering his face with his hands, and for a moment there was deep silence. Nathan neither moved nor spoke. It was a strange story he had just heard. So Major Langdon was his father's brother—his own uncle! The mystery was growing clear, and he shrank from what he suspected was to come.

Godfrey seemed also to understand, for there was a look of fixed horror on his face.

"Dick," said Major Langdon, "it's my turn now. I can't last long, and I want to confess—"

"No, no," interrupted Captain Stanbury. "Let that rest, Gerald. It can do no good to tell it."

"But I must," persisted the dying man, in a shrill voice. "Do you think I can go to my grave with such a burden on my soul? I came here to-night to kill you, Dick, and I have been justly punished. God knows I am repentant—"

"I believe you are, Gerald."

"Thank you, Dick. Now let me speak while I can—let me tell it all. I recognized my nephew in Philadelphia, and you I discovered on the field of Monmouth. I heard you speak of the papers, and it was then I first conceived this awful crime. I wanted the title and estates—I wanted to be Earl of Ravenswood, Dick, and you and your son stood in the way. But I hated you both because you were rebels, else I could hardly have gone so far. I had you carried off the field, and I told the Hessians to kill you—"

"I suspected that, Gerald. I saw and recognized you when you rode by me to the rear. But I was too weak to speak."

"And do you know what I did next, Dick? Do you know that I sent a band of ruffians to steal the papers—that I paid Simon Glass to kill your boy—my own nephew?"

"Yes, I know that, too. I heard it from Nathan, who was mercifully saved from death."

"And can you forgive me, Dick? I have no right to ask it, but I am truly repentant. You won't refuse a dying man?"

Captain Stanbury leaned over and took his brother's hand.

"Gerald, I do forgive you," he said. "I have no right to be a judge, and you are paying the last penalty of your sins."

A look that was almost peaceful came into Major Langdon's eyes. He gasped for breath, and feebly raised his head higher.

"I shall die happier now," he said, "as happy as any man in my circumstances can. But what are you doing here, Spencer? I can't understand it."

In a few words Godfrey explained, and the Major smiled faintly. "You did right, my lad," he whispered. "I am glad that Glass is dead, and that he failed in his purpose. What a wretch I have been! I sent you along, Spencer, so that Glass would know my nephew from his resemblance to you. It is a strange likeness, and I have often wondered at it."

He was silent for a moment, struggling with pain and weakness. When Godfrey poured some brandy between his teeth his face flushed and he gained fresh strength.

"Dick," he whispered, turning to his brother, "you will go home now, won't you? I received a brief letter a month ago informing me of father's death. So you are the Earl of Ravenswood, and your son is Lord Langdon."

"I want neither the title nor the estates," exclaimed Captain Stanbury, almost fiercely. "I am a true American, Gerald, and after what I have seen of this bitter war I wish no more to do with England. And yet, for my son's sake—"

"I, too, am a true American, father," interrupted Nathan, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Do you think I would go and live in England?—that I would take title or fortune from King George, our bitterest foe? Never, father, never! My blood boils when I think of Wyoming! Let us stay here and fight for our rights, like true patriots. I am glad those papers are lost, and I hope they will never be found."

"Nobly said, my boy!" cried Captain Stanbury, in a voice that shook with emotion. "I would not have had you choose otherwise—"

At that instant a commotion arose outside—loud voices mingled with the neighing and clatter of horses. The front door opened, and a strangely familiar sound brought the hot blood to Nathan's cheeks. Then footsteps crossed the hall, and into the room strode Barnabas Otter.

The scene that followed can be better imagined than told. With a grin of pleasure Barnabas shook hands with his friends, thereby convincing them that he was not a ghost. Nathan was half-laughing, half-crying, as he embraced the old man, and looked almost incredulously into his rugged face. Major Langdon watched the scene curiously; his glazing eyes and leaden hue told that the end was very near.

"It's me, sure enough," cried Barnabas, when the first greetings were over. "Here's your papers, Captain," producing the packet from his boot. Captain Stanbury shrugged his shoulders as he took them, and Nathan did not try to hide his disappointment.

"So they aren't any account after all, lad," said Barnabas, in a sympathetic tone. "It's hard luck! You see I've been made acquainted with the whole story."

"What do you mean?" asked Nathan.

"You'll know soon," Barnabas replied. "Wait till I tell you how I escaped death—it's not a long yarn. You may remember that the Carson House stands on the Susquehanna half a mile below the Kittochtinny Falls. It seems that after Braddock's defeat the family dug a secret passage from the cellar of the house to the river, so's they might escape by water in case of an Indian attack. Well, Glass an' I were sucked under the bushes into the secret mouth of that passage. We were both unconscious at the time, an' when I come to after a bit I didn't know where I was. I hollered three or four times, an' down come Carson an' his son with lanterns. Simon Glass was stone dead, an' I reckon they buried him the next day. I pushed right up to Fort Hunter, learned from Corporal Dubbs where you lads were gone, an' then struck for Harris's Ferry. There I run across Noah Waxpenny—"

"So the sergeant didn't catch him?" interrupted Nathan.

"No, lad. We came on together to Philadelphia, and then across the Jersies here. Waxpenny is out yonder now, washin' off the dust of travel. He's a queer chap, but—"

Just then Mr. Waxpenny himself entered the room, looking as fresh and clean as though he had just stepped off ship.

"I am informed that Major Gerald Langdon is here," he said, rubbing his lean fingers. "Also Captain Richard Stanbury and his son. I have the honor to represent the firm of Sharswood & Feeman, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn, London. They sent me to this country in the interests of their late estimable client, the Earl of Ravenswood—"

"Your errand is already known," the Major interrupted, faintly. "My minutes are numbered, and what you have to tell no longer concerns me. But there stands the new Earl of Ravenswood, and his son, Lord Langdon."

"Sir, these gentlemen have no claim to the titles," said Mr. Waxpenny.

"No claim?" demanded the Major. Nathan and his father looked surprised, and Barnabas nodded at them meaningly.

"I said no claim," repeated Mr. Waxpenny. "The Earl had—a third and elder son, Anthony—"

"He died years ago," gasped Major Langdon.

"Exactly, sir; but he left a wife and son behind him."

Having made this announcement Mr. Waxpenny paused a moment to enjoy its thrilling effect. "Anthony Langdon was a wild and dissipated young man," he continued. "Under an assumed name he was married in London in the year 1759. In the following year, after a son had been born to him, he tired of his family, deserted them, and came home. A week later he was stabbed in a drunken brawl in Nottingham. Before he died he confessed his marriage to his father, who chose, for reasons that may be understood, to keep the secret locked in his own bosom."

Mr. Waxpenny stopped to stroke his chin. "The deserted wife," he resumed, "was a proud and high-spirited woman. Feeling satisfied that her husband had tired of her, she emigrated to America with her father and her son, where the Earl kept track of them for a time. They were worthy and upright people, and the knowledge of this fact doubtless prompted him to make confession and restitution on his deathbed. By the terms of his will, which was entrusted to my employers, one-half of the estate is divided equally between his sons Gerald and Richard. The other half goes to Anthony's son, who is the rightful Earl of Ravenswood."

"Have you found him?" asked the major.

"I regret to say that I have made no progress as yet," replied Mr. Waxpenny. "The lad would now be eighteen years of age. The name of his maternal grandfather was Matthew Marsham, and he himself was called by the assumed name of his father, Godfrey Spencer—"

Godfrey sprang forward, his face as pale as ashes. "Sir, my grandfather was Matthew Marsham," he cried. "I am Godfrey Spencer, and my mother is still living."

Mr. Waxpenny tried hard to preserve his legal dignity, but the effort was vain. "You are Godfrey Spencer?" he exclaimed excitedly. "Yes, you have the family likeness. And can you prove your claim?"

"My mother has the papers, sir—the certificate of her marriage and my birth."

"Then you are the Earl of Ravenswood," declared Mr. Waxpenny, rubbing his hands with delight. "My Lord, I congratulate you." He made the lad a sweeping and impressive bow.

Godfrey blushed with confusion, and looked around him in a dazed manner. "It seems like a dream," he said. "I can hardly realize it. Major Langdon is my uncle, and so are you, Captain Stanbury—"

"And you and I are cousins, Godfrey," cried Nathan. "I am glad to hear of your good fortune, and I don't envy you one bit. I wish you all happiness and prosperity."

"Thank you, Nathan," Godfrey replied huskily, and the lads affectionately clasped hands.

It is now time to drop the curtain. After several hours of unconsciousness, Major Langdon died peacefully at daybreak, and was buried a few hours later in a grove of oaks near the farmer's house. As soon as the sad ceremony was over the whole party started for New Brunswick, under the escort of the yeomen.

From there Godfrey and Noah Waxpenny pushed on to New York. The lad was sick of the war, and a week later he sailed, with his mother and the law-clerk, for England, where he speedily proved his claim to the title and estate of the deceased Earl of Ravenswood.

Captain Stanbury, Nathan, and Barnabas rejoined Washington's army, and fought bravely until the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown ended the long struggle, and gave the United Colonies their freedom.

A few months later Godfrey persuaded his uncle to accept half of the late earl's estate, and with a portion of the money, Captain Richard Langdon—to give him his rightful name—bought a handsome property in the suburbs of Philadelphia. There he and Nathan lived happily together, keeping up their old friendship with Cornelius De Vries, and occasionally visited by Barnabas Otter, who had gone back to his beloved Wyoming Valley at the close of the war.

In after years, when his father was at rest on the banks of the Delaware, Nathan made more than one visit to his ancestral home in England, where he and Godfrey lived over again in the past, and the ties of kinship that connected the cousins were not more strong than the memory of the distant days when they had suffered and fought together for the sake of Captain Stanbury's mysterious papers.

THE END