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hope for forgiveness at thy hand? But I must struggle with my feelings. Unchangeable, lasting as time itself, will be my love for her; and yet she, or her proud relatives, shall never know it. Encompassed by foes, groaning beneath unjust oppression, I will bear my wrongs in silence. The chain which binds my hands galls not like that around my heart. Were she but here; could I gaze, for a moment, on her sweet face, hear her voice, dearer than tones of music; could I but throw myself one instant at her feet, and breathe forth the secret of my soul, she might not pity her insane adorer, but he could expire in worship at her feet!"

On a bed of straw, in the dark apartments | ized form, oh! Agnes, shall I not at least of a prison, sat a young man, leaning his head against the cold, damp wall. Barely sufficient light and air were admitted to shed one transient gleam of gladness upon his heart, or to cool his parched lips. His food stood untasted by his side, and the burning sense of wrong seared his brain; yet there was within his bosom a soul which soared above the bitterness of his lot. No person could enthral its aspirations, no fetters bind it down. Beyond the narrow bounds of his lone cell the free spirit of the prisoner was roaming over the tented field, where his brave compatriots were contending for their rights. A few short days before, and he was of the foremost in that gallant array. The taint of cowardice had never rested on him; and yet, was it a sense of degradation? was it the whisperings of a troubled conscience, that caused him to press his aching brow with his clasped hands, and curse the hour he was born to misery and wo? "They think me mad," he soliloquized, "to indulge hopes that are likely to be frustrated, and for which my life will have to atone. If I have lifted my thoughts to one so far above me, above mortality-for who could aspire to equal her?-if I have almost borne the brand of cowardice, the taunt of shame, to avoid rebuke from those dear lips, to ward off the arm of Fate stretched over that idol

"Louis!" whispered a voice at his side; "alas! this is even worse than I anticipated." Starting to his feet, the young man gazed upon the shrouded figure before him, almost doubting the evidence of his senses. He would have thrown himself at her feet, but Agnes-for it was indeed she-calmly laid her hand upon his arm, and entreated him to be composed, or she should leave the cell without revealing the errand upon which she came.

"I fear you will despise me for thus forgetting my station," said the young lady, in an agitated tone of voice; "indeed, I was not sure that it was yourself who was confined here like a common criminal, until a

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few hasty lines from my brother informed me of the peril in which you stood."

"Then it is only as her brother's friend that I have excited the compassion of Agnes Fletcher," said the prisoner, in a proud and bitter tone.

"You do me injustice, Louis," replied Agnes, with an effort to repress her feelings. "I have felt deeply for the unfortunate prisoners whom my uncle, in the strictness of martial law, has seen fit to deprive of their liberty. As I before told you, I was ignorant that you were among the number, until my brother's hasty message arrived; and he besought me to do all in my power to alleviate the situation of his friend. indifferent, should I now be here? and oh! more than this-obliged to make a confident of a menial, who has been my companion and conductor hither!"

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With passionate fervor did the captive youth plead for the forgiveness of her whom he felt he had judged too harshly. The tenderness of her speech, the compassionate glance of her beautiful eyes, so long the "starlight of his loyhood," won their way to the inmost recesses of his heart. Almost choking with mingled emotions, he replied:

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"Captivity I could bear with firmness; but to be caged in a jail, like a common felon-debarred from the light of heaven, and the privileges of my rank and station is it not enough to change every warmer feeling of my soul to gall and bitterness?" The tears of Agnes fell fast-but what consolation had she to offer? She was conscious that her uncle acted with undue severity to those who were so unfortunate as to fall into his power; and often had her gentle heart bled in secret over their misfortunes. To pity, to sympathize with them, was all she could do. But now, when one whose memory had lingered around her solitude, whose image could not be erased from her heart, and whose destiny seemed interwoven with that of her idolized brother -now that he was the victim, it was agony indeed! She had visited the cell to speak consolation to her brother's friend, but she

felt how powerless were words to alleviate the sufferings of the heart.

At the sight of tears from her who had appeared to him only as a vision of light and beauty, moving in a sphere so far removed from his, that it seemed folly to seek to approach it, Louis could not restrain the feelings which had been so long kept in subjection. He told her of his love, his longcherished, his hopeless love, and she listened in silence, but without a frown, although those precious tears fell faster and faster. She knew it was a hopeless love. She felt,

"As soon the powers

Of light and darkness can combine,
As he be linked with me or mine!"

yet she sought not to prevent that passionate avowal of affection. Louis did not ask, he did not wish an answer to his pleading. He read it in those drooping eyelids, those silent tears. In a moment the whole current of his life was changed. The dim, dark cell became to him a paradise, and he could scarcely realize that the whole was not a mere illusion of the senses, until the voice of Agnes roused him to consciousness.

"Is there no way," she asked, "of freeing you from this gloomy place? My brother mentioned that an exchange of prisoners. might be effected, and that he should use all his influence to bring it about. I am sure he would be shocked to learn that his early playmate was in such a place as this."

Louis rose, and paced the floor with rapid steps.

"That might have been done, as your brother suggests, Miss Fletcher, but, alas! I have involved myself too deeply. I fear they will exchange any other in preference."

Agnes looked up in surprise. "You have not been so unguarded as to expose yourself to any serious danger, Mr. Bradford ?"

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started to her side, and clasping her unresisting hands in both his own: "Yes, Agnes," said he, in a melancholy tone of voice," my rash love for you has been my ruin. To convey to you assurance of your brother's safety after the battle in which he was wounded and left to my care, I passed the pickets of the enemy, and, thinking myself unobserved, held a conversation with a man who has been long known as a spy. This person I employed to convey the letter to your hands. We were overheard, Agnes! He was put to death in a cruel manner, and without examination. What became of the letter I know not, but the consequences you see in my present situation. I am here, unable to justify my conduct, and without doubt my blood alone can satisfy your stern relative."

"Oh, say not so!" exclaimed the distressed girl; "I will plead for you. I will"-tell all, she would have said, but she checked herself, and a burning blush overspread her beautiful face. At this moment her attendant opened the door of the cell, and reminded her that the sentinel would soon go the rounds, and they must instantly retreat. Hastily concealing her tearful face in her mantle, Agnes rose, and, scarcely conscious, suffered her lover to clasp her for an instant to his heart, and then, taking the arm of her companion, she returned to her own apartment, from which she was soon after summoned to the presence of her uncle.

Agnes Fletcher was the descendant of a noble English family, whose members had perished, one by one, till a younger brother and herself were the only ones remaining. During the settlement of Massachusetts, her father, enchanted by the natural scenery of the New World, and with the faint hope of saving the lives of his two motherless children, by removing them to another climate, purchased an estate near the town of Framingham, and removed thither in 1774. He lived but to complete the arrangements of his lovely residence, and at his death confided his orphan children to the care of their maternal uncle, Gen. Howe. The only neighbor

of Mr. Fletcher was a gentleman by the name of Bradford, who had met with immense losses in the French war, and whose estate had been sold piecemeal, Mr. Fletcher being the principal purchaser. The children of the two families had been early associated, and Louis Bradford and Edward Fletcher became bosom friends. Mr. Bradford did not encourage this intimacy, for, prouder in misfortune than he even was in prosperity, he could not bear the idea that his children should feel their obligations to the Fletcher family. But when he looked upon the frank and open brow of Edward Fletcher, he felt that his poor Louis would never have aught of taunt or insult to fear from him. The two boys were united in every pursuit, and the beautiful little Agnes was the object of their joint care and affection, while the name of "brother" was given as freely to Louis as to Edward. Time, however, wrought other changes. The two fathers were no more. The heirs of Mr. Fletcher were resigned to the guardianship of their English relative, and the portionless Louis and his two brothers, who were yet too young to feel their dependence, took up their abode with a maiden aunt in Boston. At the commencement of the Revolution, Edward Fletcher was made a lieutenant in the British army, while his youthful friend received the title of captain, under the banner of General Washington. Agnes was placed at a female seminary in Boston, and Louis and herself had met frequently in society. But the young soldier felt that she was "Sister Agnes" no longer. A gulf seemed placed between them, which he, at least, considered impassable. Agnes felt otherwise. Not all the adulation of the great, not all the distinctions of wealth and rank, could banish the image of Louis from her heart. Yet, accustomed to conceal her real feelings under the cold garb of indifference, he whom she thus preferred in secret was met, in public, with the same formality as others, and he had never dreamed of a return to his longcherished and hopeless passion. Louis and Edward, though obliged to meet in hostile

array on the field of battle, had never entirely broken the tie of friendship so early formed; and the kind care of Bradford, when his former companion fell into his hands, wounded and a prisoner, had strengthened their affection. Louis was now in the hands of the implacable Howe, and Edward determined to return the kind services rendered to him, by effecting his restoration to liberty. For this purpose he wrote to his sister, mentioning the name of the captive, and consigning him to her care, while detained by the General. It was with some difficulty that the young lady obtained an interview with the prisoner. She faintly hoped that her brother was mistaken in his person, and it was principally to assure herself of his identity, that she visited the prison. She left it with renewed fears for his safety; but happy thoughts were mingled with those fears. She was beloved! He had risked his life for her; and she prepared to meet her uncle with the resolution of effecting the escape of Bradford, no matter what the consequences might be to herself.

Agnes entered the room, trembling with apprehension. Her uncle greeted her with a smile.

"I have sent for you, Agnes, to mention a proposition which I have just received for your hand. My friend, Captain Chester, of the Royal Guards, has my permission to address you. He is a fine fellow, and loyal to his king-a great recommendation in these times of rebels and traitors. He was chiefly instrumental in arresting that young rascal, whose head is likely to pay the penalty of his folly. But what ails the girl? Hester! a glass of water; your mistress is fainting!"

"I am well, quite well, uncle,” said Agnes, sensible that every thing depended upon her composure, and that to avoid suspicion she must assume indifference, if she did not feel it.

"You are pining for the fresh air of the country, child. I must send you to Canada to recruit your spirits. I have observed that you have drooped ever since your re

turn thence. These close streets, and this continual tumult, are no preservatives of beauty and bloom. Your mother was of the true English blood, and never fainted in her life; but you are all nerves and sensibility. Then, too, the commotion caused by the arrival of these prisoners may have agitated you. Have you seen them, Agnes ?"

"I saw the unfortunate men as they entered the court-yard," replied Agnes in a low voice.

"Unfortunate! Umph! Pity they were not all strung up as they deserve, and Mr. Washington along with them. Their leaders merit the gallows as much as they do, for they have led them into error."

"But they do not consider that they are committing an error in fighting for their liberty, uncle."

"Tut, tut, girl; you know not what you are talking about. It would be a mercy to the country if all these troublesome miscreants were exterminated, that we might breathe in peace once more."

"No one would rejoice more than myself, uncle, at the restoration of peace-a blessing so long denied to my unhappy country!"

"Ha!" exclaimed General Howe, turning sharply upon her; "I trust you insinuate no rebellion by that expression 'unhappy country.' England is your country, child, and as Captain Chester's wife, I hope to see you settled there yet, in all the splendor of your ancestors."

"I have no wish to marry, uncle."

"The usual language of romantic girls! When you become better acquainted with the gallant Captain, you will change your mind."

"My mind is already made up with regard to the Captain," said Agnes. "If I ever marry at all, it will be him, most assuredly!"

General Howe dropped the paper from his hands in undisguised amazement, at this sudden and almost unfeminine acceptance of his proposed suitor. Agnes noticed the

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