and a couple of sharp words of command, a confused tumult arose and Jenkins was heard expostulating in loud and indignant tones in the tap-room. Next a door banged open, and the lower hall echoed to the tread of booted feet.

For a few seconds after the disturbance began the occupants of the little room stared at one another in dazed terror.

"The note has been found," gasped Timothy Matlack, "and British soldiers have come to search the house. We will all be hanged!"

"They must catch us first," exclaimed Nathan, extinguishing the candle with a puff, and darting to the window. "We are trapped," he added, with a gloomy glance at the street below. "Two grenadiers are on the pavement."

"Thee may get out by the rear of the house," hoarsely replied Anthony Benezet. "Those papers will be our death-warrant if the enemy take them. Thee must escape, lad—thee must. Quick! there is not an instant to lose."

"But you?" demurred Nathan.

"Friend Matlack and myself will remain quietly here," replied the old Quaker. "The note can but cause suspicion. There will be no proof against us, with thee out of the way. Here, take this. I had forgotten to give it to thee. Use it only in self-defense." In the darkness he pressed a heavy, brass-barreled pistol into the lad's hands.

"I will do my best," muttered Nathan. "If I am shot tell my father—" A lump rose in his throat, and without finishing the sentence he opened the door and stepped into the hall. Fortunately the invading party had halted below while Jenkins tardily fetched them a light, and now they were but two-thirds the distance up the staircase. In the front was a stern and handsome officer, with a naked sword in one hand and a glass lantern held high in the other. The flashing light shone behind him on the red coats and fierce countenances of half a dozen grenadiers.

Nathan saw all this at a brief glance, and recognized, with a thrill of anger, the face of Godfrey Spencer among his foes. He was himself instantly discovered as he turned and sped along the hall.

"Halt, in the King's name!" roared the officer. "Halt or die!"

On dashed Nathan, his heart thumping with terror as the din and clatter of pursuit rang behind him. He knew all about the house and its surroundings, and a dozen strides brought him to an angle of the hall. He slipped round the corner, and dimly saw, twenty feet ahead, a small window that opened from the rear of the house.

He was but half way to it when a bright light streamed over him, and glancing backward he saw the officer turn the angle at the head of his men. Eager shouts told that they believed their victim to be trapped.

It was a terrible crisis for the lad. Either he must check the enemy or abandon hope of escape, and he realized this in the flash of a second. He halted, faced about, and took quick aim with his pistol.

"Look out, Major Langdon," cried a warning voice. "He's going to shoot."

Bang! The thunderous report shook the building. The shattered lantern crashed to the floor, followed by total darkness, a yell of pain, and a volley of curses and threats.

Amid the drifting smoke Nathan darted on to the window, threw up the sash, and let it fall with a clatter as he vaulted safely down upon the low roof of a shed.

He was just in time. Crack! crack! crack!—bullets whistled overhead, and broken glass and splinters showered about him as he half tumbled, half climbed to the ground. In a trice he was through the stable-yard and over a wall into Third Street, across that deserted thoroughfare, and speeding through a dark and narrow lane in the direction of the Delaware River.

There was dull shouting and outcry behind Nathan as he ran on, still clutching the empty pistol, and keeping a keen watch right and left; but he heard no close pursuit, and there were no dwelling-houses on the lane to imperil his present safety.

"I'm going the wrong way," he said to himself, "but I daren't turn now. I hope I didn't kill that British officer—I never shot at any one before, and I hated to do it. One of the soldiers called him Major Langdon—why, that's the man who is going to put Godfrey on his staff, and the same that the London law clerk was inquiring about. Well, if I killed him I'm not to blame. It was in self-defense, and for my country's sake. If I'm caught they'll surely hang me—but I'm not going to be caught. These dispatches," feeling to make sure he had the precious packet, "must be saved from the enemy, and it won't be my fault if I don't deliver them at Valley Forge before morning."

The plucky lad had now reached Second Street, and finding no one in sight, he turned up-town on a rapid walk. He had passed Market Street and was near Arch when he heard faint shouts, and looking back he saw a group of dark figures in pursuit.

"They've tracked me clear from the tavern," he muttered, "and it won't be easy to give them the slip."

He began to run now, with the hue and cry swelling behind him. He did not dare to turn into Arch Street, seeing people moving here and there in both directions; so he continued up Second, slinking along in the shadow of the houses.

From a doorstep across the way some one shouted, and the human blood-hounds down the street caught up the cry with hoarse energy. The rush of many feet rang on the night air, and the tumult was rapidly spreading to the more remote quarters of the town.

Nathan ran doggedly and swiftly on, looking in vain for a place of hiding, and knowing that the occasional lamp-posts he passed revealed his flying form to the enemy. Above Race Street a sour-visaged man—evidently a Tory citizen—leapt forward from one side with a demand to stop. "Get out of the way," the lad muttered fiercely, aiming his empty weapon. The coward fell back with lusty shouting, which was heard and understood by the approaching soldiers.

Breathless and panting, Nathan turned west into Vine Street. With flagging strength and courage he kept on in his flight, realizing that unless some unforeseen help intervened he must soon be caught. Louder and nearer rang the roar of the pursuit, and a glance behind showed him the eager mob, led by red-coated grenadiers, within a hundred yards.

With a desperate spurt the lad pushed on. Up the street beyond him he heard cries and saw people running excitedly. "It's no use; I'm trapped," he muttered, and just then he made a discovery that sent a thrill of hope to his heart.

On Vine Street, a few yards from Cable Lane, was the house of Mr. Whitehead. Here Colonel Abercrombie was quartered, and a horse belonging to that officer, or to a visitor of rank, was standing before the door in care of a small boy. It was a large and handsome bay, and from each saddle-bag peeped the shiny butt of a pistol.

"What's the fuss about?" asked the small boy—who was Mr. Whitehead's son Jonas—as the fugitive pulled up breathlessly in front of him. "All that mob ain't chasing you, are they? Did you steal something?"

"No, but I'm going to," panted Nathan, with make-believe ferocity. He lifted the empty pistol. "Give me that horse. Don't make a whimper. I'll shoot you."

Terrified by the threat and weapon, Jonas let go the bridle and fled to the pavement. Nathan swung himself into the saddle, clapped feet in the stirrups, and gave the bridle a tug that swung the horse around and started it across the street. The rush and roar of the pursuers rang in his ears, blending with a shrill cry from Jonas. He heard the house door fly open, and the voices of Colonel Abercrombie and other officers raised in a profane howl. Then he was clattering madly up the