Remember that we—" The reply stopped, for a woman's voice broke in.

"How's the young gentleman?" inquired a loud feminine whisper with an unmistakable brogue.

"I'm just going in to see how fares it with him," was the response.

Carter dropped back on the pillow, and half closed his eyelids. There was a small mirror at the foot of the bed, and in the reflection he saw the door open and a face peep in. He caught a glimpse of a pair of keen eyes, a large nose, and a strong determined jaw. Immediately the door closed.

"He's asleep," was whispered out in the hall. "'Tis the best thing; when he wakens you can ask him questions. But not a word as to who fetched him here."

"No, sur, not a word," the woman replied.

Whether it was the suggestion contained in the warning or not that worked the charm, it is hard to tell. The fact was, however, that in a moment Carter began to snore. It was dusk when he awakened the second time. He felt much stronger, and a flood of recollections that had not bothered him before came over him.

"Where was George? I hope and trust he's safe; God grant so," he said out loud. Then he weakly stepped out on the floor, and made his way to the window. "Hullo!" he said; "I know where I am, thank goodness." He had looked out on the Battery green. "Now to find out to whom I am indebted," he added, walking to the door. "Ahem," he said, loudly, to attract attention. Then, "I beg pardon. Is there any one in?"

No answer, although Carter thought he heard a movement up stairs. Again he called, then he whistled.

"They must be all out—or dead!" he ejaculated. "What am I to do for clothes?"

As he turned back into the room he saw a much-worn coat hanging over a chair, a pair of shoes with brass buckles, and some thick yarn stockings. He tried them on; the coat was a trifle tight, so were the shoes, but he squeezed into them, and went down the stairway. No one was there.

"Well, I can't wait to thank my unknown friends to-day," he said; "I'll call again." He slowly walked out of the doorway, looking over his shoulder every step or so.

It had grown very dark in the last few minutes, so dark that a number of people had lit candles in their houses. Carter noticed that they shone with a peculiar greenish light; some shutters were closed noisily. When he reached the green he paused. Many a thunder-storm had he seen gathering before, but never a sight like that. To the south-west rose a sheer wall of blue-black cloud, and overhead were circling and twisting huge billows, like the smoke of burning tar; a few big drops spattered out of the sky. But there was dead silence—not a sound of thunder or a quiver of light.

"Looks like rain," said a facetious burgher, who stood with gaping mouth and face upturned.

Carter did not answer, but hurried on; somehow he felt that he was dreaming. He had half expected to see the British fleet anchored off the Battery. There was not a sail in sight, so he made straight for the headquarters of George's regiment, praying that there they would have news of him.

"No one's heard of Sergeant Frothingham since yester-morning," replied a number of George's squad. "He got leave for a day and hain't come back," the man added, grinning.

This was the first intimation Carter had that he had been unconscious twenty-four hours. He felt sick at heart. His regiment was over on Long Island, his father was there also, and he knew few people in the town. George's commander was his own cousin, however, and getting the direction of Captain Clarkson's house, he started out. It was dark as a mine shaft in the street—hardly light enough to see the walk ahead.

The young soldier plunged through the door of a public-house only a few steps further on. It had commenced to blow, and the wind roared furiously in the swaying elms outside. Occasionally the lightning made it bright as day. Carter sank into a big oak chair.

"Ah, Lieutenant Hewes! Not over on the island?" said some one, clapping his hand on the lad's shoulder. "Where have you been?"

"I do not know exactly," murmured Carter, faintly, looking up at the handsome face of Lieutenant Alexander Hamilton, whom he had met often on the drill-grounds.

"That means there's a story to be told," went on the other. "Come, join me in my dining. Don't let the elements interfere with our natural appetites."

Carter did not know that part of his faintness came from lack of food. But when a big bit of tender mutton was placed before him, he ate with every mouthful putting life into him.

As he was about to begin to tell the tale of adventure of the previous day he felt something hard in the lining of the borrowed coat, and inserting his fingers, he drew forth a small note-book; he uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"George Frothingham—his book, 1774," he read, and sat there too astonished to speak. "That was the year he left school—to go to Mr. Wyeth's," said Carter out loud. Again the anguish and fear shook him, for it recalled the last time he had seen George's face, and this book in the pocket of a strange coat. What meant it?

Lieutenant Hamilton looked as if he feared that his friend's senses had left him suddenly.

"Let us have the story, Comrade Hewes," he said.

But it was never to be told. An interruption occurred just then that changed the current of every thought, and stirred the room to a pitch of action.

The door was burst open, and a man dripping with rain came in; he carried a lantern, whose light had been extinguished.

"Oh! but it's a frightful night for a body to be out," he said. "Three persons were killed by the thunder-bolts on Broadway. But have ye heard the cannon firing?"

"You're crazy," said some one. "Cannon on such a night as this! But, hearkee!"

Three distinct reports sounded in quick succession.

"That's no thunder," said the landlord.

"The signal guns!" exclaimed Lieutenant Hamilton.

Again the door was forced open, and, accompanied by a blast of wind and rain, a soldier plunged into the room. His hat was gone, and his loose hair was plastered down his face.

"A spy has arrived through the storm from Staten Island!" he shouted. "The British are landing in force at Gravesend. Officers are ordered to their commands at once."

[to be continued.]

A NEW LIFE.

FLORENCE HALLOWELL HOYT.

CHAPTER VII.

Ten days after the lawn party Aunt Patty and Cynthia were alone once more in the old farm-house, for Ida had departed to Rocky Beach to spend the month of August with Angela Leverton.

She went away in gay good humor, eager—as are all young people—for a change. But she was very affectionate when she parted with her aunt and sister.

"I do wish you were going also, Cynthia," she said.

Cynthia's plain, sweet face lighted up with pleasure.

"Do you, really?" she asked.

"Yes, I do, really," answered Ida. "I would be willing to stay at home myself if you could go in my stead, Cynthia."

She gave a pleasant greeting to old Jake Storm when the stage stopped for her; and as it bore her away she waved her handkerchief from a window until the old farm-house and the two watchers at the gate were no longer to be seen. How little she dreamed what was to happen to her before she saw Brookville again!

"How we miss Ida!" said Aunt Patty or Cynthia half a dozen times a day during the next week, and with what pleasure they read her frequent letters! Their tone was entirely different from that of those she had written during her stay at Aunt Stina's.

"She actually inquires about Moses," laughed Cynthia one day, as she laid down a letter just received from Ida.

As Moses was only a lame white turkey, this interest on Ida's part seemed surprising when