Levin tried to construct Phoebus in a mood to give some other advice,
but, as the resolute pungy captain's form seemed to bestride the young
man's mind, it rose more and more stalwart, and appeared to lead towards
Dover, where so many poor souls, in the joys of intercourse and freedom,
were like little birds unconscious of the hawks above them, and no man
in the world but Levin Dennis could save them from death or bondage.
Would James Phoebus, with his lion nature, ever hesitate in the duty
of a citizen and a Christian under such circumstances, or forgive
another man for withholding information that might be life and liberty
and mercy?
Yet there was Van Dorn to be betrayed. What would Van Dorn do in Levin's
place?
The words of Van Dorn, not a quarter of an hour old, spoke aloud in
Levin's echoing consciousness: "Think nothing of me. Refer every act to
some faithful man and go and do the same!"
Levin looked up, and the very clouds, now swollen dark in spite of
starshine, seemed hurrying on Dover. The night-birds were crying "Mercy!
mercy!" the lizards and tree-frogs seemed to cross each other's voices,
piping "Time! time! time!"
"_Huldy!_" Levin whispered, and let the reins fall loose, and his animal
darted through Camden town to the north.
He had gone by the small frame houses, the Quaker meeting, the stores,
the outskirt residences, when suddenly his horse turned out to pass a
large, dark object in the road ahead, and a horseman rode right across
Levin's course, forcing his animal back on its haunches.
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