_Bentley's Prayer_ As he spoke, a fresh youthful voice was heard in the hall.

"Father, Kate, where are you?
Come see our string of-- Why, what's all this ?" said a young man, standing astonished in the door of the room.

It was Philip Wilton, holding a long string of fish, the result of their day's sport; behind him stood the tall stalwart figure of the old sailor.
"Talbot--you?
Where are father and Kate?
What are these men doing in the dining-room?
Oh, what is that ?" he said, shrinking back in horror from the corpse of the soldier.
"Dunmore's raiders have been here." "And Katharine ?" "A prisoner, with your father, Philip, but I trust both are uninjured." "Mr.Seymour, sir, where is he ?" said the deep voice of the boatswain, as he advanced farther into the room.

The light fell full upon him.
He was a splendid specimen of athletic manhood; tall, powerful, long-armed, slightly bent in the shoulders; decision and courage were seen in his bearing, and were written on his face, burned a dull mahogany color by years of exposure to the weather.

He was clothed in the open shirt and loose trousers of a seafaring man, and he stood with his feet slightly apart, as if balancing himself to the uneasy roll of a ship.