CHAPTER XVII—AN UNWELCOME ENCOUNTER

“He stood alone—A renegade

Against the Country he betrayed.”

Peggy leaned against the fence for support, trembling violently. General Arnold was evidently bound for the palace, and she must pass him if she continued on her way to the hospital. The thought of running back to the house, and waiting until he had passed came to her, but she found herself incapable of moving. Peggy was obliged to resign herself to the encounter.

The scarlet and gold of the British uniform well became him, Peggy could not but observe. His dark, handsome face looked impassively from under his laced, cocked hat, and with quickening heart-throbs she saw that he still limped. Wildly she hoped that he would pass by without noticing her, and she watched his approach with a sort of fascination.

The birds sang merrily above her head, flitting fromtree to tree across the blue of the sky. From the topmost bough of a near-by mulberry tree an oriole poured forth a flood of melody. A fresh river breeze bearing on its wings the odors of the sea stirred the maiden’s hair and touched her flushed cheeks with refreshing coolness.

Alas! as he came directly in front of her he raised his eyes, and then stopped abruptly with an exclamation of surprise and wonder.

“Why! it is Miss Peggy Owen, is it not?” he asked with a genial smile.

“Yes,” answered she faintly. “It is, Fr——” then she stopped. The word friend stuck in her throat. She could not utter it. Friend? Nay, he was not that. He had forfeited the title forever. And so, after a brief hesitation, she continued: “It is I, in truth, General Arnold.”

A flush had come into his swarthy face as she substituted the title “general” for friend. He bent his dark compelling eye upon her with wistful eagerness.

“Miss Peggy,” he said, holding out his hand with a winning smile, “we are both a long way from home. I little thought to findmy girl friend down here. I give you greeting.”

“And I give thee greeting also, sir,” she returned. But she did not put out her hand. She could not.

She had been taught all her life to return good for evil. To submit to baseness and ingratitude with meekness; but Peggy could not bring herself to clasp Benedict Arnold’s hand in greeting. Above the singing of the birds she heard John Drayton’s heart-broken cry, “My general! my general! my general!” She saw again the anguish of strong men at the defection of a brave soldier. How Drayton had loved him—this dashing, daring leader who had ruined his ideal of manhood. The blankness and awfulness of the pall that had settled upon the country after his desertion had not yet been dissipated. Men had not yet ceased to look suspiciously upon each other. Officers spoke with hushed voices even yet of how the great heart of General Washington had been all but crushed by this man’s falseness. And now he stood before her with outstretched hand in the April sunshine.

“I give thee greeting, sir,” she said with unsmiling lips. “Greeting and good-day.” And she made as if to pass him.

“Stay,” he said, his face crimsoned, and dark with anger. “Am I not fit to be spoken to? You regard me as a traitor, do you not? Yes; your eyes tell it though you say it not. My little maid, may not a man change his opinions? Have I not heard that your father was not always of the belief that bloodshed was lawful? Nay; even you yourself have changed since the beginning of the war. Once you and your family held that resistance to the powers that be was wrong. That submission to the king was not only proper but duty as well. Have I not the right to change my views and opinions also?”

“Yes,” she made answer. “Thee has the right. Any man may change.”

“Then why condemn me?” he cried with passion.

“I do not condemn thee, sir; I leave that to God and thy conscience,” she said. “But oh!” she cried unable to control herself longer, “why did thee not do it openly? No man would have held thee to blame had theecome out boldly, and acknowledged thy changed views. But to seek to give our strongest fortress into the hands of the enemy; to betray a brave man to death, to destroy the idol that thee had made for thyself in the hearts of thy soldiers, to bring sorrow to General Washington, who hath so much to bear; this was not well, sir. ’Twas not done in the honorable manner that men had a right to expect of Benedict Arnold. And now, to come with fire and sword against thine own people! How can thee do it? How can thee?”

“You do not understand. There have been men who have been willing to bear infamy that good might come of it. I sought to be one of them. When the colonies have been restored to their rightful allegiance the matter may appear in a different light. Miss Peggy, you do not understand.”

“No,” she answered reluctant to prolong the interview. “I do not, sir; nor do I wish to.”

“Child,” he said, regarding her with a winsome smile, “once you were beset with pride because you walked the length of a drawingroom bymy side. Will you pleasure me with your company down this street?”

Peggy’s eyes were misty, and her voice full of infinite sadness as she replied:

“When I was proud to walk with thee, thou wert a brave soldier, wounded in the defense of thy country. Now thou hast betrayed that country, and thou hast come against thine own people, plundering and burning the property of thy brothers. I walk with no traitor, sir.”

Over his dark forehead, cheek, and neck the red blood rioted at her words, and his dark eyes flashed ominously.

“So be it,” he said at length. “Enemies we are, then. I could have served you greatly. Perhaps it would have been better for you to have been more politic; but no matter. Benedict Arnold forces his presence upon no one. This one thing, however, I ask of you: Tell me, I pray, where John Drayton is. But answer that and I will leave you in peace.”

”BENEDICT ARNOLD FORCES HIS PRESENCE UPON NO ONE“”BENEDICT ARNOLD FORCES HIS PRESENCE UPON NO ONE“

“Thee means to tempt him,” breathed Peggy, looking at him with startled glance. “Thee has no right to know that. He was broken-hearted over thy defection from thy country. He shed tears of sorrow. He and Daniel Morgan also. He would not wish to hear from thee. Molest him not, I beg of thee.”

“Ah! that touched you,” he cried. “If you are so sure of his loyalty why ask me not to molest him? Are you afraid that he will come to me for the love he bears me?”

“No,” responded the girl indignantly, stung to the quick by his sneering manner. “John is fighting with the army, as he should be. Thee could not persuade him to leave his duty, sir. I trust him as I do myself.”

“How now!” he cried. “Wilt lay a wager with me that another two months will not find John Drayton fighting by my side? Wilt lay a wager on’t, my little maid?”

“No; I will not,” she said, her eyes dilated with scorn at the proposition. “Neither will I tell thee where he is so that thou canst vilely try to woo him from his allegiance. John is loyal to his country. He hath been severely tried, and not yet found wanting. I should be less than friend to consent that thou shouldst make an attempt upon his honor.”

“You have told me where he is, Mistress Peggy, without knowing it,” and he laughed maliciously. “Daniel Morgan hath been, until of late, with General Greene’s army in the Carolinas. If Drayton and Morgan were together it follows as a matter of course that Drayton is also with Greene.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Peggy in dismay. Then her native wit came to her aid. “But that was last fall,” she objected. “It doth not follow that even if he were there then, he is now. At that time thou wert with the enemy in New York; yet now thou art in Virginia. Why should he remain stationary any more than thou shouldst?”

“Well reasoned,” he approved, still laughing. “It doth not matter where he is, Mistress Peggy. I can find him if I wish. And I may wish. Do you live here?” indicating the cottage abruptly.

“For the time being, sir,” answered Peggy, longing to terminate the interview. “I am here to care for my cousin, who is of the British army.”

“Which accounts for the guard. Ah! Mistress Peggy, I see that despite your Whigproclivities you know the wisdom of having a friend among the enemy. Perhaps you would have met my friendly overtures in another spirit had it not been so. I give you good-day. Perchance we may meet again.”

Bowing low he left her, and feeling somehow very uncomfortable Peggy went on to her cousin.

“Snatch from the ashes of your sires,

The embers of the former fires;

And leave your sons a hope, a fame,

They too will rather die than shame;

For Freedom’s battle once begun,

Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,

Though baffled oft is ever won.”

—“The Giaour,”Byron.

“You are late,” spoke Clifford Owen with anything but an amiable expression when at length Peggy reached his bedside. “Methought you had forgot that I lay here without breakfast?”

“Nay, my cousin,” said the girl apologetically. “I started with thy breakfast some time since, but one of thy generals stopped me; and then, as the broth was cold, I tarried in the hospital kitchen to warm it.”

“Is it the everlasting broth again?” queried the boy irritably. “Odds life! I think that Yankee doctor is determined to keep me here all summer. How can a fellow gain strength with naught but broth to eat?”

“Thee should not speak so of the good doctor,” reproved Peggy gently. “And to show thee that thee should not, know that that same Yankee doctor said, when I was warming the broth, that thee was strong enough to take something other than it. And he had me prepare, what does thee think? Why, a soft-boiled egg and a bit of toast. So there, my cousin! is not that a nice breakfast?”

“It isn’t half enough,” grumbled her cousin. “One little egg, and one piece of toast that would scarce cover a half joe. Why, I could eat a whole ox, I believe. I tell you the fellow wants to keep me on a thin diet for fear that I will get strong enough to fight. I am going to have one of the British surgeons look me over.”

“Thee is cross, and hungry; which is vastly encouraging,” commented the maiden sagely.

The youth looked up at her with the merest suspicion of a smile.

“If being cross and hungry are encouraging symptoms,” he said somewhat grimly, “I think I ought to get up right now. I’d like to tear this bed to pieces, I am so tired of it;and as for hunger——” He paused as though words failed to express his feelings.

“Then thee had better fall to at once,” suggested Peggy. “And thee is talking too much, I fear.”

“No,” he said. “The coming of the army hath put new life into me. I am no longer a prisoner, Mistress Peggy. That in itself is enough to cure one of any malady. Think! ’twill not be long ere I shall come and go at pleasure. Nor shall I be bound by a parole.”

“But thee must be patient a little longer,” advised the maiden, as he resigned the tray to her with a sigh of content. “Thee must not overdo just at this time, else thee will tax thy new-found strength too much. And I wish to thank thee again, my cousin, for thy kindness yesterday. Thy people have not molested us in any way, and thy friend, the officer who spoke with thee, hath placed a guard about our house to ensure our safety. Both Nurse Johnson and I appreciate thy thoughtfulness. We might have fared ill had it not been for thee.”

“I like not to be beholden to any,” he remarked. “’Twill serve to repay in part foryour nursing. I see not yet why you should journey so far to care for an unknown kinsman.”

“Thee did not seem unknown to me, my cousin,” returned Peggy quietly. “Thy father stayed with us for nearly a year when he was upon parole in Philadelphia. And I have been with Harriet for two years almost constantly. Then, too, the dictates of humanity would scarce let us leave thee down here without any of thy kin near. That is all, Clifford.”

And Peggy would discuss the matter no further. Her heart was very warm toward her cousin, and she did not wish a repetition of the conversation of the day before. Seeing that he was inclined to converse too much she quietly withdrew, and busied herself in other parts of the hospital, winding bandages for the surgeons, or reading to the sick. She feared to return to the cottage lest she should again meet with General Arnold; and that, Peggy told herself, she could not bear. At length, however, just about sunset, which was her usual time for returning, she ventured forth.

The evening was a lovely one. The sun had sunk beyond the belts of forest lying to the westward of the town, leaving the sky rosy and brilliant. The street was deserted, and breathing a sigh of relief the maiden hastened to the cottage. She found Mrs. Johnson awaiting her.

“You are late, child,” she said with so distraught an air that Peggy looked up quickly. “I was beginning to fear that some ill might have befallen you. What kept you so?”

“Friend nurse,” answered Peggy with some agitation, “General Arnold stopped me this morning when I went to the hospital with my cousin’s breakfast. I feared lest I should meet with him again, so I waited until the street was clear.”

“Arnold, the traitor?” exclaimed Nurse Johnson.

“The very same. I knew him in Philadelphia when he was our general. I liked not to talk with him, but he would not let me pass. Friend nurse, does thee think the British will stay here long?”

“’Tis hard to tell, Peggy. I blame you not for not wanting to meet with him, but ’tis athing that will be unavoidable in this small town if they stay any length of time. I think he must be with General Phillips at the palace. I wish,” ended the good woman with the feeling that all Americans held toward the traitor, “I wish that we might do something to capture him. ’Tis said that His Excellency is most anxious to effect it.”

“Yes; but naught can be done with an army back of him. But something worries thee, and I have done naught but speak of my own anxiety. What is it?”

“’Tis Fairfax,” Nurse Johnson told her in troubled tones. “He is hiding in the forest, and wishes to come home for the night. I had a note from him. He tried to creep in to-day, but was deterred by seeing the guard in the yard. Of course, I knew that the militia must have fled to the forest, and the poor fellows are in want of food because the British have ravaged all the plantations near. If the boy could get in without the knowledge of the guard he could stay in the garret until the soldiers leave. But how to accomplish it I know not. He will be in the palace grounds to-night a little after sunset, he said. And hewished me to meet him there. But I promised the guard that I would cook them Indian cakes to-night, and so I cannot leave without arousing their suspicion. ’Tis time to go now, and to serve the cakes also. What to do I know not.”

“Why could I not go to thy son, while thee stays and cooks the cakes?” asked Peggy eagerly.

“Why, child, that might do! I did not think of that; yet I like not to send you out again so late.”

“It is not late. The dark hath come only in the shadow, which will be the better. And where will he be, friend nurse? The grounds are so large that I might go astray if I did not know the exact spot.”

“He will be in the great grove of lindens which lies on the far side of the grounds,” the nurse told her. “Yet I like not——”

“Say no more, friend nurse,” said Peggy quickly. “’Tis settled that I am to go. Now tell me just what thee wishes me to do.”

After some further expostulation on the part of the nurse she consented that the girl should go to meet the lad, carrying some of his mother’sclothes which he should don, and so arrayed come back to the cottage.

“I wonder,” mused Nurse Johnson, “if he knew that the English general hath his headquarters in the palace. ’Tis a rash proceeding to venture so near. If he is taken they will make him either swear allegiance to the king, or else give him a parole. Fairfax will take neither, so it means prison for the boy. Foolish, foolish, to venture here!”

“But all will be well if we can but get him here unbeknown to the guard,” consoled Peggy. “Friend nurse, cook many cakes, and regale them so bountifully that they will linger long over the meal; and it may be that Fairfax can slip in unobserved.”

“The very thing!” ejaculated the nurse excitedly. “What a wit you have, Peggy. I begin to think that we can get him here, after all.”

She bundled up one of her frocks hastily, saying as she gave it to the girl:

“Of course you must be guided by circumstances, my child, but come back as quickly as possible lest the guard be through with the meal. If they can be occupied——”

“I will hasten,” promised Peggy. “And now good-bye. Oh, I’ll warrant those guards will never have again such a meal as thee will give them. Now don’t be too anxious.”

“But I shall be,” answered the nurse with a sigh. “Not only anent Fairfax but you also.”

Peggy passed out of the cottage quickly, and went toward the hospital. It was so usual a thing for her to go back and forth that the going attracted no attention from the guards. Now the hospital had an entrance that opened directly into the palace grounds, and Peggy availed herself of this convenience.

The grounds were very large, and it was fortunate that she knew the exact situation of the grove of linden trees, else she must have become bewildered. The lawns were in a sad state of neglect, overrun with vines and wild growths; for, since Lord Dunmore, the last royal governor, had left, the mansion had held but an occasional tenant. So much of underbrush was there that it was a comparatively easy matter for Peggy to pass unobserved through the trees in the gathering dusk of the twilight. A guard had been placed in theimmediate vicinity of the mansion, and the town itself was thoroughly picketed so that sentinels in the remoter parts of the grounds were infrequent. And unobserved Peggy presently reached the great grove of lindens, the pride of the former royal governor.

The moon was just rising through a bank of threatening clouds which had gathered since the sunset. They obscured the moonlight at one moment, then swept onward permitting the full light of the orb to shine. Peggy’s voice trembled a little as she called softly:

“Friend Fairfax!”

“Mistress Peggy!” Fairfax Johnson rose slowly from the copse near the grove, and came toward her.

“Is it thou?” asked Peggy in a low tone. Then as he drew closer: “Thee is to put on this frock, friend. ’Tis thy mother’s. Then thee is to come boldly back to the cottage with me, and enter while thy mother hath the guard in the kitchen regaling them with Indian cakes and honey. Be quick!”

The youth took the bundle silently, and retired a short distance from her. The cloudscleared in the next few moments, discovering Master Fairfax arrayed in his mother’s frock, which was a trifle long for him. He stumbled as he tried to approach Peggy, and grabbed at his skirts awkwardly.

“Thee must not stride, friend,” rebuked Peggy in a shrill whisper. “Thee is a woman, remember. Walk mincingly. So! Hold not thy skirt so high. Thy boots will betray thee. No woman had ever so large a foot. Oh, dear! I don’t believe that thee will ever get by the guards. And thy mother is uneasy about thee.”

“I’ll do better,” answered the youth eagerly. “Indeed, I will try to do better, Mistress Peggy. Show me just once more. Remember that I’ve never been a woman before.”

“’Tis no time for frivolity,” chided the girl, laughing a little herself. “There! ’tis a decided improvement, Friend Fairfax. I think we may start now. And as we go thee may tell me why thee should be so rash as to venture into the town while the enemy is here. Thy mother wondered anent the matter. Why did thee, friend?”

“Why, because the Marquis de Lafayettehath entered the state, and is marching to meet the British,” he answered. “The militia of Williamsburg is to join him. We march at daybreak. I wanted to see mother before going, and to get something to eat. I have eaten naught since yesterday morning.”

“Why, thou poor fellow,” exclaimed Peggy. “No wonder thee would dare greatly. And ’tis venturesome, friend. Vastly so! And hath the Marquis come from General Washington?”

“Yes; he hath twelve hundred regulars, and everywhere in tide-water Virginia the militia are rising to join him. We must do all we can to keep the old Dominion from being overrun by the enemy. The meeting place is near the Richmond hills.”

“Thank you for the information,” came a sarcastic voice, and from out of the gloom there stepped a figure in the uniform of an English officer. The moon, bursting through the clouds at this moment, revealed the dark face of Benedict Arnold. Peggy gave a little cry as she recognized him.

“So this is your trysting place,” he said glancing about the grove. “Upon my worda most romantic spot for a meeting, but a trace too near the enemy for absolute security. You realize, do you not, that you are both prisoners?”

“Sir,” spoke Fairfax Johnson, “do with me as you will, but this maiden hath done naught for which she should be made a prisoner. She but came to conduct me to my mother.”

“And ’tis no trysting place,” interposed Peggy with some indignation. “The lad but ventured here to see his mother. He hath eaten nothing since yesterday morning. The least, the very least thee can do is to first let him see his mother, and have a good meal.”

“And then?” he questioned as though enjoying the situation. “Upon my word, Miss Peggy, you plead well for him. I have heard you plead for another youth, have I not?”

“Thee has,” answered she with spirit. “But then I pleaded with an American officer, a gallant and brave man. Now——”

“Yes, and now?” he demanded fiercely. “Have I no bowels of compassion, think you, because I have changed my convictions? I will show you, Mistress Peggy, that I am not so vile a thing as you believe. Go! Youand this youth also. The information he hath so unwittingly given is of far more value than he would be as a prisoner. We had not yet been advised of Lafayette’s whereabouts, and we were anxious to know them. We have tarried at this town for want of that very intelligence. Therefore, go! but take this advice: Hereafter, choose your meeting place at a spot other than the enemy’s headquarters.” He laughed sneeringly, and turning strode off under the trees.

“I would rather he had taken me prisoner,” observed the lad gloomily.

“Well, I am glad that he did not,” answered Peggy. “Thy mother would have grieved so. Come, Friend Fairfax! With such a man one knows not how long his mood of mercy will last. Let us hasten while we may.”

He followed her awkwardly. They reached the cottage without further molestation, and entered it unobserved.

On the morning following the drums beat assembly soon after the sounding of the reveille. The different commands filed out of their camps, and, forming into a column, took up the line of march out of the city.

“Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,

Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake.

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin’s in his ire.

May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire.

Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,

Or die like your sires, and endure it no more.”

—“Battle Song,”Scott.

With the courage born of the desperateness of the situation the citizens of Williamsburg set about repairing the devastation wrought by the invader. Wrecked homes and desolated families followed fast in the wake of the British army. From field and hills the militia assembled to repel their approach, leaving the crops to the care of the men too old for service, the women who bravely shouldered tasks too heavy for delicate frames, and the few negroes who remained faithful to their owners. Patiently demolished gardens were replanted, poultry yards restocked, depleted larders replenished in orderthat want, stark and gaunt, might not be added to other foes.

And the sunny days of April became the brighter ones of May, and the forests about the city blossomed into riotous greens, starred by the white of dogwood, or the purplish-pink mist of the Judas-tree. The mulberries and sycamores were haunts of song. Out of the cerulean sky the sun shone brilliantly upon the leaf-strewn earth. All Nature rejoiced, and sent forth a profusion of bloom and verdure as though to compensate the land for the bloody war waged throughout its length and breadth. For that great game, whose moves and counter-moves were to terminate so soon in the cul-de-sac of Yorktown, had begun. From the seacoast where Greene had sent him Cornwallis, recovered at last from the dearly bought victory of Guilford Court House, was moving rapidly across North Carolina for a junction with the forces in Virginia. There was no longer a doubt but that the subjugation of the state was the aim of the British.

An empty treasury, a scarcity of arms, a formidable combination to oppose in theWest, a continual demand upon her resources to answer for the army in the North, with all these contingencies to face Virginia had now to prepare to meet this new foe advancing from the South.

Late one afternoon in the latter part of May Peggy and her cousin sat in the palace grounds under the shade of a large oak tree. The girl had been reading aloud, but now the book lay closed upon the grass beside her, and she sat regarding the youth who lay sprawled full length upon the grass.

“And so thee is going back to the army?” she asked. “Is thee sure that thee is strong enough?”

“Yes; I tire of inaction. I told General Phillips when he passed through two weeks ago on his way to Petersburg that I would join him when the combined army reached Richmond. I would have gone with him then but that I hoped Harriet might still come here. I do not understand why I have not heard from her, if she is, as you say, in New York.”

“I wish thee could hear, my cousin,” said Peggy patiently. “I would that thee might hear from her for my own sake as well asthine. It vexes me for thee to doubt my word, and thee will never believe that I have spoken truth until thee hears from her.”

“But consider,” he said. “It hath been more than a month since you came. When you first came you said that she was in New York. If so, why hath she not written? Ships pass to and from there with supplies and messages for the forces here. ’Twould have been easy to hear.”

“I am sorry that I cannot relieve thy uneasiness,” Peggy made answer. “It is not in my power to do so, Clifford.”

“I am uneasy,” he admitted, sitting upright. “Sometimes I am minded to set forth to see what hath become of her.”

Peggy looked at him with quick eagerness.

“Why not?” she asked. “My cousin, why should we two not go to Philadelphia? Then thee could go on from there to New York to thy sister. Why not, Clifford? My mother——” Her voice broke.

“You want to go home?” he asserted.

“Yes; oh, yes!” she answered yearningly. “Thee is well now. There is naught to do but to amuse thee by reading or by conversation. Thetroops are now all on the south side of the James River with thy general, Lord Cornwallis. ’Twould be a most excellent time, Clifford, for a start toward Philadelphia. We would have none but our own soldiers to meet.”

“‘Our own soldiers’ mean my foes, Mistress Peggy,” he rejoined with a half smile. “You forget that I am an Englishman. We would never reach your home were we to start. I am not going to risk my new-found freedom by venturing among the rebels.”

“But I am a patriot, and thou art a Britisher, as thou say’st. Why not depend upon me when we are among the Americans, and upon thee when with thy forces?” asked the maiden ingenuously.

The lad laughed.

“Nay,” he returned. “We should need a flag that would show that we were non-combatants. No; ’twill not do. I shall go back to the army, and you——”

“Yes?” she questioned. “And I, my cousin? What shall I do? Twice already in the past month thy army hath visited this city. How often it will come from now onnone can tell. All tide-water Virginia seems swept by them as by a pestilence. Get me a flag and let me pass to my home.”

“’Tis not to be thought of for a moment,” he answered quickly. “I will not even consider the thing. I have deliberated the matter, and, as I feel to some extent responsible for your well-being, I have finally decided what were best to be done. Know then, Mistress Peggy, that I shall in a few days conduct you to Portsmouth, where the frigate ‘Iris’ lies preparing to return to New York. I shall send you on her to that port.”

Peggy was too astonished for a moment to speak. The youth spoke with the quiet assurance of one who expects no opposition to his decision. The girl chafed under his manner.

“Thee takes my submission to thy authority too much for granted, Cousin Clifford,” she remarked presently, and her voice trembled slightly. “I am not going to New York. I spent a year there among the British, and ’tis an experience that I do not care to repeat. Thee does not choose to be a prisoner, my cousin; neither do I.”

“If you were ever a prisoner there I know naught concerning it,” he answered. “Surely if Harriet is there, as you would have me believe, ’tis the place for you. If you are the friends you seem to be what would be more natural than for you to go to her, since to return to your own home is out of the question? The vessel sails the first of June. I shall put you on her. There is naught else to do.”

“I go not to New York,” was all the girl said. She had not told Clifford any of the unpleasant incidents connected with his father, or sister. She had been taught to speak only good, forgetting the evil. Now, however, she wondered if it would not have been better to have enlightened him concerning some of the events.

“We will not discuss the matter further for the present,” he said stiffly. “I know best what to do in the matter, and you will have to abide by it. I see naught else for you to do.”

Peggy’s experience with boy cousins had been limited to this one, so she was ignorant of the fact that they often arrogate to themselvesas a right the privilege of ordering their girl relatives’ affairs. She did not know that these same masculine relatives often assumed more authority than father and brother rolled into one. She was ignorant of these things and so sat, a wave of indignant protest surging to her lips. Fearing to give utterance to the feeling that overwhelmed her she rose abruptly, and left the grounds.

“I will walk as far as the college and back,” she concluded. “I must be by myself to think this over. What shall be done? Go to New York I will not. And how determinedly my cousin speaks! Doth he think that I have no spirit that I will submit to him?”

And so musing she walked slowly down Palace Street, under the shade of the double row of catalpa trees which cast cooling shadows over the narrow green. At length just as she turned to enter Duke of Gloucester Street there came the sound of bugles. This was followed by the noise of countless hoof beats; then came the sharp tones of military command: all denoting the approach of a body of mounted men.

The people began running hither and thither, and soon the street was so filled with them that Peggy could not see what was coming. As quickly as possible she made her way to the steps of the Capitol, and ascended its steps that she might have a good view of the approaching force. From the Yorktown road another detachment of British filed into town. The citizens of the little city viewed their entrance with feelings in which alarm predominated. What could they want in Williamsburg, they asked themselves. Had they not been stripped of almost everything in the shape of food that they should be compelled to support a third visit from the enemy? A flutter of skirts in the rear division of the cavalry drew attention to the fact that a girl rode among them and, surprised by this unusual incident, Peggy leaned forward for a keener glance.

A cry of amazement broke from her lips as the girl drew near. For the maiden was Harriet Owen on her horse, Fleetwood.

Harriet herself, blooming and beautiful! Harriet, in joseph of green, with a gay plume of the same color nodding from her hat, smiling anddebonair, as though riding in the midst of cavalry were the most enjoyable thing in the world. Peggy rubbed her eyes, and looked again. No; she was not dreaming. She saw aright. The vision on horseback was in very truth her cousin Harriet. With a little cry Peggy ran down the steps, and pushed her way through the gaping crowd.

“Harriet,” she called.

Harriet Owen turned, saw her, then drew rein and spoke to the officer who rode by her side. He smiled, saluted her courteously as she dismounted lightly, and gave Fleetwood’s bridle into the hand of an orderly. Quickly the English girl advanced to her cousin’s side.

“Well, Peggy?” she said smilingly.

“’Tis just that I should vindicate alone

The broken truce, or for the breach atone.”

—Dryden.

“Thee has come at last,” cried Peggy, a little catch coming into her voice. “Oh, Harriet! Harriet! why didn’t thee come before? Or write?”

“Why, I came as soon as I could, Peggy. When I knew that the Forty-third was to be sent down I went to Sir Henry for permission to accompany the regiment. The colonel’s wife bore him company, which made my coming possible. Oh, the voyage was delightsome! I love the sea. And the military also. You should have heard the things they said to ‘this sweet creature,’ as they styled me. And how is Clifford?”

“He is no longer an invalid, Harriet. He hath quit the hospital, and taken rooms at the Raleigh Tavern. Thee can see the building fromhere if thee will turn thy head. ’Tis the long low building with the row of dormer windows in the roof. He talks also of returning to the army, but hath been waiting to hear from thee. He hath worried. I am so glad that thou hast come, and he will be glad also. I do believe that thee grows more beautiful all the time.”

“Sorry that I can’t say the same for you,” laughed Harriet, pinching Peggy’s cheek playfully. “What have you been doing to yourself? You are pale, and thinner than when I saw you last. Mercy! how long ago it seems, yet ’twas but the first week in last month. I have had such a good time in New York, Peggy,” she ran on without waiting for answers to her questions. “The routs and the assemblies were vastly entertaining. And the plays! Oh, Peggy, you should have been there. I thought of you often, and wished you with me, you little gray mouse of a cousin! Why do you wear that frock? I like it not.”

“Did thee in truth think of me?” asked Peggy wistfully. “With all that pleasuring I wonder that thee had time.”

“Well, I did of a certainty. Particularly after your mother’s letter came telling me about Clifford, and how you had gone down to care for him. Of course I knew that he was in good hands, so I didn’t worry. Is this the hospital?”

“Yes,” answered the Quakeress who had been leading Harriet toward the spot during the conversation. “I left thy brother in the palace grounds, and I thought thee would like to be taken directly to him. Hath Captain Williams come in yet?” she inquired of an attendant.

“Captain Williams,” repeated Harriet who seemed to be in high spirits. “How droll that sounds! Are these the palace grounds?” as Peggy on receiving the attendant’s answer led the way into them. “Oh! there is Clifford!”

She made a little rush forward with outstretched arms as she caught sight of her brother, crying joyously:

“Clifford! Clifford!”

The youth rose at her cry. Over his face poured a flood of color. Incredulity struggled with joy, and was succeeded by a strange expression.His face grew stern, and his brows knit together in a heavy frown. He folded his arms across his breast as his sister approached, and made no motion to embrace her. Peggy was nonplussed at the change. What did it mean! He had been so anxious for her coming, and so uneasy about her. She could not understand it. Harriet too seemed astonished at this strange reception.

“One moment,” he said, and Peggy shivered at the coldness of his tones, “do you come, my sister, as a loyal Englishwoman, or as a rebel?”

“Loyal?” questioned Harriet wonderingly. “Why, of course I’m loyal. What else could I be?”

“And that Yankee captain? The one to whom you gave that shirt?”

“The Yankee captain?” A puzzled look flashed across Harriet’s face. “Oh! do you mean John Drayton? Well, what about him?”

“Is he not favored by you?” queried Clifford, a light beginning to glow on his countenance.

“Favored by me? John Drayton!” Harriet’s lip curledin disdain. “What nonsense is this, Cliff? I dislike John Drayton extremely. Didn’t Peggy tell you?”

“Then come,” he said opening his arms.

“You silly boy,” cried Harriet embracing him. “I am minded not to kiss you at all. What put such absurd notions in your head? How well you look! Not nearly so pale as Peggy is. One would think she was the invalid. Come, Peggy! ’Tis fine here under the trees. Sit down while you both hear about the gayeties of New York. And the war news! Oh, I have so much to tell. Sir Henry says the game is up with the colonies this summer. But oh, Cliff——”

“Have you been in New York?” he interrupted.

“Of course. Didn’t Peggy tell you how the Most Honorable Council of the revolted colony of Pennsylvania,” and Harriet’s voice grew sarcastic, “banished me to that city because I tried to get a letter to Sir Henry Clinton concerning your exchange? It hath afforded much amusement at the dinners when I would take off Mr. Reed’s solemn manner. ’Tis strange that Peggy did not tell you.”

“She did,” he replied, and turning he looked at Peggy as though seeing her for the first time. A gaze that embraced the gray gown that clung close to her slender figure; the snowy whiteness of her apron, the full fichu fastened firmly about the round girlish throat; and the simple cap of fine muslin that rested upon her dark tresses. “She did,” he repeated, and paused expectantly as though for her to speak.

But she made no comment. It was enough that she was vindicated at last. It had hurt Peggy that her cousin should doubt her word, and now her sole feeling was one of content that he should know that she had indeed spoken naught but truth.

“Then if Peggy told you that I was sent there I see not why you should ask if I came from there,” spoke Harriet in perplexity. “Clifford, have you seen father?”

“No,” his face clouding. “I dread meeting him, Harriet. You know that he left you and the home in my charge. Had I known that you would not remain I would never have left you. And why did you not stay there, my sister?”

“Alone, Clifford? Did you not know me better than that? Know then, brother mine, that if you can serve your country, Mistress Harriet Owen can also. Oh, I have seen service, sir. I was a spy in the rebel headquarters at Middlebrook, in the Jerseys, for nearly a whole winter.”

“You, Harriet! A spy?” he cried aghast. “Not you, Harriet?”

“Don’t get wrought up, Cliff. Father knew it, and consented. We were well paid for it. Didn’t Peggy tell you about it?” Harriet turned a smiling countenance upon Peggy. “She knew all about it. I stayed with our cousins while there.”

“I think there is much that Cousin Peggy hath not told me,” he remarked, and again he looked at the girl with a curious intent glance. Peggy felt her color rise under his searching gaze. “I will depend upon you for enlightenment as to several things.”

The shadows lengthened and crept close to the little group under the trees. Fireflies sparkled in the dusk of the twilight. A large white moth sailed out of the obscurity toward the lights which had begun to glimmer inthe hospital windows. An owl hooted in a near-by walnut tree. Peggy rose suddenly.

“We should not stay here,” she said. “Clifford is no longer an invalid, ’tis true; still he should not remain out in the dew.”

“I have scarcely begun to talk,” demurred Harriet. “I think I should know what will suit my own brother, Peggy.”

“Our Cousin Peggy is right, Harriet,” observed Clifford in an unusually docile mood. “I should not be out in the dew, and neither should you. To-morrow there will be ample opportunity to converse. I confess that I do feel a little tired. Then too there are matters to ponder.”

“Of course if you are tired,” said his sister rising, “we must go in. To-morrow, Peggy, you will find yourself like Othello—your occupation gone.”

“I shall not mind,” Peggy hastened to assure her. “Thy brother hath desired thy coming so much that I make no doubt that he will enjoy the companionship.”

“I dare say he did want me,” was Harriet’s self-complacent remark. “Still, Peggy, there’s no denying the fact that you are a good nurse.Is it not strange, Clifford, that she hath nursed all three of us? Father when he was wounded in a skirmish at their house; me when I was ill of a fever, and now you.”

“No; she hath not told me,” he answered. “She hath been remiss in this at least, Harriet. Now——”

“I think mother did the most of the nursing,” interrupted Peggy hastily. “And after all, ’tis over now. There is no necessity to dwell upon what is past. We will bid thee good-night, my cousin.”

“And where do you stay?” inquired Harriet as Clifford left them at the cottage gate. “Is this the place? How small it is! Will there be room for me, Peggy?”

“Thee can share my room, Harriet. Mother made arrangements with Nurse Johnson, with whom I came to Williamsburg, that I was to stay with her. She is most kind, and will gladly receive thee.”

“Let’s hurry to bed,” pleaded Harriet. “I do want to tell you about Major Greyling, and—well, some others. We can talk in bed.”

“Very well,” was Peggy’s amused response.“But I have somewhat to tell thee also. Wilt promise to let me talk part of the time?”

“Don’t be a goose,” said Harriet giving her a little squeeze. “I have something important to tell you.”

“Then come in,” said Peggy, opening the door.

“How much the heart may bear, and yet not break!

How much the flesh may suffer and not die!

I question much if any pain or ache

Of soul or body brings our end more nigh:

Death chooses his own time; till that is sworn,

All evils may be borne.”

—Elizabeth Akers Allen.

“Has thee had any news of the army lately, friend nurse?” questioned Peggy one morning a week after Harriet’s arrival.

Nurse Johnson glanced quickly about to make sure that they were alone before she replied:

“I had a short letter from Fairfax a few days since, Peggy. He said that the Marquis had received word that a force under General Wayne was coming to help in the defense of the state. He was on the point of breaking camp at Richmond and marching up to the border to meet him. Cornwallis hath already begun operations on the south side of theJames. ’Tis said that he boasts that the people will return to their allegiance as soon as they find that their new rulers are not able to give them military protection. With that end in view the earl hath established a veritable reign of terror wherever his troops march. He is harrying and ravaging all plantations, running off the negroes, or inciting them against their masters. In truth,” ended the good woman with some bitterness, “if aught escaped the vigilance of the invading forces under Phillips and Arnold it hath been reserved only for the keener eye of a more pitiless enemy.”

“And thy son, friend nurse? Is he well?” inquired the girl, for a shadow lay on Nurse Johnson’s brow that was not caused by the tidings of Cornwallis’ ravages, harrowing as they were.

“I am worried about him, Peggy,” she admitted. “He is in truth far from well, and feared an attack of fever when he wrote. He did not like to ask for leave to come home, the need of men is so great; but felt that he must do so did he not get better.”

“How dreadful a thing war is!” sighedPeggy. “The poor fellow! to be ill and weak yet to stay on because of the need the country hath of men. ’Tis heroic, friend nurse.”

“Ah, child, ’tis little a mother cares for heroics when her only son is suffering for lack of care. Sick and starving also, it may be.”

“I have been selfish,” broke from the girl remorsefully. “I have been so full of my woe that I had forgot how our poor soldiers are in want of everything. It hath seemed to me at times that I could not bear to stay down here longer. Thee knows I have not heard from mother at all. I know she must be worried if she hath not heard from me.”

“Your being here is cause for worry,” said the nurse soberly. “Williamsburg is in the path of the armies, though it does seem as though we had been visited enough by them. Would that you were home, Peggy, but I see no way of your getting there. The expresses can scarce get through.”

“Thee said that General Wayne was to join the Marquis,” spoke the girl eagerly. “He is from my own state, friend nurse. I make no doubt but that he would help me could Ibut reach his lines. And the Marquis——Why, Robert Dale is with the Marquis’ forces! I remember now that Betty told me he had been placed there for valor. Thee sees that I have plenty of friends could I but reach our own lines unmolested.”

“’Tis not to be thought of,” said Nurse Johnson shaking her head decidedly. “No, Peggy; ’tis irksome to stay here under the conditions of things, but I see not how it can be helped. Ah! here is your cousin. How beautiful she is!”

“Where are you going, Peggy?” asked Harriet as she entered the room, her wonderful gray eyes lighting into a smile at Nurse Johnson’s last words.

“I am going to the college to see the museum of natural history, Harriet. Will thee come with me?”

“Not I, Peggy. Such things are too tiresome,” yawned Harriet. “And Clifford won’t go for a ride. He said that he had something to attend to to-day. ’Tis no use to tease Cliff when he makes up his mind. He is worse than father.”

“Well, if thee won’t come,” and Peggy tiedthe ribbons of her leghorn hat under her chin, “thee must not mind if I go.”

“I wish I were back in New York,” pouted her cousin. “’Tis slow down here. Had I known that Clifford was so well I would not have come. However, there will be some amusement when the army under Lord Cornwallis gets into quarters. I dare say father will take a house then. Of course he will want us to look after it.”

“Is thy father with Lord Cornwallis?” asked Peggy quickly.

“Of course, Peggy. The Welsh Fusileers always stay with him. When we left him at Camden he was to join Cornwallis, you remember.”

“Yes,” assented Peggy absently, “but I had forgot for the moment.”

In thoughtful mood she left the cottage. It seemed to her as though she were caught in the meshes of a web from which there was no escape. Here were Clifford and Harriet with the possibility of Colonel Owen appearing upon the scene at any moment. When he came Peggy knew that she would be unable to do anything. If only she could reach the American lines,she thought, a way would be opened for her to proceed to Philadelphia.

The air was rife with rumors concerning the capture and narrow escapes of the postriders. It seemed almost next to impossible for them to get through to Philadelphia! How then could she, a mere girl, hope to accomplish what they could not?

“And yet,” Peggy mused, “I must try. I dare not wait until Cousin William comes for he will take Harriet and me with him wherever he goes. I know not how it will end.”

She had reached the college campus by this time, and now paused thoughtfully looking up at the statue of Norborne Berkeley, Lord Botetourt,—most beloved of all the royal governors,—which had been erected on the green.

“I bid you good-morrow, little cousin,” spoke a voice pleasantly, and Peggy started to find Clifford beside her.

The lad smiled at the glance of surprise that Peggy gave at his mode of address, and continued:

“I thought you had deserted me entirely. Was care of me so irksome that you are glad to be rid of me?”

“No, Clifford; but thee had thy sister,” responded Peggy who had in truth left the brother entirely to his sister. “Thee had no need of me longer, as thee is not now an invalid.”

“True, I am no longer an invalid, Cousin Peggy. Still are there not some matters to be settled betwixt us? Why have you not reproached me for my doubt of you?”

“When thee found that I had spoke naught but truth what more was there to be said, my cousin?” queried Peggy seriously. “Thy conscience should do the reproaching.”

“And it hath,” he rejoined. “You have given me no opportunity to ask pardon but I do so now. There were many things that I did not know that Harriet hath told me. There are still many that require explanation in order to have a good understanding of affairs. But this I have gathered; all of us, father, Harriet and I, seem to be under deep obligation to you and your family. And my debt is not the least of the three. I wish to repay you in some measure for your care of me. As my excuse I can only say that while I knew that we had cousins in this countryI knew little concerning them. I left home shortly after father came over, and so knew naught of his stay with you. And that captain with the shirt Harriet made——” he paused abruptly and clenched his hands involuntarily. “I thought you were like him and all other Americans I had met,” he continued—“boasting braggarts who had wooed my sister from her true allegiance. I cry your pardon, my cousin. Will you give it me?”

“For all doubt of me, thee has it, Clifford,” responded the girl sweetly, touched by his evident contrition. “But for what thee thinks of Americans, no. There are some among us who are not as we would have them be. Among all peoples the good and bad are mingled. I dare say thee is not proud of all Englishmen. We are not a nation of braggarts, as thee thinks. It hath taken something more than braggadocio to repulse thy soldiers for six long years. It hath taken courage, bravery and a grim resolution to win in spite of famine and the greatest odds that ever an army faced. Those things belong not to boasters, my cousin.”

“A truce, a truce,” he cried. “I am routed completely. I admit that Americans have bravery. Odds life! and tenacity also, when it comes to that. Where get they that obstinacy that enables them to rise after every defeat?”

“Where do they get it?” she asked. “Why, from their English blood, of course. Thee and thy fellows forget that they are of thine own blood. Oh, the pity of it! And see how thy people are treating this state!”

“’Tis fortune of war,” he uttered hastily. “And that brings me to the pith of this interview. I have intelligence that Lord Cornwallis is marching toward Richmond, which he will reach the last of this week. Therefore, I shall escort you and Harriet to Portsmouth to-morrow, and see you aboard the ‘Iris,’ bound for New York. I wish to join the earl at Richmond, and I wish to see you in safety before doing so.”

“Thee must leave me out of such a plan, Clifford,” spoke Peggy quietly. “I am not going to New York. When I was there before only the river lay betwixt my mother and me, yet I was not permitted to cross it. Ishould be a prisoner as thee would be in Philadelphia. I could not bear it.”

“But you cannot remain here, Peggy,” he remonstrated. “I am doing what seems to me the best that can be done for you. The country is overrun by soldiers of both sides. Were you able to get through the British lines there still remain the rebels.”

“Thee has no need to trouble concerning me at all, my cousin,” spoke Peggy with some heat. “If I can reach the rebel lines, as thee calls them, I shall be sent through. I am not going to New York in any event.”

“I shall not permit you to remain here,” he said, determination written on every feature. “I am your nearest male relative in this part of the country, and as such I shall do what I think is best for you. Come, little cousin, be reasonable. Harriet shall use her influence, once New York is reached, to see that you go to your mother. Will not that content you?”

“It doth not content me,” replied the girl, her whole nature roused to resistance. Too well she knew what Harriet’s promises were to rely upon them. “I am grateful to thee,Clifford, for thy thought of me; but thee must give o’er anything that hath New York for its end and aim.”

“But I cannot let you stay here,” he cried again. “The game is up as far as these people are concerned. I cannot let you remain to be a sharer in their miseries and distresses. Be reasonable, Peggy.”

“I am reasonable, Clifford. Reasonable with the reason born of experience. These people are my people. If I cannot get home I prefer to share their misery, rather than to be at ease among the British. Attend to thy sister, but leave me to do as I think best, I beg.”

“’Tis futile to talk further concerning the matter,” he said. “You must be made to do what is best for you.” With this he left her.

“I can tarry here no longer,” Peggy told herself as she watched Clifford’s retreating figure. “My cousin is sincere in the belief that it is the best thing to do. Were Harriet to be relied upon——But no; too many promises have been broken to trust her now. I must try to get to our lines. I will go in the morning.”

The light was just breaking in the east the next morning when Peggy softly stole into the stable where Star was, and deftly saddled and bridled the little mare.

“We are going home, Star,” she whispered as she led the pony out of the stable and yard to the road. “It will all depend on thee, thou dear thing! Do thy very best, for thee will have to get us there.”

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