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“When breach of faith joined hearts does disengage, The calmest temper turns to wildest rage.”
—Lee. |
“And what is it all about, my child?” inquired the governor as Harriet disappeared down the lane.
“She spoke the truth, sir,” said Peggy, trying to recover from the intense amazement into which Harriet’s conduct had thrown her. “Here is a letter—nay, my cousin must have kept it,” she ended after a hasty search.
“She wished to show it to General Maxwell, I make no doubt,” he said. “Canst remember the contents?”
“I think so, sir,” answered Peggy, who was herself again. The thing to do was to explain the warning to the governor. The affair with Harriet could be adjusted afterward. “It said that an attempt would be made to surprise the brigade at Elizabethtown on the twenty-fourth, sir, which is to-night. Also that an effort would be made to captivate the old rebel at L—— H——, which must have meant thee, sir.”
“Doubtless! Doubtless!” he agreed. “I learned to-day that there was a large reward offered for me, dead or alive.”
“Why, it spoke of the reward,” cried she. “Thee won’t stay here, will thee?”
“Oh, as to that——” he began, when his wife and two daughters appeared in the doorway.
“What is it, William?” asked gentle Mrs. Livingston.
“The British plan to attempt my capture to-night,” he explained grimly. “Zounds! do they think to find me in bed, as they did Charles Lee?”
“Oh, father,” cried one of the girls fearfully, “you must leave at once for a place of safety.”
“Here I stay,” declared the doughty governor. “Is ‘t not enough that I should be hounded from pillar to post for two years, that I should leave now with a brigade less than a mile away? I’ll barricade the house.”
“Why, how could the house be barricaded when there is not a lock left on a door, nor even a hinge on the windows,” cried Miss Susannah. “Papa, aren’t you going to tell us who your informant is.”
“Bless my soul,” ejaculated the governor hastily. “My dears, this is Miss Peggy Owen, David’s daughter. ’Twas her cousin, however, who was the informant. She hath ridden on, like the brave girl she is, to warn Maxwell. Miss Peggy, will you not stop with the family until morning, or do you wish to return to camp?”
“The camp, sir,” replied Peggy promptly. “My mother will be uneasy.”
“Then I will ride with you, my little maid,” cried he, swinging himself into the saddle. “This information proves beyond doubt that there is a spy somewhere among us, and steps should be taken at once for his apprehension. My dears, if I thought for one moment that harm would be offered you——”
“Go, go,” cried one of the daughters imploringly. “No greater harm will befall us than an attack of scarlet fever.”
“That is Susy’s favorite jest,” chuckled William Livingston. “She will have it that our belles are in more danger from the red coats of the British officers than from all the bullets the English possess.”
They had reached the end of the lane by this time, and turned into the turnpike just as a trooper rode up to them coming from Elizabethtown.
“Sir,” he said, saluting, “General Maxwell hath sent to ask concerning this matter of attack. Have you any further knowledge regarding it, and do you consider the information correct? A young girl, English she was, came in great haste to tell us of it and hath set forth at speed for Middlebrook to ask General Washington to send reinforcements, as the number of the attacking party is unknown.”
“’Tis marvelous,” ejaculated the governor. “That is just what should be done. That is a wonderful cousin of yours, Miss Peggy. Yes,” to the trooper, “I have no doubt but that the information is correct, though I know no further concerning the affair than that an attack is contemplated. Tell your general to be prepared. I am myself bound for the camp and will hasten the sending of reinforcements.”
The trooper saluted, wheeled, and left them. The ride to Middlebrook was a silent one. The governor seemed absorbed in thought, and Peggy was full of wonderment at the perplexity of Harriet’s actions. She had not wished her (Peggy) to warn the governor. She had tried to keep her from coming. And then—when she had thought her cousin well on toward the camp she had come after her and had given the warning herself. Why, why, why? Peggy asked herself over and over. Had she thought it a hoax at first, as she had said, and then upon reflection concluded that it was not?
She was glad that Harriet had changed about it, Peggy told herself, but how strangely it was happening! Just as though ’twas Harriet and not herself to whom the credit belonged. It was so different, she reflected, from the time when she had gone to General Putman with news of the spy, James Molesworth. Then she had been made much of by every one, and now——
As she reached this point in her musings she chided herself sharply.
“Peggy,” she exclaimed in stern self-admonition, unconscious that she spoke aloud, “Peggy, what doth it matter who did it—so that ’twas done? That is the main thing.”
“Did you speak, Mistress Peggy?” queried Governor Livingston, rousing himself from reverie in turn.
“I was thinking, sir,” she told him, “and knew not that I spoke aloud. ’Tis fashion of mine so to do sometimes.”
“’Tis one that most of us indulge in, I fancy,” he responded. “We are almost at camp now. Art tired, my child? ’Tis a goodly distance you have traveled.”
“A little,” she made answer, and again there was silence.
It was ten o’clock when at last they rode into camp. Lights flashed as men hurried to and fro, and there was a general appearance of excitement quite different from the usual quiet of that hour. David Owen came out of the farmhouse as they drew rein before it.
“I hoped thee would come to the camp, William,” he exclaimed. “Harriet hath thrown us all into a fever of apprehension concerning thee. His Excellency hath sent twice to know if aught was heard from thee.”
“His Excellency is most kind,” returned the governor. “And you also, David, to be so solicitous anent me. And Harriet? How is she? Zounds, David! there is a lass to be proud of! She not only warned me, but Maxwell also, and now hath come back to the camp and roused it too! Wonderful! wonderful! She hath beaten us well, Mistress Peggy.”
“Yes,” said Peggy quietly. “She hath. Finely!”
There was that in her voice that made her father come to her quickly.
“Thee is tired, Peggy,” he cried lifting her from Star’s back. “Thy mother hath been full of worriment anent thy absence, but Harriet said that she had left thee at the governor’s, so I knew that thou wert safe. Wilt light, William? We will be honored to have thy company for the night, and as much longer as ’twill please thee to remain.”
“Thank you, David.” Mr. Livingston swung himself lightly down to the ground. “I accept your hospitality with pleasure. Methought I was safe for this winter at home. Odds life! but the British grow reckless to make sallies so near the main army.”
“The more glory should the attempt have been successful,” laughed Mr. Owen. “Come in, William.”
“And this is the young lady who would give me no opportunity to thank her for her information,” said the governor, going directly to Harriet who, looking superbly beautiful, despite a certain languor, reclined in a large chair surrounded by a group of officers.
“You must thank Peggy,” declared Harriet laughing. “’Twas she who found the note. Peggy and Fleetwood, my horse, deserve all the credit, if there be any.”
“And Harriet not a bit?” he quizzed, quite charmed by her modesty. “I fancy that there are those of us who think that Harriet deserves some little herself. And now that we are at ease, let us hear all about it.”
“Hath not Peggy told you?” asked Harriet.
“Only given me the outline of it,” he answered. “Now that the need for action is past, let’s hear the story.”
“Why, we were riding along when all at once I took a dash ahead of Peggy, just for sport. When I returned she had the letter, which she had found while I was gone,” Harriet told him. “I was miles away then, was I not, Peggy?” Without waiting for an answer she continued hastily: “At first we hardly understood what it meant, and then suddenly it flashed over us that to-day was the twenty-fourth, and if there was an attack to be made ’twould be to-night. Of course when we realized that, there was but one thing to do, which was to let you know about it as quickly as possible, and to warn the brigade at Elizabethtown. Really,” she ended, laughing softly, “there is naught to make such a fuss about. Twas a simple thing to do.”
“Mother,” spoke Peggy, rising abruptly, “if thee does not mind I think I’ll go to my room. I—I am tired.”
Her voice quivered as she finished speaking and a wild inclination to sob came suddenly over her. Mrs. Owen glanced at her daughter’s pale face anxiously as she gave her permission to withdraw. Something was amiss, she saw. The two girls had not spoken, and had avoided each other’s glances. Wondering much, she turned again to the guests while Peggy, safe at last in her own little chamber, gave vent to a flood of tears.
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Under each flower of radiant hue A serpent lies unbidden; And chance ofttimes doth bring to view That which hath been hidden.
—The Valley of Tayef. |
The camp was thrown into a turmoil of excitement the next day when it was learned that two regiments of British had indeed endeavored to take General Maxwell’s brigade by surprise. A detachment in search of the governor had reached Liberty Hall shortly after three o’clock that morning, but not finding him at home a quest was made for his private papers, which were saved by the quick wit of his daughter, Susannah. Baffled in this attempt they rejoined their comrades who had surrounded Elizabethtown, expecting to capture the brigade at least.
General Maxwell, however, by reason of Harriet’s warning had marched out before their arrival, and surprised the enemy by falling upon them at daybreak.
The lively skirmish that ensued, resulted in the loss of several men on each side, while the academy, where were kept stores of various kinds, the Presbyterian Hospital, and a few other buildings were burned by the British in their retreat.
When this news was received Harriet and Peggy became the heroines of the hour. A constant stream of visitors besieged the Owens’ quarters until Mr. Owen laughingly declared that he should have to entreat protection from General Washington.
In all the demonstration, however, Peggy was a secondary luminary.
“’Tis the more remarkable because thee is an English girl,” was David Owen’s comment when Harriet protested against so much attention being shown her. “And thee deserves it, my child. ’Twas a great thing for thee to do.”
“But Peggy found the note,” spoke Harriet with insistence. “I must have been miles away when she found it. Wasn’t I, Peggy?”
Peggy gave her a puzzled look. Why did she make such a point of not being present when the note was found, she asked herself.
“My daughter,” chided her father, “did thee not hear thy cousin’s question? Thou hast not answered her.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Peggy rousing herself. “What was it, Harriet? I was wondering about something.”
“’Twas naught,” spoke Harriet. “I only said I was not with you when the note was found.”
“No, thee was not with me,” answered Peggy, and something of her perplexity was visible in her manner.
On Friday morning, the day following the sortie by the enemy, Mrs. Owen entered the parlor where the two girls were for the moment sitting alone with Mr. Owen.
“Girls,” she said, “an aide hath just come from His Excellency with his compliments. He desires the pleasure of Misses Margaret and Harriet Owen’s company to dinner. You are to accompany the aide, who will wait for you to get ready, and will see that you are safely returned before night falls.”
“Oh, must we go?” cried Harriet. “Please, Cousin David, may I not stay with you?”
“Tut, tut, lass!” returned he. “Refuse His Excellency’s invitation to dine? ’Twould be monstrous unmannerly, and that thee is not, Harriet.”
“But I would rather stay with you,” she pleaded, and her dismay was very apparent.
“And deprive the general of the pleasure of thanking thee for thy heroism?” he asked. “He wishes to interview you both about the note, I dare say. He said the matter would need attention.”
“I don’t know anything about it, my cousin,” she objected almost in tears. “’Twas Peggy who found it.”
“Nay; thee must go, Harriet,” he said in such a tone that she knew that ’twas useless to object further.
The two girls went up-stairs to dress. It was the first time that they had been alone together since they had found the note on Wednesday. To Peggy’s surprise, Harriet’s hands were shaking so that she could not unfasten her frock. A feeling of vague alarm thrilled Peggy at the sight. She went to her cousin quickly.
“Harriet,” she cried, “what is it? Why do you tremble so?”
“Peggy,” answered Harriet, sinking into a chair with a little sob, “I am afraid. I am so afraid!”
“Afraid?” repeated the amazed Peggy. “Of what, Harriet?”
“Of your Mr. Washington,” answered the girl. “He is so stern, and, and——Oh, I am afraid!” she cried wringing her hands.
“True, he is a stern man,” said the perplexed Peggy, “but still he hath a kind heart. We have dined there often, Harriet, and thee did not mind. I see not why thee should fear him now. He will but ask us about the note, and thank thee for thy timely warning to the governor and the brigade.”
“You will not tell him that at first I did not wish to go, or to have you go, will you, Peggy?” pleaded Harriet. “I thought better of it, Peggy. I—I felt sorry about it afterward.”
“Thee made up for thy hesitancy nobly, Harriet,” spoke Peggy warmly, all her bewilderment vanishing at her cousin’s acknowledgment of sorrow for what she had tried to do. “I will do as thee wishes in the matter.”
“And will you tell him that I was not near when the note was found?” asked the girl eagerly.
“Yes; for thee was not. But why? I cannot see what difference ’twould make whether thee was there or not.”
“You are a good little thing, Peggy,” said Harriet kissing her without replying to the question. “’Twas mean of me to ride ahead and give the warning. ’Tis you who should have the credit, but I had to. I had to. Some day you will know. Oh!” she cried checking herself suddenly, “what am I saying?”
“Harriet, thee is all undone anent something. Is thee not well? Let me call mother, and she will give thee some ‘Jesuit’s bark.’ Thee is all unstrung,” spoke Peggy with solicitude.
“No, no; I am all right now,” said Harriet with something of her accustomed gaiety of manner. “And, Peggy, whatever happens remember that I am your cousin, leal and true. I am only a girl, Peggy, and alone in a strange land.”
“Harriet, what is the matter? Thee speaks in riddles,” ejaculated Peggy, wonderingly.
“Peggy, I am unstrung,” answered Harriet. “And I am afraid that I have done wrong about—about many things. I wish, oh, Peggy, I wish I had not had you give that note to that soldier. I’m afraid that ’twill be found.”
“Well? And what if it is, Harriet? There is nought of harm in it?” Peggy spoke calmly hoping to soothe her cousin by her manner.
“Peggy!” Harriet clasped her arms about her convulsively. “Promise me that you will not tell that I asked you to give it to him!”
“But,” began Peggy.
“Promise, promise,” cried Harriet feverishly.
“I promise, Harriet,” said Peggy, hoping to quiet her.
“Peggy” called Mrs. Owen’s voice at this moment, “thee must make haste. The aide is waiting.”
“Yes, mother,” answered Peggy and there was no further opportunity for conversation. To her surprise Harriet recovered her spirits at once and when they reached headquarters was quite herself.
“’Twas most kind of you, Lady Washington, to have us again so soon,” she cried gaily as Mrs. Washington received them in the wide hall of the dwelling.
“It is we who are honored,” said the lady graciously. “I am quite cross with Mr. Washington because he insists that he must see you first. He wishes to have some talk with you before the dinner is served. No, Billy,” as William Lee, General Washington’s body-servant, came forward to show the maidens up-stairs. “It will give me great pleasure to help the young ladies myself with their wraps. We are all very proud of our English co-patriot. ’Twas a great thing for you to do, my dear,” she added leading the way up the winding staircase. “It must have taken an effort on your part to go against your own people, and shows very plainly that your sympathy with the cause is sincere.”
“Thank you, madam,” murmured Harriet in some confusion. “But, but Peggy here——”
“’Tis no more than we expect from Peggy,” said the matron, giving Peggy such a gentle pat on the shoulder that Peggy’s heart grew warm and tender. “Her views are so well known that nothing she could do for us would surprise us. That is why we say so little of her share in the matter.” And she gave Peggy another caressing touch.
Why, of course that was it, Peggy told herself with a flash of understanding. How foolish she had been to care, or to have any feeling on the subject at all. It was a great thing for Harriet to do. And so thinking she felt her heart grow very tender toward her cousin who had suddenly lost her animation and was pale and silent as they came down the stairs, and were ushered into the commander-in-chief’s office.
General Washington was sitting before a large mahogany table whose well polished top was almost covered by papers. He rose as the girls entered.
“Mrs. Washington has hardly forgiven me for taking you away from her,” he remarked smilingly. “I have promised that I will detain you but a few moments. Miss Harriet, your head will be quite turned before you will have finished with the toasting and feasting. But ’twas bravely done! You both showed rare judgment and courage in acting as you did. It saved a valiant man from capture and perhaps the slaughter of an entire brigade.”
“Your Excellency is very kind,” stammered Harriet while Peggy murmured a “Thank thee, sir.”
“Mr. Hamilton, will you kindly place chairs for the ladies?” spoke the general to a slight young man who came forward from the fireplace near which he had been standing. “Nay,” in response to an inquiring glance, “you are not to stay, sir. Mrs. Washington will gladden you later by an introduction.” Then as the young man left the room he added with a slight smile, “I have to be stern with the blades when there are ladies about, else they would have time for no other engagements. And now tell me, I beg, all about this affair. How came it that ye were riding upon that road?”
“I asked Peggy to go there,” spoke Harriet quickly; “you see, sir,” with charming candor, “Governor Livingston is a great friend of Cousin David’s, and came to see him but the other day. He told us a great deal of Liberty Hall, and how he had planted hundreds of trees which he had imported from France and England, until I was curious anent the place. Cousin David, or Ensign Drayton, usually rides with us, but Wednesday both were on duty; so, as Cousin David said that there was no danger so long as we kept within the lines, Peggy and I went for our ride alone. I know not how it came about; but perhaps ’twas because the governor had talked about his home, but we found ourselves all at once upon the turnpike going toward Elizabethtown. Presently Fleetwood, being a swifter nag than Star, became restive at our slow pace and to take the edge off him I dashed ahead for a little canter. While I was gone Peggy found the letter and when I came back there she was reading it. It did not take us long to decide what to do, and—but the rest you know, sir,” she ended abruptly.
“Yes; I know the rest,” he said musingly. “And so you were not there when Miss Peggy found the note?”
“No,” she answered him. “I must have been a mile away. Don’t you think so, Peggy?”
“I do not know how far it was,” replied Peggy thoughtfully, “but thee was not with me, Harriet.”
“Where did you find it, Miss Peggy?” asked the general turning to her. “You must see that it proves that there is a spy amongst us, and the place where ’twas found may aid somewhat to his capture. Tell me as nearly as possible where you found it.”
“Does thee remember where three pines stand together at a bend in the pike about ten miles from Elizabethtown?” she asked. Then as he nodded assent she continued: “It was just in front of those pines, Friend Washington, that it was lying. I caught sight of it and thought some one had lost a letter, and so dismounted and picked it up. Then Harriet returned and—and we had some talk.” Peggy was so candid that she found it hard to gloss over the conversation with her cousin, but she went on after a pause so slight as not to be noticeable. “’Twas deemed best to ride direct to the governor’s house, and Harriet’s Fleetwood being swifter than my Star, reached the Hall first.”
“It could not have lain long,” he said, selecting the missive from among a pile of papers. “The road was muddy and the paper is scarcely soiled. Then, too, there was a wind blowing, and ’twould have been taken up from the road had it been there long. According to this the person who dropped it must have been so short a distance ahead of you that you could not have failed to see him.”
“There were but we two on the road, sir,” spoke Harriet, although the question was directed to Peggy. “We neither met any one, Your Excellency, nor did we see any one until we reached Liberty Hall.”
“That being the case,” he said rising, “I will no longer risk Mrs. Washington’s disfavor by keeping you from her. Permit me to thank you both and particularly Miss Harriet for the judgment you showed. You did the only thing that could be done, and ’tis rare indeed that maidens so young show such thought. I hope that you will both pleasure us frequently with your presence.”
He opened the door for them with stately courtliness. Curtseying deeply the maidens reached the threshold just as a group of soldiers bustled unceremoniously into the hall, and blocked the exit.
“A spy, Your Excellency,” cried an orderly, excitedly saluting.
The soldiers drew apart as the orderly spoke and from their midst came John Drayton leading the very private soldier to whom Peggy had given Harriet’s note.
“Your Excellency,” said the ensign saluting, “I caught this fellow just as he was stealing from the lines. He had a most incriminating note upon his person. His actions for some time have been most suspicious, and——”
“Sir,” spoke General Washington gravely, “do you not see that there are ladies present? Let them pass, I beg of you. Such things are not of a nature for gentle ears to hear.”
As he spoke the eyes of the prisoner rested upon the maidens. He gave a short cry as he saw them, and sprang forward.
“If I did have a note, Your Excellency,” he cried, “there stands the girl who gave it to me.”
“Where?” asked the general sternly.
“There!” said the man pointing to Peggy. “That girl gave me the letter Tuesday afternoon.”
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“Not for counsel are we met, But to secure our arms from treachery, O’erthrow and stifle base conspiracies, Involve in his own toils our false ally——”
—“Count Julian,” Walter Savage Landor. |
For one long moment there was a silence so tense that the breathing of those present was plainly audible. Peggy had become very pale, but she met the searching glance which General Washington bent upon her steadily.
“Did you ever give him a note, letter, or communication of any kind?” he asked at length.
“Yes,” she answered. “I gave him a letter to send through the lines a few days since. It was Third Day afternoon, as he hath said.”
“You?” cried John Drayton springing toward her, and there was anguish and incredulity in his voice. “You? Oh, Peggy!”
“Yes,” she said again clearly. “Has thee the letter, John? Give it to the general. He will see that there was naught of harm intended.”
But Drayton shrank back and covered his face with his hands.
“Have you the missive, ensign?” demanded the commander gravely. “If so let me see it.”
“She, she doth not know—— It cannot be. Oh, sir, do not look at the letter, I beseech you,” uttered young Drayton brokenly.
“The letter, Drayton.” There was no mistaking the command in the tone. The boy drew the letter from his sword belt, and handed it to the general.
“There is some mistake,” he said, and Peggy was surprised to see that his eyes were wet. “Sir, I entreat——”
“Take your prisoner to the outer room, ensign,” ordered the chief after reading the note. “Meantime, may I ask that all of you will leave me with the exception of this girl?” He indicated Peggy as he finished speaking.
Silently the men filed out, but Harriet lingered, her eyes fixed upon Peggy with so much of appeal that the latter tried to smile reassuringly.
“You must go too, Miss Harriet,” he said, and Harriet was forced to leave the room.
In all of Peggy’s life never had she felt the fear that now came upon her. At all times reserved in his manner and his bearing full of dignity, never before had she realized the majesty of General Washington’s august presence. In the past when others had called him cold and austere she had denied such qualities warmly, but now as she found him regarding her with a stern expression she began to tremble violently.
“And to whom was your letter sent?” he asked after a painful pause.
“To Sir Henry Clinton, sir.”
“And what would you have to say to Sir Henry Clinton?” he demanded, plainly astonished.
“I?” Peggy looked at him quickly. “Why, I did not write it, Friend Washington.”
“You did not?” It seemed to Peggy that his glance would pierce her very soul, so keen was his scrutiny. “If you did not, who did?”
“Read the letter,” implored she. “Read it, sir. ’Twill explain everything.”
“I have read it,” he made answer. “Do you wish me to do so again?”
“Yes,” she said, a vague apprehension stirring her heart at his manner.
Slowly and impressively he read aloud without further comment: “A certain personage spends a portion of every clear afternoon upon the summit of Chimney Rock, which I have told you stands nigh to Bound Brook. Fording the Raritan at the spot already designated could be done without fear of the sentry, and the personage captured with but little risk. Without him the army would go to pieces, and the rebellion ended. Further particulars contained in other letters forwarded by S.”
“Oh!” gasped Peggy her eyes widening with consternation. “That is not the note I sent, Friend Washington. Does not that mean thee and thy capture?”
“Yes,” he said. “There seem to be plots and counterplots for the leaders. What is behind all this? I am loth to believe that you would wilfully connive at either my capture, or anything that would bring harm to the cause.”
“I would not, I would not,” she told him earnestly, amazed and bewildered at the thing that had befallen her. “I would do naught that would injure the cause. And thee—— Why, sir, I would rather die than act of mine should bring thee harm.”
“I believe you,” he said. “Your past actions show you have the best interests of your country at heart. But you are shielding some one,” he said leaning toward her suddenly. “Who is it? Were it not for the fact that your cousin discovered so much zeal in warning Governor Livingston and the garrison at Elizabethtown I should say that ’twas she. But were she guilty she would not have warned the governor, and would have tried to prevent you from doing so.” He looked straight into her eyes as the girl with difficulty repressed an exclamation. “Who is it?” he asked again.
But Peggy could only stare at him unable to speak. In that moment the truth had come to her, and she saw the explanation of everything. Harriet had deceived her and all of them, from the beginning. A blaze of anger swept her from head to foot. Was the daughter, like the father, only seeking to work them harm?
“Who is it?” repeated General Washington, watching her intently, and seeing that she was shaken by some emotion.
“It was——” she began, and paused. She had promised only that morning that she would not tell that Harriet had given her the note. Could she break her word? Had she not been taught once a word was passed ’twas a sacred thing, and not to be lightly broken? She looked at him in anguish. “I want to tell thee,” she burst forth, “but I have promised. I have promised.”
“But you thought the contents of this note were different, did you not? You did not know that it contained a hint of a plan for my capture?”
“No,” she answered. “I did not know.”
“Then you were tricked,” he declared. “By shielding this person, or persons, you expose the entire camp to other plots which may prove more successful than these last have been. Do you still consider your word binding under the circumstances?”
“I have been taught,” she said, her eyes full of trouble, “that having once passed my word it must be kept. Friends do not take oath as others do, but affirm only. Therefore, we are taught, that once given one’s word must be abided by so that it will be as stable and as much to be relied upon as an oath.”
“But do you not see, Mistress Peggy, that your refusal to disclose the name of the person places you under suspicion?”
“I am a patriot,” she asserted, pleadingly, “loyal and true to my country. I have ever striven to do what I could.”
“Yes; but by your own confession you have given a note to this man, who says that ’tis this very one. We have only your word that ’tis not so. Then, too, you were alone when the warning note was found. It was not soiled nor trampled upon as it would have been had it lain there long. Child, you place yourself under suspicion.”
“I see,” she said miserably.
“’Tis a cruel necessity of war to use spies,” he went on, “but all armies show them small mercy when they are caught. And it should be so. The man, woman, or girl even, acting as one does so at the risk of life.”
Peggy started. He had used almost the same words that John Drayton had used the day they had seen the swinging body of the spy. A shudder shook her. Again she saw the swaying form dangling from the tree. Small mercy was shown a spy. Could she condemn Harriet to such a fate? Beautiful Harriet with her wonderful eyes!
“Friend Washington,” she cried brokenly, “thee does not believe that I would injure thee, or my country, does thee?”
“What am I to think, Miss Peggy?” he asked, ignoring her outstretched hands.
“Give me a little time,” she cried. “Only a little time. Oh, I am sore beset. I know not what to do.”
“Child,” he said with compassion, “I am thinking of a time when a young girl came to me through winter’s snow and cold to plead for the life of her father. Do you remember what she said when I told her that I could not exchange a spy for him, valiant though the deeds of that father had been? She said, ‘I know that thee must refuse me. Thee would be false to thy trust were thee to do otherwise.’ Hath my little maiden whose answer so warmed my heart with its patriotism that I have never forgotten it, changed so that now she shields a spy? I cannot believe it.”
“Thee presses me so hard,” she cried wringing her hands. “Let me have a little time, I entreat thee. It could not matter to let me have until to-morrow. Just until to-morrow, Friend Washington.”
He gazed at her thoughtfully. Her anguish was so apparent that none could help being touched. That there was much behind it all was very evident, and so presently he said:
“You shall have until to-morrow, Mistress Peggy. ’Tis against all precedent, but for what you have done before I will grant your request. But there will be no further delay.”
“Thank thee, sir,” said she weeping. “I will ask none.” She spoke timidly after a moment. “What am I to do, sir? Thee will not wish me to stay for dinner if I am under suspicion.”
“Yes,” he said. “Let all go on as before until the matter is unraveled. Can you compose yourself sufficiently to wait upon Mrs. Washington? The dinner hour hath come.”
As Peggy replied in the affirmative, he called an orderly, and gave him some directions, then escorted the maiden into the dining-room. The Quaker habit of self-control enabled the girl to bear the curious glances cast at her pale face, but the dinner was a trying ordeal. She had grown to love the gay circle that gathered at the table, and to count a day spent with the brilliant men and women as one to be remembered; to-day she was glad when the time came for her to go home.
Harriet had been very vivacious all through the afternoon, but as they set forth accompanied by the same aide who had escorted them to the mansion she relapsed into silence. It had been Peggy’s intention to tell the whole story to her father and mother in Harriet’s presence as soon as she reached home, but there was company in the drawing-room, and as she stood hesitating what to do her mother hastened to them.
“How tired you both look,” she cried in alarm. “To bed ye go at once. Nay, David,” as Mr. Owen entreated a delay. “’Tis early, I know, but too much excitement is not to be endured. And both girls will be the better for a long sleep. So to bed! To bed!”
And with some reluctance on the part of both maidens they went slowly up to the little chamber under the eaves.
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“He flees From his own treachery; all his pride, his hopes, Are scattered at a breath; even courage fails Now falsehood sinks from under him.”
—Walter Savage Landor. |
As Peggy placed the candle she had carried to light them up the stairs in the socket of a candlestick on the chest of drawers, Harriet closed the door, and shot the bolt. Then slowly the two turned and stood face to face. Not a word was spoken for a full moment. They gazed at each other as though seeking to pierce the mask of flesh and bones that hid their souls.
It was a tense moment. The attitude of the Quakeress was accusing; that of the English girl defiant, changing to one of supplication as the dark eyes of her cousin held her own orbs in that intent look. For a time she bore the gaze unflinchingly, but soon her glance wavered, her eyelids drooped, and she sank into a chair whispering:
“You know, Peggy. You know!”
“Yes,” said Peggy. “I know, Harriet.”
“Will—will they hang me, Peggy? What did Mr. Washington say? Oh, I have been so miserable this afternoon! I thought they were coming to take me every time the door opened. And you were so long with him. What did he say?”
“He does not know that it was thee who writ the letter yet, Harriet,” Peggy informed her calmly.
“Not know?” ejaculated Harriet, springing up in amazement. “Did you not tell him, Peggy?”
“No, Harriet. I promised thee this morning that I would not, and I could not break my word,” explained Peggy simply.
“You did not tell him?” cried Harriet, as though she could not believe her ears. “Why, Peggy Owen, how could you get out of it? He would believe that you were the guilty one if you did not.”
“So he told me, Harriet. But I had promised thee; and then, and then, though thee does not deserve it, I could not help but think of that spy we saw—— But, Harriet, I asked him to give me a little time, and I thought that I would ask thee to return my promise, because I cannot submit to rest under the implication of having tried to injure General Washington. Thee must give me back my word, my cousin.”
“And if I do not?” asked Harriet anxiously.
“I am going to father with the whole matter. I shall do that anyway. The general claims that I was tricked, and I was, most shamefully. That letter was not the one that thee let me read. And the letter telling of the attack was thine. I see it all—why thee rode ahead to warn the governor and the garrison, and everything. The time has come, Harriet, when thou shalt tell me why thou hast come here to act as a spy. Why hast thou used us, thy kinspeople, to mask such plots as thou hast been in against our own friends? Have we used thee unkindly? Or discourteously? Why should thee treat us so, my cousin?”