Peggy Owen and Liberty Part 41

"I am glad of it," cried Harriet. "Glad! Glad! He would not help me.

He will only investigate further. And General Washington will wait no longer when he has heard from him. Clifford, you need too much explanation. The time hath come to act."

"Do I understand that you are responsible for having us brought to this place?" he asked.

"Yes, oh, yes," she answered hastily. "Only Peggy was not to come in here. She was to be kept in another room, and after all was over she was to be returned to camp."

"After what was over, my sister?" His voice was cold, but Harriet did not seem to notice it.

"Your escape, Clifford. Come, we have no time to lose. Fresh horses await us in the stables, saddled and bridled ready for instant use.

Here are clothes for a disguise. Don them, and we leave at once. We are to make a wide detour to the north of Chatham, reaching the Pa.s.saic River again at Newark. A boat will be there in the bay to take us to New York. It cannot fail if we start now."

"And Peggy?" he questioned so calmly that she should have taken alarm from the quietness of his voice.

"Peggy is to go back to Chatham, and tell the rebels they may seek another victim," she replied gleefully.

"Peggy to go back to face Colonel Dayton with information that I have escaped?" he cried, amazement written on every feature.

"She was not to know it, Cliff, but you would have her to come in here. Beside, they wouldn't harm her. She is a Whig herself, remember.

Oh, she may come with us," she added as his brow grew dark. "Only, Clifford, we must make haste. The longer start we have the better chance we stand of success."

"Who are those men that brought us here?"

"Hirelings," she cried. "Of course I paid them well. Don't ask so many questions, Cliff. They are natives from near here. They will do anything I ask."

"Come, Peggy," he said rising. "We are going back. Not all the hirelings in the world shall make me break my parole."

"Clifford, 'tis not the time for quixotic foolishness. Do you not understand that Sir Guy hath sent word to General Washington that he will investigate further? General Washington does not want that. He wants Lippencott, or, failing him, a victim. He will wait only so long as it takes Sir Guy's letter to reach him. It means death, Clifford.

An ignominious death."

"And do you know that you are asking me to break my parole, my sister?

That you are asking me to break my word of honor? That you wish me to betray the trust reposed in me by a chivalrous foe?"

"A chivalrous foe!" she scoffed. "Is it chivalrous to slay the innocent for the guilty? I tell you, Clifford, that truly as you live I have taken the only way to save you. You are justifiable in breaking any word given under such circ.u.mstances. Is life of so little worth that you do not care for it? What hath rendered you so indifferent?"

"Life without honor hath no charm for me, my sister," he returned solemnly. "A parole is more binding upon a soldier than ropes of steel, or chains of iron would be. Men have broken paroles, but when they do they no longer are esteemed by honorably minded men. Such are poltroons, cowards. I will not be of their number. A truce to this talk! If I am to die, I will die as a soldier, blameless and of spotless reputation."

"Clifford," she entreated him earnestly, "'tis the only hope. You have already broken your parole in pa.s.sing the prescribed limits of the rides. I had regard for your scruples by having you brought here. And now, since you are here through no fault of your own, you can take advantage of the fact to escape."

"Sophistry," he uttered shortly. "That is no salve to the conscience, Harriet."

"But the death, my brother?" She was very white for Clifford was moving toward the door. "'Tis no way for a gentleman to die."

"The mode is not at all to my liking, my sister," he answered gravely.

"Hanging is not, in very truth, a death for a gentleman; still a man may be a gentleman though he be hanged."

He put his hand on the door-k.n.o.b and turned again toward Peggy. But Harriet uttered a cry of anguish.

"I'll never see you again, Clifford," she cried. "And father will be broken-hearted. He helped me in this."

"Harriet!" he cried. "Do not ask me to believe that Colonel Owen prefers his son's life to his son's honor? I'll not believe it."

"Believe what you will, my brother, only come with me," and she clung to him pleadingly. "I'll call those men, Clifford."

"You shall not, Harriet," he answered putting her aside. "Instead get your own horse and come back with us."

"I cannot, Clifford. I must see our father. Aren't you going to kiss me?"

But Clifford turned from her, saying coldly:

"You have wounded me too deeply, my sister."

"Clifford, thee must not leave thy sister so," interposed Peggy.

"Mistaken she may be in her efforts for thy liberty, but 'tis done through love for thee. 'Twould be monstrous to leave her unkindly!"

"I mean not to be unkind, my cousin," he returned. "But consider my feelings when my own sister hath tried to put me in a position that would reflect upon mine honor."

"Thee must not be too hard on her, Clifford. Women do not regard such things as men do. When their affections are bestowed all else is subordinated to them. Doth a mother, a sister, a wife cease to love when man hath lost his honor? I tell thee such things seem different to us. Thy sister hath intended thee no wrong. 'Tis because of her love for thee that she hath done this."

"True, Peggy," came from Harriet brokenly. "True."

"Peggy," cried Clifford in astonishment. "Such words from you who are the soul of honor? You would not ask me to do this."

"No; but 'tis because of my upbringing, Clifford. I have been taught that a word once pa.s.sed must be kept. That a promise must not be broken. Therefore, I understand why thee would prefer death to the breaking of thy parole. I am proud that thee feels as thee does about it. I am prouder still that even thy sister cannot tempt thee to break thy word great as is thy love for her. Yet underneath it all I have a heart of a woman, and that heart aches for thy sister."

"'Fore George!" murmured the youth gazing from one to the other in perplexity. "I never dreamed of this. I thought of course that such things were regarded alike by both s.e.xes. I----" He pa.s.sed his hand over his brow thoughtfully. Then his expression softened. "I have much to learn. Harriet!" And he opened his arms.

"My brother," she cried. "My wonderful brother! And you will go with me?"

"No," he answered while he kissed her. "No, Harriet. However such things may appear to you, for me there is but one course: I must return. But come with us."

"I cannot, Clifford. I must go back to father."

"Then I must leave you, because we have been long, too long away from camp. And now good-bye!"

"Something may yet come up to save him, Harriet," whispered Peggy as Harriet followed them weeping to the piazza.

"No," she said disconsolately. "This was the only hope, Peggy.

Everything hath been done that can be done. I shall never see him again."

There was no one about. Long afterward Peggy found that this state of things had been prearranged in order that the inmates of the inn might not be held responsible when Clifford's flight should be discovered.

Clifford himself brought their horses from the stables. Silently they mounted, then turned for a last word with Harriet. But she had sunk upon the steps of the porch, and with her face buried in her hands, was sobbing in heart-breaking accents:

"Clifford! Clifford! Clifford!"

CHAPTER XXVIII