Peggy Owen Patriot Part 29

"No," answered Peggy, touched by this allusion to her cousin's peril.

"It would have been fearful for thee to have come through the darkness alone, but oh, Harriet! I do wish thee had told me. Then I would have left a letter for mother, anyway. She will be so uneasy."

"Never mind!" consoled Harriet. "And then you may never see me again.

Shall you care, Peggy?"

"Yes," answered Peggy soberly. "I will, but--" She paused and drew rein abruptly. "There are forms flitting about in the wood," she whispered.

"Does thee think they mean us harm?"

Harriet made no reply, but gazed intently into the forest. In the indistinct light the figures of mounted men could be seen moving like shadows among the trees. That they were gradually approaching the maidens was evident. The girl watched them for a few seconds, and then leaning forward gave a low, birdlike call. It was answered in kind on the instant, and a half dozen hors.e.m.e.n dashed from the wood into the narrow highway.

"Now am I safe," cried Harriet joyfully, reaching out her hand to the foremost of the men who gathered about them. "Captain Greyling, your arrival is timely."

"We have waited many nights for you, Mistress Owen," said that officer.

"We began to think that you might in very truth have become one of the rebels. You are most welcome."

"Thank you," she cried gaily. "You are not more pleased to see me than I am to be here. In truth, had I not succeeded in coming, I should not have had another opportunity. 'Twas becoming very uncomfortable in camp.

I have barely escaped I know not what fate. But more of that anon.

Peggy, let me present Captain Greyling of De Lancy's Loyal Legion. My cousin, Mistress Peggy Owen, Captain Greyling."

De Lancy's Loyal Legion! Peggy's cheek blanched at the name. This was a body of Tory cavalry, half freebooters and half in the regular service.

Between New York and Philadelphia and the country surrounding both places the name stood for all that was terrible and malignant in human nature. So stricken with terror was she that she could not return the officer's salutation.

"Where lies the boat?" asked Harriet.

"Close to the bank of the river. The trees hide it. 'Tis but a shallop which will take us to the sloop which is in the bay outside Amboy. The men will bring the horses by ferry."

"Very well," answered Harriet, preparing to dismount. "We are at the end of our long ride, Peggy. Are you not glad?"

"I am for thee," said Peggy, speaking quietly but filled with a vague alarm. "As for me, I will bid thee farewell, and return to the camp."

She wheeled as she spoke, but instantly the mare's bridle was seized, and she was brought to a standstill.

"What is the meaning of this?" cried Peggy, her eyes flashing. "Thee is safe, Harriet. Call off thy friends. Thee knows that I must return."

"Dost think that I will part with you so soon, my cousin?" laughed Harriet mockingly. "Nay, nay; I have promised to bring you to New York.

Best go peaceably, Peggy; for go you must."

"Never!" exclaimed Peggy, striking Star a sharp blow. The little mare reared, plunged, pranced and wheeled in the effort to rid herself of the hold on her bridle, but vainly. Peggy uttered a piercing shriek as she was torn from the saddle, and half dragged, half carried through the trees down the bank to the boat which was drawn up close to the sh.o.r.e.

Two of the men followed after the captain and Harriet. The latter seated herself by Peggy's side, and placed her arm about her.

"'Twould have been better to come quietly," she said. "I meant you should go back with me all the while. I could not bear to lose you, Peggy. I thought--"

But Peggy, her spirit up in arms, turned such a look of scorn upon her cousin that Harriet paused in her speech abruptly.

"Speak not to me of affection, Harriet Owen," she cried. "Thou art incapable of feeling it. Is there no truth to be found in any of thy family? Are ye all treacherous and dishonorable? Would that thou wert no kin of mine! Would that I had never seen thee, nor any of thy--"

Unable to continue, she burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.

CHAPTER XXIII-IN THE LINES OF THE ENEMY

"There is but one philosophy, though there are a thousand schools- Its name is fort.i.tude."

-Bulwer.

The morning broke gloriously, and held forth the promise of a beautiful day. So mild was the weather that it seemed more like a spring day than the last of February. Out in the bay of the Raritan rode a sloop at anchor, and toward this the shallop made its way. They were taken aboard, and Harriet, who had left Peggy to her grief, now approached her.

"We have been long without either rest or food, my cousin. Come with me to breakfast. Then we will sleep until New York is reached."

Peggy vouchsafed her never a word, but taking a position by the taffrail stood looking over the dazzling water toward the now receding sh.o.r.es of New Jersey. Into the lower bay sailed the sloop, heading at once for the narrows. Few sails were to be seen on the wide expanse of water save to the left where, under the heights of Staten Island, a part of the British fleet lay at anchor. Brilliant shafts of sunlight wavered and played over the face of the water. Astern, as far as the eye could see, lay the ocean, blank of all sail, the waves glinting back the strong light of the east. Sky, water and sh.o.r.e all united in one sublime harmony of pearls and grays of which the grandeur was none the less for lack of vivid coloring.

The discordant note lay in Peggy's heart. She was full of the humiliation and bitterness of trust betrayed. Humiliation because she had been tricked so easily, and bitterness as the full realization of her cousin's treachery came to her. And General Washington! What would he think when she did not come to him as she had promised? He would deem her a spy. And she was Peggy Owen! Peggy Owen-who had prided herself on her love for her country. Oh, it was bitter! Bitter! And so she stood with unseeing eyes for the grand panorama of bay and sh.o.r.e that was unfolding before her.

The wind was favorable, yet it was past one of the clock before the vessel made the narrows, glided past Nutten's[[2]] Island, and finally came to anchor alongside the Whitehall Slip. Harriet, who had remained below the entire journey, now came on deck looking much refreshed.

"You foolish Peggy!" she cried. "Of what use is it to grieve o'er what cannot be helped? Think you that I did not wish to be with my people when I was in the rebel camp?"

"Thee came there of thine own free will," answered Peggy coldly, "while I am here through no wish of mine. Why did thee bring me?"

"Out of affection, of course," laughed Harriet. "Ah! there is father on the sh.o.r.e waiting for us."

"I thought thee said that he was in the South," Peggy reminded her.

"One says so many things in war time," answered Harriet with a shrug of her shoulders. "Perchance I intended to say Clifford."

"And so you are come to return some of our visits, my little cousin,"

cried Colonel Owen, coming forward from the side of a coach as they came ash.o.r.e. "'Twas well thought. 'Twill be delightsome to return some of your hospitality."

"Oh, Cousin William," cried she, the tears beginning to flow, "do send me back to my mother! Oh, I do want my mother!"

"Tut, tut!" he rejoined. "Homesick already? You should have considered that when you planned to come with Harriet."

"When I what?" exclaimed Peggy, looking up through her tears.

"Planned to come with Harriet," he repeated impatiently. "She wrote some time since that she would bring you. Come! The dinner waits. We have prepared for you every day for a week past. I am glad the waiting is over. Come, my cousin."

And Peggy, seeing that further pleading was of no avail, entered the coach, silently determined to make no other appeal. A short drive brought them to a s.p.a.cious dwelling standing in the midst of large grounds in the Richmond Hill district, which was situated on the western side of Manhattan Island, a little removed from the city proper. The building stood on an eminence commanding a view of the Hudson River and the bay, for at that time there were no houses or other buildings to obstruct the vision, and was surrounded by n.o.ble trees. A carefully cultivated lawn even then, so mild had been the winter, showing a little green stretched on one side as far as the road which ran past the house.

On the other was the plot for the gardens, while in the rear of the mansion the orchard extended to the river bank. On every hand was evidence of wealth and luxury, and Peggy's heart grew heavy indeed as she came to know that Colonel Owen's poverty had been but another of Harriet's fabrications.

She sat silent and miserable at the table while Harriet, who was in high spirits, related the incidents of the past few days: the finding of the note in the roadway, the warning of the governor and the brigade, and how she had been petted and praised for her heroism. Her father and Captain Greyling, who had accompanied them home, laughed uproariously at this.

"Upon my life, my cousin," cried William Owen, "I wonder not that you are in the dumps. Fie, fie, Harriet! 'twas most unmannerly to steal such a march upon your cousin. For shame! And did our little cousin weep out her pretty eyes in pique that you were so feted?"

But Peggy was in no mood for banter. There was a sparkle in her eyes, and an accent in her voice that showed that she was not to be trifled with as she said clearly: