Peggy Owen Patriot Part 45

"They are my kinspeople," she said. "And sometimes they were kind. Had it not been for Harriet I would not have been in the little boat. She made me enter it when to remain on the 'Falcon' seemed certain death.

She knew not that they would be rescued."

"Perhaps not," he remarked dryly. "Although I have never known Mistress Harriet Owen to do one act that had not an underlying motive. But I should not speak so to one who sees no wrong in others."

"Don't," she uttered the tears springing to her eyes at the sneer. "I do see wrong; and thee doesn't know how hard I am trying not to feel bitter toward them. I dare not think that 'tis to them I owe not seeing my mother for so long. I-I am not very good," she faltered, "and thee knows by that wound how I am failing in living up to my teaching."

"I see," he said; and was silent.

Camden, a strong post held by the British in the central northern part of South Carolina, was reached at length. It was at this place that General Gates met his overwhelming defeat in the August before, and as Peggy viewed its defenses she could not but wonder that he had ventured to attack it. Colonel Tarleton proceeded at once to a large two-story dwelling, the wide verandah of which opened directly upon the main street.

"I will leave you," he began, but Peggy uttered a cry of surprise as a girl's figure came slowly through the open door of the house.

"Harriet! Harriet!" she cried. "Oh, thee didn't tell me that Harriet was here!"

She sprang lightly from the pony's back, and ran joyfully up the steps, with arms outstretched.

"I thought thee dead," she cried with a little sob. "I knew not until now that thou wert alive. Oh, Harriet, Harriet! I am so glad thee lives.

And where is Cousin William? And oh!--" she broke off in dismay. "What hath happened to thee? What is the matter, Harriet?"

For Harriet's wonderful eyes no longer flashed with brilliancy but met her own with a dreary, l.u.s.treless gaze. Her marvelous complexion had lost its transparency, and was dull and sallow. She leaned weakly upon Peggy's shoulder, and as the latter, shocked at the change in the once spirited Harriet, asked again, "Oh, what is the matter? What hath happened?" she burst into tears without replying.

"'Tis the Southern fever," spoke Colonel Owen, coming to the door at this moment. "So you escaped a briny grave, my little cousin? How came you here? Was it to seek us that you came? You at least seem to have suffered no inconvenience from this climate. It hath carried off many of our soldiers, and Harriet hath pulled through by a miracle. It will take time, however, to restore her fully to strength. Did you say you came to seek us?"

"Nay," interposed Colonel Tarleton. "The girl is my prisoner, Colonel Owen. I will leave her with you for the present, but will hold you answerable for her safety. You are to send her to me each day so that she may give attention to this wound which I owe to her marksmanship. So soon as it shall heal I will decide upon her punishment."

"Well, upon my word, my cousin," exclaimed William Owen as Colonel Tarleton, scowling fiercely, went away. "You are improving. I knew not that Quakers believed in bloodshed. Tell us about it."

And Peggy, drawing Harriet close to her in her strong young arms, told of her rescue and how she came to be once more with them.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV-HOME

"The bugles sound the swift recall; Cling, clang! backward all!

Home, and good-night!"

-E. C. Stedman.

Each day Peggy was taken to Colonel Tarleton to attend his wound. It was in truth painful, and often her tears fell fast upon the inflamed surface when she saw the suffering he endured, and knew that it had been caused by her hand. But it was healed at last, and when she told him joyfully that he had no further need of bandages or treatment, he looked at her with some amus.e.m.e.nt.

"And now for the punishment," he observed. "What do you deserve, mistress?"

"I don't know," said Peggy, growing pale.

"I leave for the southern part of the state to-morrow," he said. "The matter must be decided to-day. What say you to a parole?"

"Nay," and the girl shook her head. "My father doth not believe in them, and neither do I. I want to be free to help the cause in any way that I can."

"Well, upon my word!" he cried. "You are pleased to be frank."

"Would you not rather have me so, sir?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered. "I would. Then what are we to do? Ah! I have it. I shall banish you."

"Banish me?" repeated she with quivering lips. "To-to what place, sir?"

"A distant place called Philadelphia," he answered. "Think you that you can bear such exile?"

"Sir," she faltered, trembling excessively, "do not jest, I pray thee.

I-I cannot bear it."

"Child," he said dropping the banter, "I jest not. I am going to take you to Georgetown and put you aboard ship for the North. I am sincere, I a.s.sure you."

"Thee will do this?" she cried not daring to credit her senses.

"Yes; and for this reason: In all this land, ay! and in England also, no one hath ever before shed a tear when aught of ill hath befallen Banastre Tarleton. Had any other woman, or girl, or man in this entire Southland wounded me there would have been rejoicing instead of sorrow.

Had you not been sincere I would have made you repent bitterly. As it is, this is my punishment: that you proceed to your mother as fast as sail can carry you."

"And they call thee cruel?" cried the girl catching his hand. "Sir, none shall ever do so again in my presence."

"Come," he said. "I will go with you to your cousins. You must be ready for an early start to-morrow. A number of loyalists are going to Georgetown to take ship for other ports, so there will be a numerous company."

But Harriet received the news with dismay.

"What shall I do?" she cried, the tears streaming from her eyes. "I was getting better, and now you will go and leave me again. Oh, Peggy, I want to go too!"

Colonel Owen looked up eagerly.

"Why not?" he asked. "'Twould be the very thing! Peggy, could you not take Harriet with you? In Philadelphia she would regain her strength. A change from this malarious climate is what she needs. Won't you take her, Peggy?"

"Oh, Peggy, do take me," pleaded Harriet. "I shall die here!"

But Peggy made no answer. She looked from father to daughter, from daughter to father thoughtfully. Over her rushed the many things that had befallen her since they had entered her life. The father had caused the death of her dog; had treated her mother and herself scornfully; had lodged a spy in their very home; and had finally robbed them of everything the house contained in the way of food.

And Harriet! Had she not deceived them all? Her father, mother and herself? Would she not do so again if she were to be with them once more? Would she not spy and plot against the cause if she were given opportunity? Could she forgive and forget the deceit, the long absence from her mother, the hardships and trials, and take her to her own dear home? Could she do it?

Her heart throbbed painfully as she turned a searching glance toward her cousin. She was so thin, so wasted, so different from her former brilliant self, that the last tinge of bitterness left Peggy, and a sudden glow of tenderness rushed over her.

"Of course thee shall come with me," she cried, catching Harriet's hands and drawing her to her. "And thee shall see how soon mother and I will make thee well. And oh, Harriet, thee will be in my very own home!"

"Oh, I shall be so glad," cried Harriet, a faint flush coming to her face. "Father, do you hear? Peggy says that I am to go!"

"You are a good little thing after all, Peggy," observed Colonel Owen, not without emotion. "A good little thing!"

"I think that I will leave this love-feast," exclaimed Colonel Tarleton, laughing cynically. "'Fore George, but I am glad the girl is going. A little more of this sort of influence would be bad for my reputation as leader of the cruel raiders. Be sure that you are up betimes, Mistress Peggy. I will have no dallying in the morning."