"I am not going to die," said he in an obstinate voice. "And I shall save my last messages for my sister."

At that Peggy looked up in blank amazement, thinking she had not heard aright. She had made no small sacrifice to come to Virginia to minister to him on his death-bed, if need be; or to bring him to health by careful nursing. And now for that cousin to tell her that he would give her none of his messages was unsettling to say the least.

And so the girl looked up, and met the lad's eyes, which held a queer look of defiance. His lips were bloodless, but they were set in a straight line of determination. He looked so like a great big spoiled child that Peggy's tears vanished as if by magic, and she gave vent to a low laugh. A laugh so sweet and girlish that many who heard it smiled in sympathy, and turned to get a glimpse of the maiden.

"Thee is a great big goose," she cried wiping her eyes. "And I am another. I shall hold thee to thy words as a promise. Thee is to save thy last messages for thy sister. And until she comes, which, I make no doubt, will be soon, I shall care for thee whether thee likes or not.

And I shall begin right now by fixing that pillow. Thee is not comfortable. Nurse, please may I have some vinegar? My cousin's head is so hot. There! Sleep now, and to-morrow thee may talk some more. Sleep, my cousin."

And Peggy, mistress of herself once more, firmly checked the feeble remonstrances of the youth and began stroking his forehead with soft, soothing touches. Finding his protests of no avail her cousin submitted to her ministration, and soon, in spite of his efforts to keep awake, his eyelids drooped, the drawn look of his face relaxed, and he slept.

"And now you too must rest," said the nurse. "Come, my child, to my home."

"But these other poor fellows," said Peggy. "Can we not make them comfortable first?"

"We will let the others attend to it for to-night, Peggy. The first duty in nursing is to keep one's self in trim, otherwise the nurse herself becomes a patient. Come."

And nothing loth Peggy followed her.

CHAPTER XV-PEGGY IS TROUBLED

"Blow, blow thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind as man's ingrat.i.tude."

-"As You Like It."

Half hidden by lilac bushes and trellised grape-vines the cottage of Nurse Johnson stood in Nicholson Street. A tiny garden lay on one side of the house, and back of it a small orchard extended through to Palace Street.

It was a week later, and Peggy stood by the open window of the living-room of the cottage gazing thoughtfully at the garden. The sunshine lay warm upon the thick green gra.s.s studded with violets.

Daffodils flaunted golden cups at their more gorgeous neighbors, the tulips. The lilac bushes were ma.s.ses of purple and white blossoms. The apple trees in the orchard were great bouquets of rose and snow. It was a pleasant place, cool and inviting under the trees.

But Peggy was looking with eyes that saw not its pleasantness. She was considering the events of the past few days. The matron of the hospital had acceded to her desire to a.s.sist in the care of her cousin, and she had devoted herself to him a.s.siduously. But Clifford's manner toward her troubled her, and there was a pained expression upon her face as she gazed into the pretty garden. Unconsciously she sighed.

Nurse Johnson threw aside her sewing and came to her side.

"Child," she said, "what troubles you? Are you homesick?"

"Friend nurse," answered Peggy abruptly, "my cousin doth not like me."

"Why do you think so, Peggy?" asked the nurse quietly. "Hath he been rude?"

"Rude? Oh, no! I would he were," answered the girl. "Were he rude or cross I should think 'twas merely his illness. Mother says the best of men are peevish when convalescing, but my Cousin Clifford is not cross.

Yet he is surely getting well. Does thee not think so?"

"Yes," responded Mrs. Johnson with conviction. "He surely is. He began to mend from the day you came. The matron, the doctors, the nurses all say so."

"And yet," said Peggy sadly, "'tis not because of my coming, nor yet of my care that he hath done so. It seems rather as though he were trying to get well in a spirit of defiance."

"He is an Englishman, Peggy. Saw you ever one who was not obstinate? The nurses have remarked the lad's frame of mind, and 'tis commonly thought that he believed that you desired him not to recover."

"What?" cried Peggy horrified. "Oh, friend nurse, why should he think such a dreadful thing? I desire his death? Why, 'tis monstrous to think of."

"A mere fancy, child; though why any of us should wish any of the English to live is more than I can understand. What with all the ravaging and burning that is going on 'twould be small wonder if we should desire the death of them all. But if he lives, Peggy, as he seems in a fair way to do, 'twill be owing to your care."

"Still," said Peggy, "I wish he were not so cold to me. Mother and I cared for Cousin William, his father, when he was wounded, and often he was irritable and would speak crossly. Yet he always seemed to like it right well that we were with him, and would say sometimes that he knew not what he would have done without us. And Harriet! why, when Harriet was ill with fever she was petulant and fretful at times, but there were other occasions where she was sweet and grateful. But Clifford accepts my attentions in a manner which shows plainly that he would prefer another nurse, but that he submits because he cannot help himself. As of course he cannot," she added smiling in spite of herself. "Sometimes I would rather he would be cross if he would discover more warmth of manner."

"Don't mind him, child. It is, it must be some vagary of his illness. I should not pay much attention to it, and I were you."

"He does not know that I notice it," the girl told her. "But I cannot help but think of it, friend nurse. 'Tis strange that he should dislike me so. 'Twould cause mother much wonder."

"Have you writ anent the matter to her, Peggy?"

"No; 'twould worry her. I have told her only of his condition and that I hope that he will soon be strong enough to start for Philadelphia. When does thee look for Dr. Cochran to come?"

"About the first of June. Should your cousin be well enough you might start north before that time. For my part, while sorry to lose you, I shall be glad when you are at home with your mother. You have been so occupied with your cousin that you may not have noticed that the militia are drilling every evening now."

"I have seen them on the Market Green," answered Peggy. "Is the fact alarming, friend nurse?"

"The cause of such frequent drill is quite alarming, child. The British, under General Arnold, have come out of their quarters at Portsmouth, and have started up the James on another ravaging expedition. General Phillips hath joined the traitor and hath sent a large force against Richmond again. They are plundering and destroying every plantation and town on the south side of the river. 'Tis wonder they have not come to Williamsburg ere this. I fear that they will soon. Would there were a way for you to go home, Peggy."

"If it were not for Clifford I could go on Star," mused Peggy.

"Alone? Why, child, I should not be easy one moment if you were to start on that journey all by yourself. Ten days on that lonely road? 'Tis not to be thought of."

"No," sighed the girl. "I suppose not, friend nurse. There is but one thing to do at present, and that is to care for my cousin. And that reminds me that 'tis time to go to him now."

Throwing aside all her melancholy, for Peggy had been taught that gloom had no place near the sick, she went into the kitchen, took from its place on the dresser a salver which she covered with a napkin, placed thereon a bowl of steaming broth, for Peggy permitted no one to prepare his food but herself, and then regarded it thoughtfully.

"There should be some brightness," she mused. "'Tis pa.s.sing hard to lie all day in bed with no hint of the spring time. I have it."

She ran out to the empurpled gra.s.s where the violets grew thickest, and gathered a small nosegay of the largest blossoms. These she brought in and laid daintily on the salver beside the bowl of broth.

"As thee cannot go to the blossoms I have brought the blossoms to thee,"

said she brightly when she reached her cousin's bedside. "See, my cousin, 'tis a bit of the May, as thee calls it, although May hath not yet come in truth; but 'tis very near. Friends say Fifth month, though 'tis not so pretty a name as thine. Thou canst hold them if thou wishest. 'Tis so small a bunch that it will not tire thy poor, weak fingers."

"I thank you," said the lad coldly. "I fear me that you put yourself to too much trouble for me." He took the violets listlessly, never vouchsafing them so much as a glance.

"And how does thee do this morning, my cousin?" The girl shook up the pillows, then slipped them under his head so that he half sat, half reclined in the bed, cheerfully ignoring the chilly reception that the poor violets received. "I think thee looks brighter."

"I rested well, Mistress Peggy," he answered briefly, and then he dropped the blossoms, and taking the spoon from her, added: "I will not trouble you to feed me this morning. I am quite strong enough to feed myself."

"Very well," a.s.sented Peggy with becoming meekness, quietly arranging the salver in front of him.

The lad began strongly enough, but soon his hand began to tremble. The perspiration stood on his forehead in great drops as he continued to make the effort, and presently the spoon fell with a clatter from his nerveless fingers. He sank back, panting and exhausted, on his pillows.

"Thou foolish boy," rebuked Peggy gently wiping the perspiration from his brow. "Thee must not waste thy strength if thee wishes to get well soon. Thee must be patient a little longer, my cousin."