It was not long before several soldiers under the leadership of an officer made their appearance in the hospital. Rapidly they went through the rooms searching for British prisoners among the wounded and sick inmates. There was no rudeness nor annoyance of any sort offered to either the American sick, or their white-faced nurses. As they approached his bed Clifford sat up stiffly, and gave the officer's salute.

"Ha!" cried the English officer. "What have we here?" and he paused beside him.

"I am Captain Williams, of the Forty-eighth Regiment, sir," declared Clifford with another salute. "I have been a prisoner with the enemy since the last week of February."

"Ha! yes; I remember. Taken at Westchester while on private business for Sir Henry Clinton," said the other.

"The very same, sir. And this," indicating Peggy, "is my cousin, Mistress Margaret Owen, of Philadelphia, who hath been put to no small inconvenience by my illness. She hath nursed me back to health, or at least until I am on the road to recovery. For the sake of whatever service I have been able to render General Sir Henry Clinton, I beg you to see that neither she, nor any of the inmates of the house where she dwells, be subjected to annoyance. She hath also a pony, I believe, of which she is very fond. Wilt see that it is exempted from impressment?

It is needless to say that any favor rendered me in the matter will not go without recompense."

A significant glance was exchanged between the two which Peggy did not notice. What she did see, however, was that the officer saluted in turn, saying pompously:

"Whatever you desire in the matter, captain, will be done. If the young lady will come with me to show me the house I will at once put a guard on the premises. I promise that she will suffer no annoyance of any sort."

As Clifford spoke of her as his cousin, Peggy felt a quick revulsion of feeling. It was the first time he had so called her. Then, as he openly acknowledged his indebtedness to her nursing, the girl's anger toward him died away. After all, she thought, the lad was doing his best to repay her for what she had done. That he was doing it from a desire to be quit of the obligation did not matter in the least. She knew now how he had felt during the time when he had submitted to her attentions, and a sense of justice made her aware that he was acquitting himself handsomely. And so as she rose to accompany the officer to the cottage, she said humbly:

"I thank thee, my cousin. I will not forget thy kindness in the matter."

A puzzled look came into the youth's eyes at her changed demeanor, but he merely gave a slight bow, and motioned her to go on with the officer.

But Peggy was not yet through with him.

"May I come again to attend thee?" she asked in a low tone. "Thee is not well yet, thee must know."

"Yes," he said. "Come, and you will, mistress. I will not mind your ministrations so much now."

And in much better spirits than she had deemed possible a few moments before the girl accompanied the officer to the cottage. Nurse Johnson came to the door wringing her hands as they neared the entrance.

"There will be naught left, Peggy," she said despairingly. "The soldiers are in the house now stripping it of everything. 'Twill be a mercy if the house is left."

Before Peggy could make reply the officer removed his c.o.c.ked hat, bowing courteously.

"That shall be stopped immediately, madam," he said. "War is not a gentle thing, and sometimes suffering must fall upon even our friends.

In this case, however, your inconvenience will be short."

The good woman had not recovered from her bewilderment at this speech, ere he pushed past her into the house, and they heard him reprimanding the looting soldiers sharply.

"What doth it mean, child?" she gasped as every article taken was restored to its place, and a guard mounted before the dwelling. "Why are we so favored when our poor neighbors are faring so ill?"

"'Tis Clifford," Peggy told her. "He insisted that my friends and I should not be subjected to annoyance by his people as a return for nursing him."

"Well, of all things!" exclaimed the nurse. "And you thought he did not like you!"

"He doesn't, friend nurse. He made sure that I should understand that his feeling toward me had not changed, but he felt that he was under an obligation of which he would be quit. Still," a little gleam came into Peggy's eyes as she spoke, "he did think that he would not mind my ministering to him so much now."

"Of course not," laughed Nurse Johnson. "He will think it his due now.

Isn't that like an Englishman? But I am very thankful none the less, though I see not how he could do other than he hath done. It is certainly rea.s.suring to know that we shall not be molested."

So Peggy and her friend stayed in the cottage, or went back and forth to the hospital untroubled, save for the irksomeness of having armed men about the dooryard. And in the stable Star ate her oats, or tossed her slender head unwitting of the fact that she had been saved from helping in the marauding expeditions of the enemy.

"I have misjudged my cousin," thought Peggy with a warm glow of grat.i.tude toward the lad as she prepared his breakfast the next morning.

"And yesterday I was so angry. Peggy, Peggy! will thee never learn to govern thy temper? Thee must be more patient, and guard thy unruly tongue better. Heigh-ho! 'tis an adventurous jaunt after all, though still I would I were with mother. There! I don't believe that my cousin will ignore my offering this morning."

And with this she placed a few violets on the platter, and started for the hospital, going through the gate of the orchard which opened into Palace Street.

As she closed the gate and turned in the direction of the hospital she saw an officer coming down the street. There was something strangely familiar in his appearance, and Peggy was so impressed with the idea that it was some one she had met that she regarded him keenly. She stopped as though she had received a shock as she recognized him. For the man was Major-General Benedict Arnold, and he was coming directly toward her.

CHAPTER XVII-AN UNWELCOME ENCOUNTER

"He stood alone-A renegade Against the Country he betrayed."

Peggy leaned against the fence for support, trembling violently. General Arnold was evidently bound for the palace, and she must pa.s.s him if she continued on her way to the hospital. The thought of running back to the house, and waiting until he had pa.s.sed came to her, but she found herself incapable of moving. Peggy was obliged to resign herself to the encounter.

The scarlet and gold of the British uniform well became him, Peggy could not but observe. His dark, handsome face looked impa.s.sively from under his laced, c.o.c.ked hat, and with quickening heart-throbs she saw that he still limped. Wildly she hoped that he would pa.s.s by without noticing her, and she watched his approach with a sort of fascination.

The birds sang merrily above her head, flitting from tree to tree across the blue of the sky. From the topmost bough of a near-by mulberry tree an oriole poured forth a flood of melody. A fresh river breeze bearing on its wings the odors of the sea stirred the maiden's hair and touched her flushed cheeks with refreshing coolness.

Alas! as he came directly in front of her he raised his eyes, and then stopped abruptly with an exclamation of surprise and wonder.

"Why! it is Miss Peggy Owen, is it not?" he asked with a genial smile.

"Yes," answered she faintly. "It is, Fr--" then she stopped. The word friend stuck in her throat. She could not utter it. Friend? Nay, he was not that. He had forfeited the t.i.tle forever. And so, after a brief hesitation, she continued: "It is I, in truth, General Arnold."

A flush had come into his swarthy face as she subst.i.tuted the t.i.tle "general" for friend. He bent his dark compelling eye upon her with wistful eagerness.

"Miss Peggy," he said, holding out his hand with a winning smile, "we are both a long way from home. I little thought to find my girl friend down here. I give you greeting."

"And I give thee greeting also, sir," she returned. But she did not put out her hand. She could not.

She had been taught all her life to return good for evil. To submit to baseness and ingrat.i.tude with meekness; but Peggy could not bring herself to clasp Benedict Arnold's hand in greeting. Above the singing of the birds she heard John Drayton's heart-broken cry, "My general! my general! my general!" She saw again the anguish of strong men at the defection of a brave soldier. How Drayton had loved him-this dashing, daring leader who had ruined his ideal of manhood. The blankness and awfulness of the pall that had settled upon the country after his desertion had not yet been dissipated. Men had not yet ceased to look suspiciously upon each other. Officers spoke with hushed voices even yet of how the great heart of General Washington had been all but crushed by this man's falseness. And now he stood before her with outstretched hand in the April sunshine.

"I give thee greeting, sir," she said with unsmiling lips. "Greeting and good-day." And she made as if to pa.s.s him.

"Stay," he said, his face crimsoned, and dark with anger. "Am I not fit to be spoken to? You regard me as a traitor, do you not? Yes; your eyes tell it though you say it not. My little maid, may not a man change his opinions? Have I not heard that your father was not always of the belief that bloodshed was lawful? Nay; even you yourself have changed since the beginning of the war. Once you and your family held that resistance to the powers that be was wrong. That submission to the king was not only proper but duty as well. Have I not the right to change my views and opinions also?"

"Yes," she made answer. "Thee has the right. Any man may change."

"Then why condemn me?" he cried with pa.s.sion.

"I do not condemn thee, sir; I leave that to G.o.d and thy conscience,"

she said. "But oh!" she cried unable to control herself longer, "why did thee not do it openly? No man would have held thee to blame had thee come out boldly, and acknowledged thy changed views. But to seek to give our strongest fortress into the hands of the enemy; to betray a brave man to death, to destroy the idol that thee had made for thyself in the hearts of thy soldiers, to bring sorrow to General Washington, who hath so much to bear; this was not well, sir. 'Twas not done in the honorable manner that men had a right to expect of Benedict Arnold. And now, to come with fire and sword against thine own people! How can thee do it?

How can thee?"

"You do not understand. There have been men who have been willing to bear infamy that good might come of it. I sought to be one of them. When the colonies have been restored to their rightful allegiance the matter may appear in a different light. Miss Peggy, you do not understand."