"No," she answered reluctant to prolong the interview. "I do not, sir; nor do I wish to."

"Child," he said, regarding her with a winsome smile, "once you were beset with pride because you walked the length of a drawingroom by my side. Will you pleasure me with your company down this street?"

Peggy's eyes were misty, and her voice full of infinite sadness as she replied:

"When I was proud to walk with thee, thou wert a brave soldier, wounded in the defense of thy country. Now thou hast betrayed that country, and thou hast come against thine own people, plundering and burning the property of thy brothers. I walk with no traitor, sir."

Over his dark forehead, cheek, and neck the red blood rioted at her words, and his dark eyes flashed ominously.

"So be it," he said at length. "Enemies we are, then. I could have served you greatly. Perhaps it would have been better for you to have been more politic; but no matter. Benedict Arnold forces his presence upon no one. This one thing, however, I ask of you: Tell me, I pray, where John Drayton is. But answer that and I will leave you in peace."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BENEDICT ARNOLD FORCES HIS PRESENCE UPON NO ONE"]

"Thee means to tempt him," breathed Peggy, looking at him with startled glance. "Thee has no right to know that. He was broken-hearted over thy defection from thy country. He shed tears of sorrow. He and Daniel Morgan also. He would not wish to hear from thee. Molest him not, I beg of thee."

"Ah! that touched you," he cried. "If you are so sure of his loyalty why ask me not to molest him? Are you afraid that he will come to me for the love he bears me?"

"No," responded the girl indignantly, stung to the quick by his sneering manner. "John is fighting with the army, as he should be. Thee could not persuade him to leave his duty, sir. I trust him as I do myself."

"How now!" he cried. "Wilt lay a wager with me that another two months will not find John Drayton fighting by my side? Wilt lay a wager on't, my little maid?"

"No; I will not," she said, her eyes dilated with scorn at the proposition. "Neither will I tell thee where he is so that thou canst vilely try to woo him from his allegiance. John is loyal to his country.

He hath been severely tried, and not yet found wanting. I should be less than friend to consent that thou shouldst make an attempt upon his honor."

"You have told me where he is, Mistress Peggy, without knowing it," and he laughed maliciously. "Daniel Morgan hath been, until of late, with General Greene's army in the Carolinas. If Drayton and Morgan were together it follows as a matter of course that Drayton is also with Greene."

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Peggy in dismay. Then her native wit came to her aid.

"But that was last fall," she objected. "It doth not follow that even if he were there then, he is now. At that time thou wert with the enemy in New York; yet now thou art in Virginia. Why should he remain stationary any more than thou shouldst?"

"Well reasoned," he approved, still laughing. "It doth not matter where he is, Mistress Peggy. I can find him if I wish. And I may wish. Do you live here?" indicating the cottage abruptly.

"For the time being, sir," answered Peggy, longing to terminate the interview. "I am here to care for my cousin, who is of the British army."

"Which accounts for the guard. Ah! Mistress Peggy, I see that despite your Whig proclivities you know the wisdom of having a friend among the enemy. Perhaps you would have met my friendly overtures in another spirit had it not been so. I give you good-day. Perchance we may meet again."

Bowing low he left her, and feeling somehow very uncomfortable Peggy went on to her cousin.

CHAPTER XVIII-UNDER THE LINDENS

"s.n.a.t.c.h from the ashes of your sires, The embers of the former fires; And leave your sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame; For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft is ever won."

-"The Giaour," Byron.

"You are late," spoke Clifford Owen with anything but an amiable expression when at length Peggy reached his bedside. "Methought you had forgot that I lay here without breakfast?"

"Nay, my cousin," said the girl apologetically. "I started with thy breakfast some time since, but one of thy generals stopped me; and then, as the broth was cold, I tarried in the hospital kitchen to warm it."

"Is it the everlasting broth again?" queried the boy irritably. "Odds life! I think that Yankee doctor is determined to keep me here all summer. How can a fellow gain strength with naught but broth to eat?"

"Thee should not speak so of the good doctor," reproved Peggy gently.

"And to show thee that thee should not, know that that same Yankee doctor said, when I was warming the broth, that thee was strong enough to take something other than it. And he had me prepare, what does thee think? Why, a soft-boiled egg and a bit of toast. So there, my cousin!

is not that a nice breakfast?"

"It isn't half enough," grumbled her cousin. "One little egg, and one piece of toast that would scarce cover a half joe. Why, I could eat a whole ox, I believe. I tell you the fellow wants to keep me on a thin diet for fear that I will get strong enough to fight. I am going to have one of the British surgeons look me over."

"Thee is cross, and hungry; which is vastly encouraging," commented the maiden sagely.

The youth looked up at her with the merest suspicion of a smile.

"If being cross and hungry are encouraging symptoms," he said somewhat grimly, "I think I ought to get up right now. I'd like to tear this bed to pieces, I am so tired of it; and as for hunger--" He paused as though words failed to express his feelings.

"Then thee had better fall to at once," suggested Peggy. "And thee is talking too much, I fear."

"No," he said. "The coming of the army hath put new life into me. I am no longer a prisoner, Mistress Peggy. That in itself is enough to cure one of any malady. Think! 'twill not be long ere I shall come and go at pleasure. Nor shall I be bound by a parole."

"But thee must be patient a little longer," advised the maiden, as he resigned the tray to her with a sigh of content. "Thee must not overdo just at this time, else thee will tax thy new-found strength too much.

And I wish to thank thee again, my cousin, for thy kindness yesterday.

Thy people have not molested us in any way, and thy friend, the officer who spoke with thee, hath placed a guard about our house to ensure our safety. Both Nurse Johnson and I appreciate thy thoughtfulness. We might have fared ill had it not been for thee."

"I like not to be beholden to any," he remarked. "'Twill serve to repay in part for your nursing. I see not yet why you should journey so far to care for an unknown kinsman."

"Thee did not seem unknown to me, my cousin," returned Peggy quietly.

"Thy father stayed with us for nearly a year when he was upon parole in Philadelphia. And I have been with Harriet for two years almost constantly. Then, too, the dictates of humanity would scarce let us leave thee down here without any of thy kin near. That is all, Clifford."

And Peggy would discuss the matter no further. Her heart was very warm toward her cousin, and she did not wish a repet.i.tion of the conversation of the day before. Seeing that he was inclined to converse too much she quietly withdrew, and busied herself in other parts of the hospital, winding bandages for the surgeons, or reading to the sick. She feared to return to the cottage lest she should again meet with General Arnold; and that, Peggy told herself, she could not bear. At length, however, just about sunset, which was her usual time for returning, she ventured forth.

The evening was a lovely one. The sun had sunk beyond the belts of forest lying to the westward of the town, leaving the sky rosy and brilliant. The street was deserted, and breathing a sigh of relief the maiden hastened to the cottage. She found Mrs. Johnson awaiting her.

"You are late, child," she said with so distraught an air that Peggy looked up quickly. "I was beginning to fear that some ill might have befallen you. What kept you so?"

"Friend nurse," answered Peggy with some agitation, "General Arnold stopped me this morning when I went to the hospital with my cousin's breakfast. I feared lest I should meet with him again, so I waited until the street was clear."

"Arnold, the traitor?" exclaimed Nurse Johnson.

"The very same. I knew him in Philadelphia when he was our general. I liked not to talk with him, but he would not let me pa.s.s. Friend nurse, does thee think the British will stay here long?"

"'Tis hard to tell, Peggy. I blame you not for not wanting to meet with him, but 'tis a thing that will be unavoidable in this small town if they stay any length of time. I think he must be with General Phillips at the palace. I wish," ended the good woman with the feeling that all Americans held toward the traitor, "I wish that we might do something to capture him. 'Tis said that His Excellency is most anxious to effect it."

"Yes; but naught can be done with an army back of him. But something worries thee, and I have done naught but speak of my own anxiety. What is it?"

"'Tis Fairfax," Nurse Johnson told her in troubled tones. "He is hiding in the forest, and wishes to come home for the night. I had a note from him. He tried to creep in to-day, but was deterred by seeing the guard in the yard. Of course, I knew that the militia must have fled to the forest, and the poor fellows are in want of food because the British have ravaged all the plantations near. If the boy could get in without the knowledge of the guard he could stay in the garret until the soldiers leave. But how to accomplish it I know not. He will be in the palace grounds to-night a little after sunset, he said. And he wished me to meet him there. But I promised the guard that I would cook them Indian cakes to-night, and so I cannot leave without arousing their suspicion. 'Tis time to go now, and to serve the cakes also. What to do I know not."

"Why could I not go to thy son, while thee stays and cooks the cakes?"

asked Peggy eagerly.