"Hath there been another battle?" asked Harriet, growing pale.

"I think not," answered Peggy. "There is always an express to tell of it, if there hath been, before the prisoners come. These are not from the Cowpens, Harriet. They could not be, and come from that direction."

"True," said Harriet. "I wonder if the main army hath engaged with our troops? Oh, I like not to see our men made prisoners!"

Peggy made no reply, and in silence the two watched the troopers. As they came opposite to the place where the maidens stood one of the prisoners, a young fellow, leaned over and said something to the trooper next him. Then, with a light laugh he turned his face full upon them, and lifted his hat with jaunty grace.

As he did so Harriet sprang forward with an amazed cry:

"Clifford! Clifford! Clifford!"

CHAPTER IV-A STRANGE PRESENTIMENT

"He alone Is victor who stays not for any doom Foreshadowed; utters neither sigh nor moan; Death stricken, strikes for the right, Nor counts his life his own."

-Atlantic Monthly Calendar, 1908.

An exclamation of intense astonishment burst from the young fellow's lips, and he drew rein quickly. If it was his intention to come to them he was not allowed to carry it out, for at this moment the leader of the troopers gave a sharp command, and the whole party swept onward at increased speed.

"Clifford! Clifford!" called Harriet again and again; but the youth gave no further heed, and the hors.e.m.e.n were soon beyond the reach of her voice.

"'Twas Clifford," she cried turning to Peggy with a sob. "Oh, Peggy, what shall I do? He is a prisoner."

"Is thee sure that it was he, Harriet?" questioned Peggy who had been amazed at what had taken place.

"Did I not see him? And did you not hear him speak? I could not tell what he said. Could you? He is a prisoner. I must get to him. Come! we must go faster, Peggy, so that we can see where they take him."

By this time the dragoons had turned into one of the cross streets, and when the girls reached the place of turning they had pa.s.sed out of sight.

"I wish Cousin David were here. He would know what to do," cried Harriet greatly excited. "Couldn't we send for him, Peggy?"

"Father couldn't leave the army now, Harriet, as thee knows. Besides, it would take long to send for him, and thy brother might be gone before he could get here. We must find John. He will know what to do."

"Then let us hurry, hurry," exclaimed the English girl clasping her hands convulsively together.

Lieutenant Drayton was just ascending the steps of the Owens' dwelling as they reached Fourth Street, but catching sight of them he ran down the stoop to join them.

"The Congress hath but this moment finished with me," he said, "so that it was impossible for me to come to Pegg's Run. Was the skating fine? I should like to have seen it, and to have taken a turn-- Why! what hath happened?" he broke off, all at once becoming aware of their perturbation. "You both seem somewhat upset."

"'Tis Harriet's brother," explained Peggy seeing that her cousin was unable to speak. "A party of American horse came from the North bringing in some prisoners, and Harriet saw her brother, Clifford, among them.

She called to him, but they would not let him stop. They turned into Arch Street, and we lost sight of them."

"When did it happen, Peggy?"

"But now, John. Just as we were leaving Pegg's Run. Could thee find where they went?"

"Oh, Lieutenant Drayton, will you find him for me?" entreated Harriet.

"I will try, Mistress Harriet. If he is to stay in the city, he will be put in one of the jails. If he is to go on to the interior the party would stop at one of the inns for the night, as 'tis now too late in the day to go further. The thing to do will be to go to the jails, and if he be not there, to make the round of the inns. Be not over-anxious. If he is to be found, and surely 'twill be an easy matter, I will soon bring you word of it."

He lifted his beaver as he finished speaking, and left them. The two girls went slowly into the dwelling, and reported the affair to Mrs.

Owen.

"John will find him, Harriet," said the lady soothingly. "That is, of course, if he stays in the city, and as the lad says, the troopers will of a certainty stop here for the night. Try to occupy thyself until his return. He will do everything he can to find thy brother. Should he be found then we will try to get his release in some manner; but now busy thyself about something. Thee is too much agitated, and will make thyself ill again."

"I know not what to do," objected Harriet sinking into her favorite seat on the settle before the fire. "What shall I do, Peggy?"

"Read to me from that poem, Harriet," suggested Peggy, bringing the volume to her cousin. "Thee was to do that this morning when John came with news of the battle. 'Twill make the time pa.s.s more quickly."

"I would rather talk," said Harriet, turning the leaves of the book rapidly. "I do not believe that a poem will content me. A tale would be more enthralling. Still there are some beautiful pa.s.sages, and I will try some of them. Here is one that is considered one of the finest in the poem. Father read it to me once."

With a voice rendered more expressive than usual by reason of her unwonted emotion Harriet read that wonderful and pathetic invocation to light with which the blind poet begins the third canto of his immortal poem:

"'Hail, holy Light, offspring of heaven first-born.'"

She was fond of poetry, and fond also of reading it aloud; so that soon her attention was caught by the musical cadence of the verse. Peggy watched her, amazed at the transition that now took place. She who had been so agitated and anxious a few moments before was absorbed by the rhythm of the poem. Her eyes kindled; her cheeks flushed, and her accents became sonorous:

"'Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead and ever during dark Surrounds me--'

"Oh!" screamed the girl, suddenly letting the book fall to the floor as she pressed her hands to her eyes. "The dark! The dark!"

"What is it?" cried Peggy running to her. "What is the matter, Harriet?"

"Oh, I shall be blind! I shall be blind," broke from Harriet in agonized tones. "I know I shall. It came to me just now. Oh, Peggy! Peggy!"

"What a fancy!" cried Peggy giving her a little shake. "Thee is all upset, Harriet. Mother must give thee some Jesuits' Bark."

"But I shall be," moaned the girl. "I know that it will happen."

"Thy sight will dim with age, of course," said Peggy in a matter-of-fact tone. "Just as mine will, and as mother's hath already done. Then we will both wear bridge gla.s.ses, unless we use the spectacles with wire supports which Dr. Franklin hath invented. And thou wilt look at me over them; like this."

She tucked her chin down on her breast, and looked at her cousin so drolly that Harriet laughed through her tears.

"That's better," approved Peggy. "Thine eyes are all right, Harriet. I see naught wrong with them save that they are much prettier than mine; which is not at all to my liking."

Again Harriet laughed, well pleased with the compliment.

"I do believe that you are right, Peggy," she said. "I am full of fancies. But oh! you don't know how I felt for a few moments." She shivered, and pa.s.sed one hand lightly over her eyes. "I've read that pa.s.sage often, but never before did it affect me so. I could see the dark, the 'ever-during dark,' about me; and it came to me that I should be blind."

"Don't talk of it. Don't even think about it," said Peggy soothingly.

"As I said, thee is all upset over thy brother, and therefore is p.r.o.ne to imagine many things. 'Tis lowness of mind that causes it. Now while we wait for John, we will make mother let us get the supper. Thou shalt make the chocolate, Harriet. In that thee excels."

And in this manner, talking to her as though she were a little child, Peggy beguiled her cousin into forgetfulness of her strange foreboding.