It was a tense moment. The attitude of the Quakeress was accusing; that of the English girl defiant, changing to one of supplication as the dark eyes of her cousin held her own orbs in that intent look. For a time she bore the gaze unflinchingly, but soon her glance wavered, her eyelids drooped, and she sank into a chair whispering:
“Will—will they hang me, Peggy? What did Mr. Washington say? Oh, I have been so miserable this afternoon! I thought they were coming to take me every time the door opened. And you were so long with him. What did he say?”
“He does not know that it was thee who writ the letter yet, Harriet,” Peggy informed her calmly.
“Not know?” ejaculated Harriet, springing up in amazement. “Did you not tell him, Peggy?”
“No, Harriet. I promised thee this morning that I would not, and I could not break my word,” explained Peggy simply.
“You did not tell him?” cried Harriet, as though she could not believe her ears. “Why, Peggy Owen, how could you get out of it? He would believe that you were the guilty one if you did not.”
“So he told me, Harriet. But I had promised thee; and then, and then, though thee does not deserve it, I could not help but think of that spy we saw—— But, Harriet, I asked him to give me a little time, and I thought that I would ask thee to return my promise, because I cannot submit to rest under the implication of having tried to injure General Washington. Thee must give me back my word, my cousin.”
“And if I do not?” asked Harriet anxiously.
“I am going to father with the whole matter. I shall do that anyway. The general claims that I was tricked, and I was, most shamefully. That letter was not the one that thee let me read. And the letter telling of the attack was thine. I see it all—why thee rode ahead to warn the governor and the garrison, and everything. The time has come, Harriet, when thou shalt tell me why thou hast come here to act as a spy. Why hast thou used us, thy kinspeople, to mask such plots as thou hast been in against our own friends? Have we used thee unkindly? Or discourteously? Why should thee treat us so, my cousin?”
[Illustration: “WHY SHOULD THEE PLAY THE SPY?”]
“I did not mean to, Peggy,” returned Harriet with her old manner of affection. “Do you not remember that I said this morning that I was sorry that I let you send it? And I am. I am. But John Drayton was to be with us, and he watched me so that I feared that he would see me. Truly, I am sorry, Peggy.”