"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 horsemen 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 passed 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 pass 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 passages, 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 glasses, 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 passed one hand lightly over her eyes. "I've read that
passage 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 prone
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.