"THEE MAY TELL HIM AT THE LAST"
"A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate;
I've seen the last look of her heavenly eyes,--
I've heard the last sound of her blessed voice,--
I've seen her fair form from my sight depart!
My doom is closed."
--_Count Basil._
Clifford started as Sally uttered the word, "trickery," and a deep
flush dyed his face. He threw out his hands in a protesting gesture,
and opened his lips to speak, but she was gone before he could say a
word. He turned toward Peggy appealingly.
"Will you listen, my cousin?" he queried. "Or are you also shocked?"
"Nay, Clifford; I believe that thee intended naught but to have a
little sport," she replied.
"That's just it," he cried eagerly. "Everything hath been so
depressing the last few days that a little diversion was welcome. When
Major Gordon came in, saying that you wished to see me, and that a
friend was with you who feared to come in unless I was bound, I knew
at once it was Miss Sally. When the major suggested that 'twould never
do for the young lady to find me unbound, the idea appealed to me
immediately. It promised some brightness, a little fun which is all my
excuse, Peggy. I intended naught else. I thought you both would regard
it as a great joke. I see now that I should not have done it. It was
caddish."
"I think Sally felt the worst anent thy saying that the cords hurt
pretty bad," Peggy told him. "It seemed like an untruth to her."
"'Fore George, Peggy!" cried the youth earnestly, "if she could but
know the trouble I had in keeping still so that those ropes would not
fall off she would think it was pretty bad."
He laughed at the remembrance, and then became grave.
"I seem to be unfortunate in more respects than one," he said with
a sigh. "First, I misjudge you, Peggy. I can only explain that fact
by saying that never before had I met any one of like truthfulness
and so straightforward. Then, not knowing that your friends had the
same attributes, I am guilty of injustice toward Sally. Now she
misconstrues what was meant for a jest into a contemptible trick. Oh,
it was! I see it now. I' faith! the sooner that execution comes off
the better," he ended bitterly.
"Don't speak like that, Clifford," chided Peggy gently. "I'm going
to Sally and explain the matter to her. 'Twas all a miserable
misapprehension. She will laugh most heartily when she understands
it."
"I don't believe she will, Peggy," he answered gloomily. "She feels
tricked. She will never forgive me. You Quakers are queer people. I
did not dream that words spoken in jest would be taken so seriously."
"Well, my cousin, we have been taught that for every idle word we
shall give account. Perchance we do not speak with so much lightness
as the world's people."
"'Fore George, you do not," he ejaculated. "But, Peggy, to a soldier
the thought of death becomes familiar. So familiar in fact that
even when we are under its dark shadow if there comes a chance for
amusement of any sort we seize it. I would not for the world offend
her, Peggy. Will you try to make peace for me? Tell her," he smiled
involuntarily, "that she is the unreasonable one now; that if she will
not listen she lays herself open to the charge of being English which
would be a most dreadful downfall from the high estate of being an
American."
"I'll tell her everything, my cousin. I am sure that all will be
well as soon as she understands. And Harriet will come to thee
this afternoon. Thee must not let this, or aught else make thee
down-hearted, Clifford. I am hoping that something will come up
to avert this terrible fate from falling upon thee."
But the youth shook his head.
"I have no hope," he said. "'Tis only to please my sister that I
have consented that she should try to get your general to postpone
the execution until she can see Sir Guy. It seems but a useless
prolongation of anxiety. Now as to this other matter: you will go at
once to Sally, will you not, my cousin? Tell her that I am sorry that
I lent myself to such deception, and that I wish she would not think
hardly of me. I shall never see her again, Peggy, but I like not to
think that she thinks ill of me."
"I'll tell her all, my cousin," promised Peggy as she took her leave.
"Oh, dear!" she sighed as she wended her way toward Little Dock
Street, where Sally lived. "Oh, dear! will naught ever go right
again? Now just as Clifford gets so that he will listen to Sally this
had to happen! But Sally ought not to hold it against him. She must
not."
Sally was up-stairs, her mother told Peggy, and slowly she went up to
her friend's room. A crumpled heap on the bed told where Sally was,
but it did not turn as Peggy entered. She went over and put her hand
on the head that was buried between two pillows.
"Thee is taking this too seriously, Sally," spoke Peggy. "Don't be too
hard on him. After all thee knows that Clifford is just a boy."
Sally turned a reddened, tear-stained face toward her.
"He is to die," she murmured in shocked tones, "yet he jested. He
jested, Peggy."
"Sally, 'tis naught to make such a pother about. Men, especially
soldiers, regard death differently from the way we look at it. Let me
tell thee about the matter."
"I don't care to hear any explanation," answered Sally shortly.
"Sally, Sally, is thee going to be unreasonable and obstinate now?
'Tis as Clifford said: 'Thee should say naught against the English for
perverseness. Thee isn't much better.'"
"Did Clifford Owen say that?" demanded Sally, sitting up with flaming
cheeks.
"Nay; but something like it. How can I tell thee what he said if thee
will not listen? Or has thee made up thy mind not to listen to
Clifford's explanation in revenge for the time that he was in
listening to thine?" concluded Peggy artfully.
"Peggy! thee knows better than that. Of course, if there is an
explanation I will hear it. It did not occur to me that there could be
one."
"Now that is my own Sally," cried Peggy kissing her. She sat down on
the side of the bed, and began earnestly: "Sally, we must not forget
that my cousin belongs to the world's people. Many things which to us
are of gravity are not so to them, and our belief is as naught if it
doth not make us regard their feelings with charity. Clifford feels
sorrow now for the joke, and grieves because thee is inclined to think
hardly of him." Forthwith she told Sally how the jest had come about,
ending with:
"So thee sees, Sally, that thou art somewhat in fault thyself,
insomuch as thee said that thee would not venture in unless he were
bound."
"I see," remarked Sally thoughtfully. "I see, Peggy. Well, 'tis all
right, of course; but oh, Peggy! If--if he had not made me feel so
sorry for him. If I had not cried because I thought those ropes hurt
him I would not mind so much; though it was in truth ill to jest when
he is to die."
"But I cried too," soothed Peggy. "Any one would who had the least bit
of sensibility."
"Does thee really think so, Peggy?"
"Yes, I do," answered Peggy. "'Twas all in fun, and done on the
impulse of the moment. But he says now that he sees 'twas wrong, and
that he is sorry. Thee must forgive him, Sally."
"Of course if he is sorry it makes a difference," said Sally.
"Somehow, Peggy, I am disappointed in him. Harriet always spoke so
highly of him, and I liked him so much when he was with us, that it
pains me to find him lacking in any respect. Well, if he is sorry,
'tis all right."
"And I may tell him so?" asked Peggy eagerly. "I don't want the poor
fellow to have aught to wherrit him. He hath enough as it is."
"Yes; thee may tell him, Peggy." Sally slipped from the bed as she
spoke and buried her face in the washing bowl. "After all, as thee
said, 'tis naught to make such a pother about."
"Will thee come home with me to see Harriet, Sally?"
"Not to-day, Peggy." Sally began to brush her hair vigorously. "I will
come in the morning. I want to think things over. Thee doesn't mind?"
"No," Peggy answered more troubled than she cared to admit over Sally.
"Well, I shall see thee to-morrow then."
Harriet and her father were awaiting her when she returned home.
Harriet looked weary and a little pale.
"We could not see the Congress, Peggy," said she in answer to Peggy's
eager queries. "Cousin David could not obtain an audience for me; but
the Minister of War, in whose charge Clifford now is, consented that
we should accompany him to the New Jersey cantonment. He said that
'twas General Washington's desire that Clifford should be given every
indulgence suitable to his rank and condition that would be consistent
with the security of his person. He said too that the execution would
take place pursuant to the general's orders, and therefore 'twas
proper that all pleas should be made to him. We start with the
dragoons and officers who guard my brother to-morrow."
It was early the next morning when the start for New Jersey was made.
Early as it was, however, Sally was down to see them off. She hovered
around Peggy, finally saying, with a fine air of carelessness:
"I had a short letter from thy Cousin Clifford, Peggy. If he should
speak of the matter, I dare say he will not, thee may say that 'tis
all right. That I have no hard feelings toward him."
Peggy caught her suddenly, and held her fast.
"Is that all I am to say, Sally? Is there naught else? Couldn't thee
give me one little kind word for him? He is to die, Sally."
Sally struggled to free herself, then unexpectedly hid her face on
Peggy's shoulder, and burst into tears.
"Tell him," she sobbed, then looked up at Peggy wrathfully: "If thee
tells him anything until the very last, Peggy Owen, I will never
forgive thee. Never!"
"I understand, Sally," encouraged Peggy. "Tell me."
"Thee may tell him, at the very last, at the very last, Peggy."
"Yes, Sally."
"Thee may tell him that I think him the finest gentleman I ever knew.
There! Of course, being thy kinsman, and because we are such friends,
for thy sake, thee knows----"
"Yes, I know." Peggy kissed Sally gently, then held her close. "I have
not told Harriet a word," she whispered. "Oh, Sally! Sally!"
They joined Clifford and his guards on the Bristol road. Peggy could
not but reflect with what joyousness she and Sally had passed over
this very road a few short months before. How much had happened since
that time! Fairfax foully murdered, Clifford, her cousin, on his way
to pay the penalty of the deed. Truly strange things were wrought in
the warp and woof of time. So musing, for little conversation was
held, the long hours of the day glided into the shadows of evening,
and found them at Trenton where they were to bide for the night. Peggy
suggested seeing Governor Livingston, but Harriet demurred at once.
"He would do naught for us, Peggy," she declared. "Have you forgot
that 'twas I who tried to effect his captivation at Middlebrook? 'Tis
that very thing that makes me fearful of meeting General Washington.
Were not my brother's life at stake I would not chance it."
The roads were in good condition, the business in hand most urgent,
and so they journeyed from early morning until nightfall of each day
with but short stops to refresh man and beast. Through Princeton, and
along the banks of the Millstone to Kingston they rode. Here the road
left the valley and began to ascend the heights, then along the banks
of the Raritan River until Somerset Court House was reached. Peggy
turned to Harriet.
"Does thee know where we are, my cousin?" she asked smiling.
"We are coming into Middlebrook," answered Harriet gazing about her.
"Does it cause you painful thoughts, Peggy? 'Twas here that first you
knew me. 'Twas here that I played the spy. Ah! the huts where the
soldiers dwelt are still standing. 'Tis most familiar, Peggy."
"Nay, I am not pained at the recollection, Harriet. Thou art changed
in many ways since then. I do not believe that thee would play the spy
now."
"You know not, Peggy. I do not know myself. If aught would result of
benefit to England's cause, I might. I have done other things. I do
not know."
"Are you two talking about those huts yonder?" questioned Clifford,
who had been riding with Mr. Owen. "Cousin David says the American
army camped here in the winter of '79."
"We know it, my cousin," answered Peggy. "This is where we first met.
Harriet and I passed that winter here."
"Tell me about it," he said. "There are many things concerning that
winter I would know."
So with each girl supplementing the other the story of Middlebrook was
told. Harriet did not spare herself in the recital. With amazing
frankness she related how she had tried to capture both General
Washington and Governor Livingston. Her brother listened in wide-eyed
astonishment.
"And father let you engage in such emprises?" he queried with pained
surprise.
Harriet smiled.
"I liked the danger, Cliff," she said. "'Tis risk that gives the zest
to all undertakings. Life is like food: insipid without some spice.
Beside, here was Peggy to rescue me from paying the penalty of my
acts. Poor Peggy! she thought she had fallen upon evil days when I
carried her off to New York."
"Poor Peggy indeed!" he agreed briefly; then relapsed into thought.
The road beyond Middlebrook was new to both maidens, and had they not
been saddened by the knowledge that each mile traversed brought them
nearer to the place where Clifford must be left they would have been
delighted with the romantic scenery. Soon the heights of Morristown
came into view. A few miles to the eastward of Morristown lay the
little town of Chatham. Between the heights and the village lay the
cantonment of the Jersey line, Clifford's destination.
Chatham was a pleasant little place. There were many hills in the
vicinity, and a fine view of the valley of the Passaic River, which
stream ran through the village. But none of the party noticed hills or
river as they went through the town toward the encampment. Harriet
grew pale at sight of the tents.
"You must be brave, my sister," pleaded Clifford, observing her
pallor. "I must meet the colonel, you know. Help me to do so with
composure. Besides, you will come back here after you have seen Sir
Guy."
"True," she answered. "I am not going to break down, Clifford. There
is much to be done."
They were received with extreme kindness by Colonel Elias Dayton, who
had command of the Jersey line. No orders concerning Clifford had as
yet been received from General Washington, he told them, save only
that he must be closely guarded.
"And naught will happen to him until you have had time to see General
Washington," he reassured Harriet, moved by her grief at parting from
her brother. "'Tis a most distressing affair, and there is no one in
the American lines who does not desire that General Carleton will give
us the real culprit."
And with lightened hearts Mr. Owen and the two girls proceeded to
Morristown, where they were to pass the night.