On the afternoon of the third day Peggy and Robert cantered ahead of the party for a short dash, but the road becoming hilly and steep they were obliged to slow their horses down to a walk. The road ascended the North Mountain here rising by three ridges, each steeper than the former. Below them lay the valley, enclosed on the left by the Valley Mountain with all its garland of woods; and by the Welsh mountains on the right. Hills and rocks, waving with the forests of oak and chestnut, bordered the road and, as their leaves rustled to the wind and twinkled in the sun, gave to the depth of solitude a sort of life and vivacity. Peggy had been telling Robert Dale about the attack on Tom’s River, and all the sad details of Fairfax’s death. Following the narrative a silence had fallen between them which was broken abruptly by Peggy.
“Look yonder, Robert! Something hath befallen a wagon, and there seems to be no one near it. To thy right. Does thee not see?”
Major Dale uttered an exclamation as his glance followed Peggy’s index finger.
“You are right, Peggy,” he cried. “Something is amiss there. The wheel hath been broken, and the wagon abandoned, yet ’tis full of merchandise. This must be looked into.”
He gave spur to his horse, and dashed forward followed closely by Peggy. A wagon, one of the Conestoga sort, was drawn to one side of the road, and left under a tree. One of the wheels was broken, but there was no sign of horse or driver to be seen, though in truth the vehicle was filled with goods.
“Well, this is a strange proceeding,” mused the young man. “Here we must needs have an armed guard for the safe arrival of our goods, yet this wagon stands on the broad highway unmolested. I’ll take a look at these goods. It may be——”
“Good-morrow, friends,” spoke a soft voice, and from behind some bushes a feminine form arose, whether maid or matron could not be determined at once, so voluminous were her wrappings. Her whole exterior, as well as her speech, showed that she belonged to the Society of Friends.
A long cloak of dark-gray superfine cloth enveloped her form completely. A small bonnet of gray taffeta silk was tied primly with a demure bow under her chin. It left not a wisp of hair visible. A riding mask covered her face so that only a finely turned chin was to be seen. So suddenly did she appear that both Robert and Peggy were guilty of staring. The youth was the first to recover himself.
“I cry you pardon, mistress,” he said springing from the saddle, and approaching the newcomer. “If this be your wagon, you are in trouble. Are you all alone?”
“And if I am, friend, what is it to thee?” The words as well as the manner of the questioner caused the young man to flush, but he answered promptly: