“Thee is unjust, my cousin,” began Peggy, when Harriet interrupted her.
“That is simply pig-headedness, Cliff. If Sally Evans said that she did not betray you, then she didn’t. That’s all there is to it. When you come to know these Quakers as I do you will find that they always speak truth.”
“Thank thee, Harriet,” said Peggy gratefully, not a little delighted that her cousin should speak so warmly. “But I won’t say anything more to thy brother anent Sally if he does not wish to hear it. Sally would not like it.”
“’Tis close in these barracks,” cried Harriet rising. “Let’s call John Drayton, so that you can give him your parole, Clifford. We are to have dinner at two. It will be ready by the time we are there.”
Clifford Owen’s lips set in a straight line of determination, but before he could speak the door opened to admit David Owen, Robert Dale, and John Drayton. The countenances of all three were very serious, and Peggy felt her heart begin to throb with anticipation of approaching disaster. Something had gone amiss. What could it be? Harriet noticed nothing unusual in their appearance, and flashed a brilliant smile at them.
“You are just in time, Cousin David,” she cried, “to help us persuade this obstinate brother of mine to give his parole to Captain Drayton.”
“A moment first, lass.” David Owen’s voice was very grave. “Tell me what was in the wagon in which thee came?”
“There were supplies for our soldiers, sir,” she answered. “Table stores and clothing. Why do you ask? Your Congress permits them to be sent.”