“Harriet!” he cried. “Do not ask me to believe that Colonel Owen prefers his son’s life to his son’s honor? I’ll not believe it.”
“Believe what you will, my brother, only come with me,” and she clung to him pleadingly. “I’ll call those men, Clifford.”
“You shall not, Harriet,” he answered putting her aside. “Instead get your own horse and come back with us.”
“I cannot, Clifford. I must see our father. Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
But Clifford turned from her, saying coldly:
“You have wounded me too deeply, my sister.”
“Clifford, thee must not leave thy sister so,” interposed Peggy. “Mistaken she may be in her efforts for thy liberty, but ’tis done through love for thee. ’Twould be monstrous to leave her unkindly!”
“I mean not to be unkind, my cousin,” he returned. “But consider my feelings when my own sister hath tried to put me in a position that would reflect upon mine honor.”
“Thee must not be too hard on her, Clifford. Women do not regard such things as men do. When their affections are bestowed all else is subordinated to them. Doth a mother, a sister, a wife cease to love when man hath lost his honor? I tell thee such things seem different to us. Thy sister hath intended thee no wrong. ’Tis because of her love for thee that she hath done this.”
“True, Peggy,” came from Harriet brokenly. “True.”