“Perchance there may come a time when thee can explain all to him,” comforted her friend. “Let us go to father now, Sally. He must know all that hath occurred.”
THE TWO GIRLS SET FORTH.
Without further ado the two girls set forth for Peggy’s home. The distant hills that ridged the west bank of the Schuylkill stretched a luminous belt in the glistening sunshine. The city was clothed in a garb of pure white, a dazzling garment that was symbolical of the peace with which The Founder desired his beloved city to be filled. But there was little peace in the hearts of the two maidens who wended their way sadly and silently toward the Owen home in Chestnut Street.
David Owen, his wife, Nurse Johnson, Robert and Fairfax were assembled in the living-room of the dwelling. They rose with exclamations of dismay at sight of Peggy’s pale face, and Sally’s red eyes.
“What hath happened, lass?” cried her father. “Thou art in trouble. Is it of a serious nature?”
“Yes, father,” answered the girl tremulously. “It may be grave trouble for thee, though it should be for me alone, as I am solely to blame.” She paused for a moment to steady her voice, then continued: “Father, the escaped prisoner whom the sheriff sought was Clifford. He came here yesterday just after dinner asking for shelter. I could not turn him away in such a storm. Indeed, he would not have sought us out at all had it not been for the weather. And—and I hid him in the kitchen chamber.”
“Clifford!” ejaculated her father. “Thy Cousin Clifford? But where is he now? The kitchen chamber was searched, but we found no one there. Where is he?”