“Yes; he hath twelve hundred regulars, and everywhere in tide-water Virginia the militia are rising to join him. We must do all we can to keep the old Dominion from being overrun by the enemy. The meeting place is near the Richmond hills.”
“Thank you for the information,” came a sarcastic voice, and from out of the gloom there stepped a figure in the uniform of an English officer. The moon, bursting through the clouds at this moment, revealed the dark face of Benedict Arnold. Peggy gave a little cry as she recognized him.
“So this is your trysting place,” he said glancing about the grove. “Upon my word a most romantic spot for a meeting, but a trace too near the enemy for absolute security. You realize, do you not, that you are both prisoners?”
“Sir,” spoke Fairfax Johnson, “do with me as you will, but this maiden hath done naught for which she should be made a prisoner. She but came to conduct me to my mother.”
“And ’tis no trysting place,” interposed Peggy with some indignation. “The lad but ventured here to see his mother. He hath eaten nothing since yesterday morning. The least, the very least thee can do is to first let him see his mother, and have a good meal.”
“And then?” he questioned as though enjoying the situation. “Upon my word, Miss Peggy, you plead well for him. I have heard you plead for another youth, have I not?”
“Thee has,” answered she with spirit. “But then I pleaded with an American officer, a gallant and brave man. Now——”
“Yes, and now?” he demanded fiercely. “Have I no bowels of compassion, think you, because I have changed my convictions? I will show you, Mistress Peggy, that I am not so vile a thing as you believe. Go! You and this youth also. The information he hath so unwittingly given is of far more value than he would be as a prisoner. We had not yet been advised of Lafayette’s whereabouts, and we were anxious to know them. We have tarried at this town for want of that very intelligence. Therefore, go! but take this advice: Hereafter, choose your meeting place at a spot other than the enemy’s headquarters.” He laughed sneeringly, and turning strode off under the trees.
“I would rather he had taken me prisoner,” observed the lad gloomily.
“Well, I am glad that he did not,” answered Peggy. “Thy mother would have grieved so. Come, Friend Fairfax! With such a man one knows not how long his mood of mercy will last. Let us hasten while we may.”