“I will walk as far as the college and back,” she concluded. “I must be by myself to think this over. What shall be done? Go to New York I will not. And how determinedly my cousin speaks! Doth he think that I have no spirit that I will submit to him?”
And so musing she walked slowly down Palace Street, under the shade of the double row of catalpa trees which cast cooling shadows over the narrow green. At length just as she turned to enter Duke of Gloucester Street there came the sound of bugles. This was followed by the noise of countless hoof beats; then came the sharp tones of military command: all denoting the approach of a body of mounted men.
The people began running hither and thither, and soon the street was so filled with them that Peggy could not see what was coming. As quickly as possible she made her way to the steps of the Capitol, and ascended its steps that she might have a good view of the approaching force. From the Yorktown road another detachment of British filed into town. The citizens of the little city viewed their entrance with feelings in which alarm predominated. What could they want in Williamsburg, they asked themselves. Had they not been stripped of almost everything in the shape of food that they should be compelled to support a third visit from the enemy? A flutter of skirts in the rear division of the cavalry drew attention to the fact that a girl rode among them and, surprised by this unusual incident, Peggy leaned forward for a keener glance.
A cry of amazement broke from her lips as the girl drew near. For the maiden was Harriet Owen on her horse, Fleetwood.
Harriet herself, blooming and beautiful! Harriet, in joseph of green, with a gay plume of the same color nodding from her hat, smiling and debonair, as though riding in the midst of cavalry were the most enjoyable thing in the world. Peggy rubbed her eyes, and looked again. No; she was not dreaming. She saw aright. The vision on horseback was in very truth her cousin Harriet. With a little cry Peggy ran down the steps, and pushed her way through the gaping crowd.
“Harriet,” she called.
Harriet Owen turned, saw her, then drew rein and spoke to the officer who rode by her side. He smiled, saluted her courteously as she dismounted lightly, and gave Fleetwood’s bridle into the hand of an orderly. Quickly the English girl advanced to her cousin’s side.
“Well, Peggy?” she said smilingly.
CHAPTER XX—VINDICATED
| “’Tis just that I should vindicate alone The broken truce, or for the breach atone.” —Dryden. |