“I would not go elsewhere, and I were you,” he said. “Harriet and I are going for a short ride after parade. Would you like to accompany us?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I will not stay long, Clifford.”
Peggy started forth with this intention, but it took some little time to reach the cottage so filled were the streets with troops. It seemed to the girl that every foot of ground held a red coat. When she at length arrived at the place it was to find Nurse Johnson out. She would soon be back, she was told, so the girl sat down to wait for her. Finally the good woman made her appearance, but there was so much to tell that it was high noon before the visit was ended.
“I shall miss the ride,” mused Peggy passing quickly through the tiny orchard to the gate which opened on Palace Street. “I hope that my cousins won’t wait for me, or that they will not be annoyed. Why, John!”
For as she turned from shutting the gate she came face to face with John Drayton.
“Is thee mad,” she cried, “to venture here like this? ’Tis certain death, John.”
“Is anything liable to happen to a fellow who wears such a garb as this in a British camp?” he asked indicating his clothes by a careless gesture.
Peggy’s glance swept him from head to foot. He was clad in the uniform of a British officer, and seemed not at all concerned as to his safety. An awful suspicion clutched her, and again her gaze took in every detail of that telltale uniform. Then her eyes sought his face and she looked at him searchingly, as though she would read his very soul. Suddenly she leaned forward and touched the red coat fearfully.
“What doth it mean?” she whispered, all her apprehension and doubt contained in the query.
Over Drayton’s face swept a swift indescribable change at her words. He drew a deep breath before answering, and when he spoke his voice held a harshness she had never heard before: