“I have done naught but think since I was brought here, Peggy. If I could get past that guard at the door there would be a chance. But what can I do with a locked door? I have no tools, naught with which to open it. There is no other entrance save by that door and that window. No;” he shook his head decidedly. “’Tis no use to think, Peggy. The end hath come.”
“And how shall I bear it?” she cried.
“’Tis for the country, Peggy.” He touched her hand softly. “We must not falter if she demands life of us. If we had a dozen lives we would lay them all down in her service, wouldn’t we? If I have helped the cause ever so little it doth not matter that I die. And you will let the Marquis know what hath happened? And General Greene? I am glad you came. It hath sweetened these last hours. I’ll forgive Clifford everything for permitting it. You are not to grieve, Peggy. If I have been of help to the cause in any way it hath all been owing to you. I have in very truth been your soldier.”
“Peggy!” came Clifford’s voice from without the door. “Time’s up!”
“Oh, John,” whispered Peggy, white and shaken. “I can’t say good-bye. I can’t——”
“Then don’t,” he said gently leading her to the door. “Let us take a lesson from our French allies and say, not good-bye—but au revoir.” Then with something of his old jauntiness he added: “Wait and see what the night will bring; perhaps rescue. Who knows? Go now, Peggy.”
“We were speaking of rescue,” he said smiling slightly as Clifford, fuming at Peggy’s delay, entered the room. “I have just said that we know not what a night will bring forth, so I shall not say good-bye, but au revoir.”
“You will best say good-bye while you can, Sir Captain,” growled Clifford. “You will never have another chance. Come, my cousin.”
CHAPTER XXX—WHAT THE NIGHT BROUGHT
| “’Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its luster and perfume, And we are weeds without it.” —“The Task,” Cowper. |