“If aught should happen to thee,” she murmured apprehensively.
“For shame, Mistress Peggy,” chided Harriet shaking with merriment. “Is this thy Quaker teaching? Such conduct is most unseemly. Fie, fie!” Unloosening Peggy’s clasp she walked boldly toward the hut.
In an intensity of anxiety and expectation Peggy waited. On the still air of the summer night Harriet’s voice sounded sharply incisive as she spoke curtly to the guard, and hearing it Peggy knew that had she not been in the secret she could not have told it from Clifford’s.
“A bit early, aren’t you, sir?” came the voice of the guard.
“I think not, Samuels,” replied the pseudo Captain Williams in his loftiest manner, and with a sly chuckle the guard saluted and walked away.
A candle was burning dimly in the hut, and by its feeble rays Peggy could discern the outlines of her cousin as she took her place on guard. The sentries passed and repassed. Presently Harriet rose, coolly unlocked the door and passed inside. Peggy waited breathlessly. After a few moments her cousin reappeared, and again assumed the watchful position at the door. At length the moment for which they waited came. The sentries passed to the side where they crossed on the return rounds. Harriet swung open the door, and a form darted quickly out. The intrepid maiden closed the door noiselessly, and by the time the sentinel had reappeared was sitting stiffly erect, on guard once more.
Soon Peggy felt her hand caught softly.
“John,” she breathed.
“Peggy,” he answered in so low a tone that she could scarcely distinguish the words. “How did you manage it? I thought your cousin my most implacable enemy.”
“’Twas Harriet,” she told him. “She wears Clifford’s uniform.”