“I suppose that you are rejoicing over our defeat, my little cousin,” he exclaimed harshly.
“I am glad indeed that the cause hath succeeded, my cousin,” answered the girl frankly. “We have fought so long that ’tis matter for rejoicing when at length the victory is ours. Yet,” she added meeting his look with one of compassion, “I am sorry for thee, too. I grieve to see either a proud nation or a proud man humbled.”
“And is it indeed over, as Clifford says, father?” questioned Harriet.
“Yes,” he told her, his whole manner expressive of the deepest chagrin. “Washington hath consented to a cessation of hostilities for two hours, but there is no doubt as to the outcome. Our works are shattered, and the ammunition almost exhausted. There is naught else to do but surrender, but ’tis a bitter dose to swallow.”
He covered his face with his hands and groaned. Clifford turned upon Peggy with something of irritation.
“Why don’t you say what you are thinking?” he cried. “Say that you are glad, but don’t for pity sake look sorry for us!”
“I am not thinking of thee at all,” returned Peggy wistfully, “but of father. Neither thee nor thy father is hurt, but what of my father?”
“And do you wish to go to him?”
“Yes,” she uttered eagerly.
“It can be arranged,” he said. “I will see to a flag.” As he started to leave them William Owen looked up.