“I think not,” answered Peggy. “There is always an express to tell of it, if there hath been, before the prisoners come. These are not from the Cowpens, Harriet. They could not be, and come from that direction.”
“True,” said Harriet. “I wonder if the main army hath engaged with our troops? Oh, I like not to see our men made prisoners!”
Peggy made no reply, and in silence the two watched the troopers. As they came opposite to the place where the maidens stood one of the prisoners, a young fellow, leaned over and said something to the trooper next him. Then, with a light laugh he turned his face full upon them, and lifted his hat with jaunty grace.
As he did so Harriet sprang forward with an amazed cry:
“Clifford! Clifford! Clifford!”
CHAPTER IV—A STRANGE PRESENTIMENT
| “He alone Is victor who stays not for any doom Foreshadowed; utters neither sigh nor moan; Death stricken, strikes for the right, Nor counts his life his own.” —Atlantic Monthly Calendar, 1908. |
An exclamation of intense astonishment burst from the young fellow’s lips, and he drew rein quickly. If it was his intention to come to them he was not allowed to carry it out, for at this moment the leader of the troopers gave a sharp command, and the whole party swept onward at increased speed.
“Clifford! Clifford!” called Harriet again and again; but the youth gave no further heed, and the horsemen were soon beyond the reach of her voice.
“’Twas Clifford,” she cried turning to Peggy with a sob. “Oh, Peggy, what shall I do? He is a prisoner.”