“I wish you good-morning, Mrs. Owen. It grieves me to enter David Owen’s house upon such mission as I must this day perform, but war is no respecter of persons. Were it my own household I still must subject its inmates to a most rigid inquiry.” Mr. Reed fumbled nervously with his cocked hat as he spoke, and looked the embarrassment that he felt.
“Come in, Friend Reed.” Mrs. Owen threw wide the door of the sitting-room with a smile. “Thee may make all the inquiries thee wishes without apology. And what is the trouble?”
“Madam—I need hardly ask, and yet I must—did you know that this girl here had been communicating with the enemy?”
“No; I did not know of it. Harriet, is such the case? Hast thou indeed been guilty of this?”
“Yes,” admitted Harriet defiantly. “I did write to Sir Henry Clinton about my brother. If that is communicating with the enemy then I am guilty.”
“This then,” said Mr. Reed producing a letter from his coat, “this then is yours?”
Harriet took the missive and scanned it quickly.
“Well,” she said. “And what then? It is mine, and, as may be seen, ’tis innocent enough. It merely asks the commander to get my brother’s exchange as soon as he can. It speaks too of the services our family have rendered to the cause. Why should it not be written? Am I not English? Have I not a right to ask aid from my own people?”
“Undoubtedly, mistress; but in times like these there are regulations to be observed by both sides. One who breaks them does so at his own risk, and subjects himself and those with whom he abides to suspicion. I warned you against this very thing. I promised to attend to any letter you might wish to send to the British commander after we had found an officer who might be exchanged for your brother. That you preferred to risk sending a message through the lines irregularly rather than to benefit by my assistance doth not speak well for the harmlessness of the letter, however innocent it doth appear on the surface.”
“But it contains nothing that can harm any one,” she protested. “And you were so long in telling me about the parole. Why, look you! ’Tis all of a month since you promised to get my brother here, and he hath not come yet! Think you I could wait longer? The letter hath not been written five days, and had you obtained my brother’s release as you promised ’twould not have been written at all. ’Tis unfair to hold me to account for a matter for which you yourself are to blame.”