“That was the knocker,” cried Peggy, starting up. “I wonder who it can be at this time of night?”
“We shall soon see,” said her mother taking up a candle and proceeding to the hall. “Who is it?” she called cautiously.
“’Tis I, Sally. Open quickly. I have news,” answered the clear voice of Sally Evans.
Mrs. Owen unbolted the door hastily, and Sally tumbled rather than stepped into the hall. Her calash was untied, and her curly locks had escaped their ribbon and hung in picturesque confusion about her face.
“Harriet!” she gasped. “I want Harriet.”
“Harriet is gone, Sally,” exclaimed Peggy. “Has thee not heard?”
“Gone where?” asked Sally in dismay. “I have heard nothing. She must be found, wherever she hath gone. There is news——”
“Come in and sit down,” said Mrs. Owen drawing her into the sitting-room. “Now tell us what hath occurred.”
“I should tell Harriet,” persisted Sally, who was plainly excited. “Where hath she gone?”
“She was sent to New York for communicating with the enemy,” replied Mrs. Owen. “’Tis strange that thee heard naught of it. It happened a week since.”