Again she took the lead, and Peggy, following after, could not but marvel at the unerring precision with which her cousin chose her way. Not once did she falter or hesitate, though to Peggy the darkness and gloom of the forest seemed impenetrable.
The melancholy of the forest encompassed them, infolding them like a mantle. It so wrought upon their senses that they reached out and touched each other frequently, seeking to find solace from its brooding sadness. It seemed as though hours elapsed before Harriet spoke in the merest whisper:
“I think we are without the lines, Peggy. ’Tis about time, and now we can seek the turnpike.”
She had scarcely finished speaking when out of the darkness came the peremptory command:
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Friends,” answered Harriet, as the two obediently brought their horses to a standstill.
In the darkness the shadowy form of the sentinel was but dimly visible, but a feeble ray of the pale moonlight caught the gleam of his musket, and Peggy saw with a thrill of fear that it was pointed directly toward Harriet.
“Advance, and give the countersign,” came the order.
How it came about Peggy could not tell, but as he gave the command, Fleetwood reared suddenly upon his hind feet, and, pawing the air with his forelegs and snorting viciously, advanced toward the guard threateningly. An ominous click of the firelock sounded. Wild with terror at the sight, and fearful of what might happen, Peggy cried shrilly:
“Look sharp!”