“Yes,” he said. “But oh, madam! is it necessary that he should know? Think, think what it would be should he learn that John Drayton, one of his soldiers, deserted. I could not bear to see him.”
“But would he not take more interest in thee than any other officer might? He alone would know all that thou didst endure in that march through the Maine wilderness. He would have a more complete understanding of thy privations, and how thou hast borne thyself under them. It is to him we must look to get thee thy chance.”
Drayton buried his face in his hands for a time, and sat in thought. Presently he looked up.
“You speak truly, madam,” he said. “’Tis the only way. He is the one to whom we must go. I am ashamed to face him, but I will. I’ll ask for another chance, but oh! this is a thing that he cannot understand: he who would give his life rather than fail in his duty. ’Tis a part of my punishment. I’d rather die than face him, but I will.”
“Once more, lad, let us not be too hasty,” said the lady again, laying a detaining hand upon his arm as he rose to his feet. “We must approach him with some little diplomacy. So much have I learned in this long war. He hath discovered a liking for Peggy here, and hath bestowed marked notice upon her upon several occasions. Therefore, while I like not to seem to take advantage of such favor, in this instance it might be well to send her as an advocate to him for thee. What does thee say, Peggy?”
“That ’tis the very thing,” cried Peggy, starting up. “Oh, I will gladly go to him. And I will plead, and plead, John, until he cannot help but give thee another chance.”
“It seems like shirking,” remonstrated Drayton, his restored manliness eager to begin an expiation.
“Thee has been advertised as a deserter, lad, and should thee attempt to go to him thee might be apprehended. Also, if the general were to see thee without first preparing him, he might not listen to thy explanation, and turn thee over to the recruiting officer. It will be the part of wisdom for Peggy to see him first.”
And so it was arranged. September had given place to the crisp bracing air of October, and on the uplands the trees were beginning to wear the glory of scarlet and yellow and opal green. Sunshine and shadow flecked the streets of the city, and as Peggy wended her way toward the headquarters of General Arnold, she was conscious of a feeling of melancholy.
“Is it because of the dying year, I wonder?” she asked herself as a dead leaf fell at her feet. “I know not why it is, but my spirits are very low. Is it because I fear the general will not give the lad his chance? Come, Peggy!” Addressing herself sternly, a way she had. “Put thy heart in attune with the weather, lest thee infects the general with thy megrims.”