Peggy flushed guiltily.
“Yes,” she admitted, “he doth, Harriet. I knew not that thee was aware of it, though.”
“Give me the note,” said Harriet, rising suddenly. “As my father helped you to your father I thought you would aid me, but I see——”
“Nay,” said Peggy, her gentle heart not proof against the insinuation of ingratitude. “Give me the note, Harriet. I will give it to the man. I see not how it can bring harm to any, and thee ought to hear from thy father.”
“How good you are, Peggy,” cried Harriet, kissing her. “Here is the note. If I can only hear this once I will be content until such time as Cousin David deems best. You are very sweet, my cousin.”
And under the influence of this effusiveness Peggy saw not that the note her cousin handed to her was not the one which she had read.
CHAPTER XVII—A LETTER AND A SURPRISE
| “Oh, never shall we know again A heart so stout and true— The olden times have passed away, And weary are the new.” —Aytoun. |
“Governor Livingston will dine with us to-day, Peggy,” remarked Mrs. Owen as Peggy and Harriet came down the stairs equipped for their ride. “Be not too long away, for thy father will wish you both here.”
“Is he the rebel governor of the Jerseys?” asked Harriet abruptly. “The one for whom two thousand guineas are offered—for his capture?”