“God bless my soul! That is beyond me.”
“You are not a woman, Archie.”
“No, thank God I am not,” he answered, without the vestige of a smile. “Of all the wearisome things in the world, I can imagine nothing worse than being a woman.”
“And yet there are a good many who have to put up with this weariness.”
“The Lord help them! But we must not fall to quarrelling at our first meeting; that would be altogether too much like boy and girl again. Peggy, do you remember how we used to fight over the plovers' nests?” and he laughed merrily at the thought. “Don't be put out by a little thing like this. I'll not kill the gentleman behind a hedge or in the dark; he shall have nothing to complain of, rest assured. But I have sad news for your friends, Margaret. M. de Montcalm died at daybreak this morning.”
“Oh, Archie! We did not even know that he was wounded.”
“Nor did we until late last night, for he was seen on his horse during the retreat. He was a fine soldier.”
“He was more than that, Archie. He was a man of honour and the soul of his army—and he was very good to me,” I sobbed, breaking down at the remembrance of his chivalrous protection.
To my surprise, Archie put his arm about me. “Cry on, Peggy, my lamb,” he said, in the soft endearment of the Gaelic. And the soldier who had so readily decided on the death of a man a moment since, now melted at the sight of a woman's grief, and offered her that best of all consolation, sympathy. Nothing else could so quickly have revealed to me the wrong I had been guilty of in holding aloof from this strong affection that had held fast in simple, unwavering loyalty to the love of childhood. To him I had always remained the Peggy of the old home; in his generous heart the thought of any necessity for reconciliation had no place, for he held himself as the head of the family, from whom protection for the weaker must necessarily flow.
“By-the-way, Peggy,” he said, suddenly, “it was you, no doubt, who spake to one of my men in Gaelic this morning. That was Neil, son of Angus Dubh, the tacksman on the old place, one of my best sergeants. You did as much for him as the surgeon, and when I tell him who you are he will think you an angel from heaven. Come when you can and say a word to our poor fellows; they are wearying for home like children, now they are past fighting for a bit.”