My father sat still for a while, and then said as I rose, “I trust to hear no more of this nonsense. Thy aunt and thy mother have put it in thy foolish head. I will have no more of it--no more. Dost thou hear?” I said I would try to satisfy him, and so the thing came to an end. The day after this singular talk, which so much puzzled me, Arthur said at breakfast that he should be pleased to go with me on the river for white perch. I hesitated; but, my father saying, “Certainly; he shall go with thee. I do not need him,” I returned that I would be ready at eleven. We pulled over toward Petty’s Island, and when half-way my cousin, who was steering, and had been very silent for him, said: “Let her drift a bit; I want to talk to you.” I sat still and listened. “Why do not you join our army? A commission were easily had.” I replied that he knew my sentiments well, and that his question was absurd. “No,” he said; “I am your friend, although you do not think so. By George! were I you, I would be on one side or the other. I like my friends to do what is manly and decisive.” “Holloa!” thinks I; “has Darthea been talking? And why does he, an officer of the king, want me to go?” “I shall go some day,” I replied, “but when, I know not yet. It seems to me queer counsel to give a good rebel. When does Miss Peniston return?” I said. “What the deuce has that got to do with it? Yes, she is coming back, of course, and soon; but why do not you join your army?” “Let us drop that,” I said. “There are many reasons; I prefer not to discuss the matter.” “Very good,” he said; “and, Hugh, you heard a heap of nonsense last night about Wyncote. Tarleton had too much of your father’s rum-punch. Your people were lucky to lose the old place, and how these tales of our being rich arose I cannot imagine. Come and see us some day, and you will no longer envy the lot of beggared Welsh squires.” All of this only helped the more to make me disbelieve him; but the key to his lies I had not, and so I merely said it would be many a day before that could happen. “Perhaps,” he returned; “but who knows? The war will soon be over.” “When will Miss Peniston be in town?” said I. He was not sure; but said I put it in his mind to say something. “Well?” said I, on my guard. He went on: “I am a frank man, Cousin Hugh.” At times he was, and strangely so; then the next minute he would be indirect or lie to you. The mixture made it hard to understand what he was after. “I trust,” he went on, “that you will pardon me if I say that in England custom does not sanction certain freedoms which in the colonies seem to be regarded as of no moment. I am not of this opinion. Miss Peniston is, I hope, to be my wife. She is young, impulsive, and--well, no matter. Some men take these things coolly; I do not. I am sure you will have the good sense to agree with me. When a woman is pledged to a man, it is fit that she should be most guarded in her relations with other men. I--”