He indicated the way, and going into the garden I found Mary Desmond there. She wore June roses on her shoulder, their pink and red gleaming against her white dress, and her face was bright. The charm of her eyes did not depart in the daylight. "So you have come back unharmed," she said. "But you have returned early." "We have not fought the battle yet," I replied. "But you look worn," she said. "Have you not seen service?" "Yes," I replied, "I have spent a night on duty with Wildfoot." "I might have known," she replied, as she laughed. "That man never sleeps--at least not in the night. He is always seeking to do something for our cause, which may have friends more powerful, but never better." "I know it," I replied earnestly. We walked on between the flower beds. It was just such another garden as that at the Tory's house, in which we had talked at cross-purposes after our night's ride, but somehow we seemed to understand each other much better here. The atmosphere was different. I began to tell her of our night with Wildfoot, and first of our visit to the lonely house where Mother Melrose challenged the Hessian. Her eyes filled and grew tender. "I know her well," she said, "and she is as loyal and true as Wildfoot himself. She has been one of the links in our chain of communication with the American army, as perhaps Wildfoot told you. I have left messages there myself more than once, and sometimes I have urged her to go away to a safer place. But she seems never to be afraid in that lonely house!" I looked with admiration at this young girl who spoke with such praise of another's bravery, but was unconscious of her own. "But if Mrs. Melrose should be afraid there," I said, "should not you be afraid to ride alone, at night, in our service through the dangerous forests?" "I never thought of that," she replied simply. "I had ridden all about Philadelphia before the war, and I knew the country. It seemed easy for me to go, and I was sure that none would ever suspect me, I claimed to be such an ardent Tory, and I seemed to be all that I claimed. Then we needed friends in Philadelphia." "In truth we found the best," I replied with earnestness. She blushed, but did not look wholly displeased. "You flatter like a courtier, Lieutenant Chester," she said, "and this is too grave a time for flattery." "But were you never afraid?" I persisted. "Once I was," she said, "when some horsemen, I know not whether they were soldiers or robbers, pursued me. They followed me five miles; but my horse was too swift, and when they saw the lights of the picket they turned back. I had a pass from Sir William Howe, but I know that my hand trembled when I showed it to the sentinels. I was too ill to leave our house the next day, but I went again a week afterward." I looked with increasing wonder and admiration at the slender figure that could dare so much. If our women even were so brave, surely our cause could not fail!