Peggy had her own little mare with her, and Clifford having procured a mount, it came about that they spent long hours in the saddle, exploring the neighboring hills, the roads and byways around the camp. At no time did Clifford exhibit sadness or melancholy. Had it not been for the knowledge ever present in the background of their consciousness of what was to come it would have been a happy period. The days passed. Ten had gone by, but there came no word from Harriet. Peggy found herself growing apprehensive. Would Harriet succeed? she asked herself again and again. No word had come from her. Did it mean failure? She had been so sure. And Peggy was glad that General Washington had insisted that two weeks be the period given for the mission. That Clifford was not insensible of the flight of time was made known to her the day before the two weeks were up. "We are going to ride as far as we can to-day, my cousin," he said as the horses were brought round. "There may be word from Harriet, or from your general to-morrow. Perhaps something will occur that will prevent us from riding." "Where shall we go, Clifford?" asked Peggy falling at once into his mood. "Our longest ride is to the five knob tree on the Short Hills road." "That will do admirably," he answered. "And the glen beyond. Let us go through it once more. It hath much of beauty and romance in its scenery." The day was quite warm, but it was pleasant riding. Clifford was unusually silent, and for the greater part of the distance seemed absorbed in thought. He turned toward her at length smiling: "I am not very talkative this morning, Peggy. I have been thinking of your father. He thought that he might return, you remember." "Yes, Clifford. And I," she added tremulously, "have been thinking of Harriet. We have had no word." "She hath failed, my cousin. Had it not been so she would have been here. Harriet likes not to confess failure. I was certain that she would not succeed, and consented for her sake alone that she should make the effort." "Still, by that means thee had an extra lease of life, Clifford," Peggy reminded him. "I wonder if that hath been altogether for the best, Peggy," he said seriously. "Sometimes, when after all one must undergo such a penalty as lies before me, the kindest thing that can happen is to have it over with without delay." "Don't, Clifford," she cried shuddering. "I think that none of us could have stood it. It would have broken our hearts. With the delay we cannot but hope and believe that something will prevent this awful measure from being carried out."