"And now," exclaimed Clifford almost gaily, "as our little affairs are settled, I must bring you in to dinner. The colonel's wife hath commissioned me to do so." "I am not up to it yet, captain. I shall find a bed somewhere, and sleep a while longer. Odds life! how seedy lack of sleep doth make a man! Present my compliments to the ladies, will you?" Drayton sank back on the grass as he spoke. "With pleasure, sir," answered the other. Punctiliously they saluted, and Clifford strode back to the house. John Drayton laughed softly. "Now that," he said, apostrophizing the tree, "that is what might be called an amende honorable. Whew! wouldn't I like to see Harriet's face when he tells her!" Some hours later, having slept off fatigue, washed, and freshened himself from top to toe, Drayton approached the colonel's quarters. On the piazza sat David Owen, with Peggy on one side of him, and Clifford on the other. His arm was about his daughter; his other hand rested on the younger man's knee. It was a pretty picture; full of affection and quiet happiness. John Drayton stopped short at sight of it. His face whitened, and a look of consternation flashed into his eyes. Crushing his beaver over his eyes he wheeled, then strode away. The three had been so absorbed that they had not seen him, but Harriet came upon the piazza in time to catch his expression. "Peggy," she called. "Yes?" Peggy went to her quickly alarmed by the insistence of her tone. "Go to that captain of yours at once. He is troubled." "John troubled, Harriet? Why----" "'Tis naught but what you can remedy, you little goose," cried Harriet shaking her. "Don't you dare come back into the house until you have corrected his misapprehension. I won't have John Drayton made unhappy to-day!" "But----" "Oh, go!" She caught Peggy suddenly and kissed her. "Go!" And wondering much Peggy sped down the path after Drayton. He heard her light footsteps, and waited for her. "Why, how tired thee looks, John," she exclaimed startled by his appearance. "I thought thee had a good sleep. Thee has worn thyself out by thy exertions. And all for us. Yet thee hath given us no chance to thank thee." "I was glad to do it, Peggy. Clifford is--Yes; he's a fine fellow," he said as though he were obliged to acknowledge the fact. "He is well worth saving. I was glad to do it. Yet--yet I am thankful that I did not know----" "Know what?" she asked as he came to a pause. He did not answer, and the girl looked at him in perplexity. Presently she spoke: "I think I never saw thee with thy hat on straight before, John. I like it not." "I did not know." He touched it indifferently. "I always find it so when I am discouraged, or hopeless." "But why should thee be discouraged or hopeless now?" she queried amazed. "How shall I bear it when you are in England, Peggy?" he cried suddenly, and turned from her. Peggy saw a great light. When she spoke it was with sweet authority: