Peggy's heart sank as they entered the chamber, and she encountered the grave glances of the men assembled there. There were not more than a dozen in session, for the Council was a small body. Some of the members she knew well, others only slightly. They were courteous, kindly men with the best interests of their country at heart, but stern and implacable toward the least infringement of patriotism. And so the girl's heart beat tumultuously as she advanced timidly toward the platform upon which the President, Mr. Moore, was seated. He rose as the trembling maidens paused before him, and stood for a moment looking at them in silence. It seemed to Peggy that his glance searched every recess of her heart. She grew pale before his intense gaze, and her eyes fell. Sally, on the contrary, seemed to have recovered her customary composure. She suddenly stood erect, and looked about her. Presently she saw Mr. Jacob Deering, and smiled a greeting. The old gentleman was visibly uneasy under her glance, and opening his snuff-box he took a huge pinch of snuff. "Margaret Owen." Peggy started as the unaccustomed appellation fell from the lips of the President. "It hath been brought to the attention of this Council that you have given aid to a prisoner of war. That you have harbored one of the enemy, and have tried to abet his escape. What have you to answer to this charge?" "'Tis true," faltered the girl in a low tone. "When did it occur?" "Last Sixth-day." "Which was Friday, the first day of this month. Was your father at home at the time?" "Yes," answered Peggy quickly, "but he knew naught of it." "And did you not know that it was a misdemeanor to succor one of the enemy?" "Yes, friend; I knew it." "You knew that 'twas a misdemeanor, and yet unbeknown to your father you still committed it?" he asked, as though amazed at such duplicity. "Did you not know that such an act might bring suspicion upon him? Did you not know that even though he had given good service to the cause, even that would not avail him if he were suspected of abetting a prisoner's escape? Whom can we trust since General Arnold failed us?" Peggy was too full of emotion to be able to do more than nod acquiescence. "Then if you knew these things, why did you do this?" he demanded, his brow darkening. "He was my cousin, Clifford Owen," she told him brokenly. "I could not refuse him shelter in such a storm." "Clifford Owen? A son of that Colonel Owen who as a prisoner on parole stayed at your house?" "Yes," answered Peggy. "A brother to that Mistress Harriet Owen who played the spy with our army at Middlebrook, and who while at your house tried to communicate with the enemy at New York and was banished for so doing?" "Yes," answered the girl again.