“Is it not wonderful?” broke in Peggy. “Oh, I knew that something would happen soon to cheer us up! It hath always been so from the beginning of the Revolution. There was Trenton in ‘76, just when every one thought the country lost; and Saratoga in ’77, when our own dear city was in the hands of the British. Whenever it hath been so dark that it seemed as though we could not press forward something hath always occurred to renew our courage. I can see it all!” she cried enthusiastically. “The swamps, and the trees with the marksmen hidden behind them; the river, and the palmettos; the swift rush of the soldiers through the trees, and then the crash of arms, and victory!” “I thought you were a Quaker,” sneered Harriet. “Do Friends so delight in warfare?” “But I am a patriot too,” cried Peggy. “I can’t help but feel glad that we were victorious, although I am not sorry that Colonel Tarleton escaped, as thee is, John. He was so good to me. Had it not been for him I would not have been home.” “It is utterly impossible,” came from Harriet again. “Colonel Tarleton never did meet defeat, and I don’t believe that he ever will. ’Tis some quidnunc story got up to keep the rebels fighting. And if it were true, you are cruel to rejoice when father may have been in the action. Or Clifford.” “But the Welsh Fusileers, thy father’s regiment, stay always with Lord Cornwallis, do they not?” queried Peggy, whose residence among the British had taught her much concerning such matters. “And as for thy brother, Clifford, thee does not know where he is.” “No; I don’t know,” answered the English girl tearfully. “I would I did. But he might have been there. He is somewhere in these revolted colonies, and it’s cruel to be so glad when he might be among those who are killed, or wounded.” She flung herself back among the pillows of the settle as she finished speaking, and gave way to a passion of tears. “But you would rejoice at an English victory, Mistress Harriet,” spoke Lieutenant Drayton in surprise. The Harriet he remembered would have scorned to betray such weakness. “We do not exult over those who are slain or wounded, but we do delight in the fact that liberty is advanced whenever we win a battle. And we care for the wounded, even though they are foes. Also,” he added, his brow darkening, “we give quarter, and your people do not.” “’Tis a great price to pay for freedom,” remarked Mrs. Owen sadly. “And yet there are times when it can be obtained in no other way.” “But to—to say that they r-ran,” sobbed Harriet. “The British wouldn’t run.” “Oh, wouldn’t they?” observed the lieutenant dryly. “These ran like foxes when the hounds are after them. And they took to cover worse than any militia I ever saw. But there!” he concluded. “What doth it matter? We whipped them badly.” “Harriet hath been ill, John,” explained Peggy in a low tone. “Thee must not mind what she says.”