“No; I believe that the walk hath done me good,” answered Harriet, who did look better. “Still I feel a little cold. Let us walk fast, Peggy.” Recrossing the bridge they left the gay throng and started briskly down the narrow footway of Front Street. Suddenly the clatter of hoofs was heard, and the maidens turned to see a party of American horse approaching from the direction of Frankford. They were riding at speed, and the girls drew close to the curb of the walk to see them pass. As the dragoons drew near they saw that they were escorting a number of British prisoners. “Hath there been another battle?” asked Harriet, growing pale. “I think not,” answered Peggy. “There is always an express to tell of it, if there hath been, before the prisoners come. These are not from the Cowpens, Harriet. They could not be, and come from that direction.” “True,” said Harriet. “I wonder if the main army hath engaged with our troops? Oh, I like not to see our men made prisoners!” Peggy made no reply, and in silence the two watched the troopers. As they came opposite to the place where the maidens stood one of the prisoners, a young fellow, leaned over and said something to the trooper next him. Then, with a light laugh he turned his face full upon them, and lifted his hat with jaunty grace. As he did so Harriet sprang forward with an amazed cry: “Clifford! Clifford! Clifford!” CHAPTER IV—A STRANGE PRESENTIMENT “He alone Is victor who stays not for any doom Foreshadowed; utters neither sigh nor moan; Death stricken, strikes for the right, Nor counts his life his own.” —Atlantic Monthly Calendar, 1908. An exclamation of intense astonishment burst from the young fellow’s lips, and he drew rein quickly. If it was his intention to come to them he was not allowed to carry it out, for at this moment the leader of the troopers gave a sharp command, and the whole party swept onward at increased speed. “Clifford! Clifford!” called Harriet again and again; but the youth gave no further heed, and the horsemen were soon beyond the reach of her voice. “’Twas Clifford,” she cried turning to Peggy with a sob. “Oh, Peggy, what shall I do? He is a prisoner.” “Is thee sure that it was he, Harriet?” questioned Peggy who had been amazed at what had taken place. “Did I not see him? And did you not hear him speak? I could not tell what he said. Could you? He is a prisoner. I must get to him. Come! we must go faster, Peggy, so that we can see where they take him.” By this time the dragoons had turned into one of the cross streets, and when the girls reached the place of turning they had passed out of sight. “I wish Cousin David were here. He would know what to do,” cried Harriet greatly excited. “Couldn’t we send for him, Peggy?”