“As to her being for the king, my child, that, as thee knows, is because of being English. And I would not have her feign a belief in the cause of Liberty did she not of a truth hold it to be just. An open foe is ever best, Peggy.” “It isn’t politics, mother. At least not her feeling toward us, though it is trying to stand some of her comments, but——” “Peggy, thee is troubled anent something,” asserted the lady taking Peggy’s face between her hands and gazing anxiously into her eyes. “What is it, my child?” “’Tis anent the delay, mother. Should the exchange be effected quickly then there would be no cause for worry. But if it must be long, as Harriet thinks it may be, then I fear that my cousin will try to communicate with Sir Henry Clinton. In fact, she spoke of doing it yesterday, and I cautioned her against it. She said that she would not bring harm to us; but, mother, at her home in New York she was not always scrupulous about her promise. In truth, she let nothing stand in her way when she had her heart set on doing a thing. I intended telling thee about the chat when we returned from our ride yesterday, but what with the celebration and the letters it escaped my mind.” “Thee may dismiss the matter from thy thoughts, Peggy, for she spoke about that very thing to Mr. Reed. He told her that it would not help the exchange at this time, but that after her brother came it could be taken up. Then, he said, he would see that whatever she might wish to communicate to the British commander should reach him.” “Oh, I am so glad,” exclaimed Peggy. “It hath given me no small concern, mother. I did not think my cousin would wittingly cause us trouble, but I feared that on the impulse of the moment, she might try to pass a letter through the lines. Thee knows what that would mean, mother?” “Yes; and she does also, for Mr. Reed went into it with her. He told her to be very careful in speaking even about writing to Sir Henry, as the people were in no mood to tolerate communications with the enemy. She understands all that it means, my child. I think she will do naught until Clifford comes, and perhaps he will be better of judgment than she.” “I am so glad,” said Peggy again, and much relieved resumed her neglected ironing. The days passed. March glided into April, but the soft sweet days of spring brought no letter from Clifford. If the parole had been given Harriet did not know of it. She fumed and fretted under the waiting. “Why do I not hear from him?” she cried one morning. “It hath been a month since I wrote, and it doth not take half so long to hear from Virginia. I do wish that either I would hear from Clifford, or that Mr. Reed would let me know anent the parole.” “Thee is like to get one of thy wishes, for here comes Mr. Reed now,” said Peggy who was standing by the front window of the living-room. “Let me go to the door, madam my cousin,” exclaimed Harriet as Mrs. Owen started to answer the knocker.