“Very well, Harriet,” assented the matron with a smile. But both Peggy and her mother were startled to hear Mr. Reed say gravely, in answer to Harriet’s eager questioning: “Nay; ’tis not about the parole I am come, Mistress Harriet, but anent a more serious matter.” “And what, sir, could be more serious than my brother’s release?” came Harriet’s clear voice. “A charge against you, mistress, would be much more serious,” was the reply. “Of what do you accuse me, sir?” was the girl’s haughty query. “I accuse you of nothing, but I insist upon truthful answers to some questions. For the sake of these cousins with whom you are staying I entreat you to reply with truth, and nothing but truth.” “Come, Peggy,” cried Mrs. Owen rising. “We will see what this means.” CHAPTER VIII—HOSPITALITY BETRAYED “For right is right, since God is God; And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin.” —“The Right Must Win,” _Frederick William Faber_. “What is the trouble, Friend Reed?” asked Mrs. Owen as she entered the hall. “I wish you good-morning, Mrs. Owen. It grieves me to enter David Owen’s house upon such mission as I must this day perform, but war is no respecter of persons. Were it my own household I still must subject its inmates to a most rigid inquiry.” Mr. Reed fumbled nervously with his cocked hat as he spoke, and looked the embarrassment that he felt. “Come in, Friend Reed.” Mrs. Owen threw wide the door of the sitting-room with a smile. “Thee may make all the inquiries thee wishes without apology. And what is the trouble?” “Madam—I need hardly ask, and yet I must—did you know that this girl here had been communicating with the enemy?” “No; I did not know of it. Harriet, is such the case? Hast thou indeed been guilty of this?” “Yes,” admitted Harriet defiantly. “I did write to Sir Henry Clinton about my brother. If that is communicating with the enemy then I am guilty.” “This then,” said Mr. Reed producing a letter from his coat, “this then is yours?” Harriet took the missive and scanned it quickly. “Well,” she said. “And what then? It is mine, and, as may be seen, ’tis innocent enough. It merely asks the commander to get my brother’s exchange as soon as he can. It speaks too of the services our family have rendered to the cause. Why should it not be written? Am I not English? Have I not a right to ask aid from my own people?”