“It was not owing to thee that harm did not result to us, Harriet,” said Mrs. Owen in a serious tone. “I dare not think what would have happened had we not been in our own city, and have given proof many times of our patriotism. I am not going to rail at thee, child; for I believe that thee did not wittingly try to injure us. But reflect on this: here were we all, Mr. Reed, Peggy and myself, who were trying to aid thee in getting a release for thy brother. We did all that could be done, and cautioned thee against trying to do anything without our help. We had thy best interests at heart, Harriet. Now, dear child, doth it not seem that something was owing to those whose hospitality thou wert enjoying? Was not the letter inexcusable as a breach of hospitality?” “Oh,” cried the girl bursting into tears. “I see now that it was. I did not mean to bring harm to you, madam my cousin. Oh, I was wrong in doing it. I am sorry now.” “Then we will dwell no longer upon that feature of it,” remarked the lady. “The thing now is to see what good can be got out of it. Thou wilt see about thy brother’s exchange, wilt thou not? He should be there with thee.” “Yes,” assented the girl miserably. “I will go to Sir Henry at once anent it. In that way ’tis much better to be where I can see him. Still, while I am glad to go I shall miss you both. You have been very good to me, but it will be gayer there. We British know better than you how to make merry. But if I were to be ill again I know of no place that I would rather be than here.” “If thee only cares for us when thee is ill or in trouble, thee can just stay with the British,” cried Peggy indignantly. “Thy family seem to think that we live for naught else than to do you service. I wonder if the day will ever come when one of you will meet favors with aught but trickery?” “Peggy,” chided her mother sharply. “I can’t help it, mother. I am sick and tired of deceit and falsehood, and the knavery that makes us appear like traitors to the country. I am glad that she is going.” With this passionate outbreak Peggy burst into tears. Harriet looked at her for a moment unable to make any reply, but presently she spoke in tones that were unusually gentle for her: “Peggy, the day will come when you shall see what I will do. We are not all bad, if we are English.” “Don’t ever promise about anything any more,” sobbed Peggy. “I can never believe thee again.” But all of her resentment vanished the next morning as a hay cart drew up before the door under escort of a guard. There were a few women in the cart, and a number of people, men and boys mostly, had collected to view the departure. “Oh, Harriet,” she sobbed putting her arms about her, “since thee must go I wish the mode was different.” For an instant Harriet’s lips quivered. She grew very pale and clung to Peggy convulsively. It was only for an instant, however, that she displayed any emotion.