“It is not Harriet,” said Peggy touching his forehead gently, “but Peggy, my cousin.” The young fellow turned a wondering look upon her. “But Harriet, Harriet?” he murmured. “Why do you call me cousin?” “Thee is not to talk,” cried Peggy quickly, as the nurse shook a warning finger. “I call thee cousin because thou art my Cousin Clifford. Harriet could not come because she had been sent to New York. I am Peggy. Peggy Owen, thy very own cousin. I have come to care for thee, and to take thee home when thou art strong enough. And that is all,” she ended breathlessly as the nurse again nodded a warning. “I want Harriet,” reiterated the youth turning away from her. “Why have you come? I want you not.” This was more than the girl could stand. She had been on the road for ten long days and was fatigued almost beyond the point of endurance. And when Clifford, who was so like her father that she had been stirred to the very depths of her being, said: “I want you not. Why have you come?” she could no longer control her feelings but burst into tears. “I came because thy sister was sent on to New York and could not come,” she sobbed. [Illustration: “WHY HAVE YOU COME?”] “Because thee said in thy letter that thee didn’t want to die with none of thy kin near. And I have come all the way from Philadelphia to be with thee if thou shouldst die, and to take thy last messages.” “I am not going to die,” said he in an obstinate voice. “And I shall save my last messages for my sister.” At that Peggy looked up in blank amazement, thinking she had not heard aright. She had made no small sacrifice to come to Virginia to minister to him on his death-bed, if need be; or to bring him to health by careful nursing. And now for that cousin to tell her that he would give her none of his messages was unsettling to say the least. And so the girl looked up, and met the lad’s eyes, which held a queer look of defiance. His lips were bloodless, but they were set in a straight line of determination. He looked so like a great big spoiled child that Peggy’s tears vanished as if by magic, and she gave vent to a low laugh. A laugh so sweet and girlish that many who heard it smiled in sympathy, and turned to get a glimpse of the maiden. “Thee is a great big goose,” she cried wiping her eyes. “And I am another. I shall hold thee to thy words as a promise. Thee is to save thy last messages for thy sister. And until she comes, which, I make no doubt, will be soon, I shall care for thee whether thee likes or not. And I shall begin right now by fixing that pillow. Thee is not comfortable. Nurse, please may I have some vinegar? My cousin’s head is so hot. There! Sleep now, and to-morrow thee may talk some more. Sleep, my cousin.”