“Yes,” he replied, “but I loved him so. Oh, Peggy! Peggy! why did he do it?” “I know not,” she answered soberly. “After thee left Philadelphia there were rumors concerning General Arnold’s extravagance. Mother was much exercised anent the matter. But as to whether that had anything to do with this, I know not.” “How shall I bear it?” he cried suddenly. “Who shall take his place? Had he been with us there would have been another tale to tell of Camden.” “That may be, John.” And then, seeking to beguile his thoughts from the matter, she added with sweet craftiness: “Thee has not told me how thee came to be down here? Nor yet if thee ever returned to New York City after that trip with the wood? Thee should have seen Cousin William after the failure of the alert. That was why he brought me down here.” “Tell me about it, Peggy,” he replied with kindling interest. And the girl, pleased with her artifice, related all that had befallen her. “And now?” he questioned. “What are you going to do now?” “There is but one thing to do, John,” she answered, surprised by the query. “That is, to get home as quickly as possible.” “I like not for you to undertake such a journey, Peggy. There are more loyalists in the South than elsewhere, which was the reason the war was transferred to these states. ’Tis a dangerous journey even for a man. ’Tis hard to get despatches to and from Congress, as you know by the death of that poor fellow whose letters you carried. I don’t believe that your mother would like for you to undertake it.” “But there is danger in staying, John. No part of the Carolinas is safe from an incursion of the enemy. ’Tis as far back to the plantation at Charlotte as ’twould be to go on to Virginia, and I want my mother. Friend Hart said that he and his wife would travel slowly so that I could o’ertake them.” “Yes; you ought to be out of this,” agreed Drayton. “Every part of this country down here is being ravaged by Tories, who seem determined to destroy whatever the British leave. Would that I could take you to your mother, Peggy, but I cannot leave without deserting, and that I——” “Thee must not think of it,” she interrupted, looking at him fearfully. “And that,” he went on steadily without noticing the interruption, “I would not do, even for you.” “That forever settles my last doubt of thee,” declared Peggy with an attempt at sprightliness. “I know that thee is willing to do almost anything for me.” “Yes,” he replied. “And now I must go.” “Shall I see thee again before I leave, John?” “When do you start?” “In the morning. I waited to-day to see thee.” “Then it must be good-bye now,” he said. “I am to carry some despatches to General Marion on the morrow, and that will take us far apart, Peggy. I asked for the mission; for I must have action at the present time. I like not to think.” “Don’t be too venturesome,” pleaded the girl. “We who know thee have no need of valiant deeds to prove thy merit.”