And with this cry she threw the pistol from her, and dashed at once to the dragoon’s side. “Thee is hurt,” she exclaimed looking up at him wildly. “Forgive me, friend. I meant not to harm thee. Oh, I meant it not!” “Then why did you fire?” he demanded, regarding her with astonishment. Peggy wrung her hands in anguish. “I was afraid. Thee and thy troopers looked so terrible that I was in panic. I knew not what I did, friend. And thy arm! See how it bleeds! Sir, let me bandage it, I pray thee. I have some skill in such matters.” Her distress was so evident, her contrition so sincere that the scowl on his face relaxed. Without further word he removed his coat, and let her examine the injured member while the dragoons gathered about them, eyeing the girl curiously. Her face grew deadly pale at sight of the blood that gushed forth from a wound near the elbow, but controlling her emotion she deftly applied a ligature, using her own kerchief for it. “You’re a fine rebel,” was his comment as she completed the self-imposed task. “Shoot a man so that you can patch him up! ’Tis small wonder that you have skill in such matters. Gordon, bring me that pistol. ’Tis the first time that Banastre Tarleton hath been wounded in this war, and I am minded to keep the weapon that did it.” “Is thee Colonel Tarleton?” asked she, her heart sinking. “Yes,” he made answer, a peculiar light coming into his eyes at her involuntary shrinking. “And now, my fair rebel with the Quaker speech, will you tell me why one of your sect fires upon an officer of His Majesty? But perchance you are not a Quakeress?” “Methought I was in all but politics,” she replied. “I have been trained all my life to believe that courage is displayed, and honor attained by doing and suffering; but I have sadly departed from the ways of peace,” she added humbly. “I knew not before that my nature had been so corrupted by the war that my fortitude had become ferocity. Yet it must be so since I have resorted to violence and the shedding of blood. And how shall I tell my mother!” “Have you despatches?” he asked sternly. “Where were you going when we captured you? I suppose that you realize that you are my prisoner?” “Yes; I know, sir. I bear no despatches,” she told him meeting his eyes so frankly that he could not but believe her. “I was trying to get to my home in Philadelphia. I started three days since, but lost my way. Every one I asked for guidance gave it, correctly, I doubt not, but what with the crossroads and swamps, and being unfamiliar with the country I have gone far astray. Now I suppose that I shall never see my mother again!” “Well, you know that you deserve some punishment for that hurt. And now what about that fellow that was with you? Why did the dastard leave you? Zounds! how can a maiden prefer any of these uncouth rascals when they exhibit such craven spirit!”