“Don’t,” she uttered the tears springing to her eyes at the sneer. “I do see wrong; and thee doesn’t know how hard I am trying not to feel bitter toward them. I dare not think that ’tis to them I owe not seeing my mother for so long. I—I am not very good,” she faltered, “and thee knows by that wound how I am failing in living up to my teaching.” “I see,” he said; and was silent. Camden, a strong post held by the British in the central northern part of South Carolina, was reached at length. It was at this place that General Gates met his overwhelming defeat in the August before, and as Peggy viewed its defenses she could not but wonder that he had ventured to attack it. Colonel Tarleton proceeded at once to a large two-story dwelling, the wide verandah of which opened directly upon the main street. “I will leave you,” he began, but Peggy uttered a cry of surprise as a girl’s figure came slowly through the open door of the house. “Harriet! Harriet!” she cried. “Oh, thee didn’t tell me that Harriet was here!” She sprang lightly from the pony’s back, and ran joyfully up the steps, with arms outstretched. “I thought thee dead,” she cried with a little sob. “I knew not until now that thou wert alive. Oh, Harriet, Harriet! I am so glad thee lives. And where is Cousin William? And oh!——” she broke off in dismay. “What hath happened to thee? What is the matter, Harriet?” For Harriet’s wonderful eyes no longer flashed with brilliancy but met her own with a dreary, lustreless gaze. Her marvelous complexion had lost its transparency, and was dull and sallow. She leaned weakly upon Peggy’s shoulder, and as the latter, shocked at the change in the once spirited Harriet, asked again, “Oh, what is the matter? What hath happened?” she burst into tears without replying. “’Tis the Southern fever,” spoke Colonel Owen, coming to the door at this moment. “So you escaped a briny grave, my little cousin? How came you here? Was it to seek us that you came? You at least seem to have suffered no inconvenience from this climate. It hath carried off many of our soldiers, and Harriet hath pulled through by a miracle. It will take time, however, to restore her fully to strength. Did you say you came to seek us?” “Nay,” interposed Colonel Tarleton. “The girl is my prisoner, Colonel Owen. I will leave her with you for the present, but will hold you answerable for her safety. You are to send her to me each day so that she may give attention to this wound which I owe to her marksmanship. So soon as it shall heal I will decide upon her punishment.” “Well, upon my word, my cousin,” exclaimed William Owen as Colonel Tarleton, scowling fiercely, went away. “You are improving. I knew not that Quakers believed in bloodshed. Tell us about it.” And Peggy, drawing Harriet close to her in her strong young arms, told of her rescue and how she came to be once more with them. CHAPTER XXXIV—HOME