“The bugles sound the swift recall; Cling, clang! backward all! Home, and good-night!” —E. C. Stedman. Each day Peggy was taken to Colonel Tarleton to attend his wound. It was in truth painful, and often her tears fell fast upon the inflamed surface when she saw the suffering he endured, and knew that it had been caused by her hand. But it was healed at last, and when she told him joyfully that he had no further need of bandages or treatment, he looked at her with some amusement. “And now for the punishment,” he observed. “What do you deserve, mistress?” “I don’t know,” said Peggy, growing pale. “I leave for the southern part of the state to-morrow,” he said. “The matter must be decided to-day. What say you to a parole?” “Nay,” and the girl shook her head. “My father doth not believe in them, and neither do I. I want to be free to help the cause in any way that I can.” “Well, upon my word!” he cried. “You are pleased to be frank.” “Would you not rather have me so, sir?” she asked. “Yes,” he answered. “I would. Then what are we to do? Ah! I have it. I shall banish you.” “Banish me?” repeated she with quivering lips. “To—to what place, sir?” “A distant place called Philadelphia,” he answered. “Think you that you can bear such exile?” “Sir,” she faltered, trembling excessively, “do not jest, I pray thee. I—I cannot bear it.” “Child,” he said dropping the banter, “I jest not. I am going to take you to Georgetown and put you aboard ship for the North. I am sincere, I assure you.” “Thee will do this?” she cried not daring to credit her senses. “Yes; and for this reason: In all this land, ay! and in England also, no one hath ever before shed a tear when aught of ill hath befallen Banastre Tarleton. Had any other woman, or girl, or man in this entire Southland wounded me there would have been rejoicing instead of sorrow. Had you not been sincere I would have made you repent bitterly. As it is, this is my punishment: that you proceed to your mother as fast as sail can carry you.” “And they call thee cruel?” cried the girl catching his hand. “Sir, none shall ever do so again in my presence.” “Come,” he said. “I will go with you to your cousins. You must be ready for an early start to-morrow. A number of loyalists are going to Georgetown to take ship for other ports, so there will be a numerous company.” But Harriet received the news with dismay. “What shall I do?” she cried, the tears streaming from her eyes. “I was getting better, and now you will go and leave me again. Oh, Peggy, I want to go too!” Colonel Owen looked up eagerly. “Why not?” he asked. “’Twould be the very thing! Peggy, could you not take Harriet with you? In Philadelphia she would regain her strength. A change from this malarious climate is what she needs. Won’t you take her, Peggy?” “Oh, Peggy, do take me,” pleaded Harriet. “I shall die here!”