“And it was also he who brought her back,” reminded her mother. “But to desert,” exclaimed Peggy a fine scorn leaping into her eyes. “To leave when his country hath such need of him!” “True, Peggy; but the flesh is weak, and when subjected to the pangs of hunger ’tis prone to revolt. Our soldiers are so illy cared for that the wonder is that more do not forsake the army.” “Mother, thee does not excuse it, does thee?” cried Peggy in so much consternation that Mrs. Owen smiled. “Nay, Peggy. I only suspend judgment until I know all the circumstances. Did he tell thee aught of his reasons for deserting?” “I fear,” answered Peggy shamefacedly, “that I gave him no opportunity. In fact, mother, I discovered some warmth in speaking anent the matter.” Mrs. Owen smiled. Well she knew that in her zeal for the country Peggy was apt to “discover warmth.” “Then,” she said, “we will bring naught into question until he hath his strength. Yon lad is in no condition for fighting or aught else at the present time.” “But once he hath his strength,” broke in the girl eagerly, “would it be amiss to reason with him?” “Once he hath his strength I will say nothing,” answered the lady, her mouth twitching. “Thou mayst reason with him then to thy heart’s content.” And so it came about that the young deserter was attended with great care, and none was so assiduous in attention to his comfort as Peggy. For several days he did little but receive food and sleep. This soon passed, however, and he was up and about, though he still kept to his chamber both as a matter of precaution and as though enjoying to the full the creature comforts by which he was surrounded. “Friend,” remarked Peggy one day after she had arranged his dinner daintily upon a table drawn up by the settle upon which he was lying, “thee has not told thy name yet.” “’Tis Drayton. John Drayton,” he returned an apprehensive look flashing across his face. “You would not—would you?—betray me?” “I did not ask for that purpose,” she replied indignantly. “Had we wished to denounce thee we would have done so long since. Why shouldst thou think such a thing?” “I cry you pardon,” he said with something of his old jauntiness. “I have heard that a guilty conscience doth make cowards of us all. ’Tis so in my case. In truth I should not tarry here, but——” “Thee is welcome to stay until thy strength is fully restored, friend,” she said. “My mother and I are agreed as to that. And then——” “Well? And then?” he questioned sharply turning upon her. “Friend, why did thee desert?” asked she abruptly.