“Yes; but now he hath rested and grown strong,” she answered. “He will have the strength to endure for perchance another three years should the war last so long. He wants to go back. He wants a chance to redeem himself.” “And had he not the courage to come to me himself without asking you to intercede for him?” he demanded. “He was in my command, and he knows me as only the soldiers do know me. Since when hath Benedict Arnold ceased to give ear to the distress of one of his soldiers? I like it not that he did not appeal to me of himself.” “He wished to,” interposed the girl eagerly. “Indeed, ’twas mother’s and my thought for me to come to you. We thought, we thought”—Peggy faltered, but went on bravely—“we thought that thee should be approached diplomatically. We wished the lad to have every chance to redeem himself, and we feared that if thee saw him without preparation thee might be inclined to give him to the recruiting officer. He is so sincere, he wishes so truly to have another chance that mother and I could not bear that he should not have it. I have made a poor advocate, I fear,” she added with a wistful little smile, “though he did say that he would rather die than face thee.” “Unravel the matter from the beginning,” he commanded, with a slight smile at her confession of diplomacy. And Peggy did so, beginning with the time that the lad mended the saddle on the road, the loss of her pony, and everything leading to Drayton’s stay with them, even to the making of the uniform of blue and buff and the reading of “The Crisis.” “Upon my life,” he cried laughing heartily at this. “I shall advise General Washington to appoint you to take charge of our fainthearted ones. So he did not relish being called a summer soldier, eh? Miss Peggy, I believe that I should like to see the lad, and have a talk with him.” “Thee will not be harsh with him, will thee?” she pleaded. “He hath indeed been in a woeful plight, and he could not bear it from thee. And he doth consider the country ungrateful toward him.” “He is right,” commented Arnold, a frown contracting his brow. “Ungrateful indeed! Not only he but others have suffered from her injustice. Have no fear, Miss Peggy, but take me to him at once.” Nevertheless Peggy felt some uneasiness as the coach turned in the direction of her home. CHAPTER XII—ANOTHER CHANCE “Thy spirit, Independence, let me share, Lord of the lion-heart and eagle eye; Thy steps I follow, with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime Hath bleached the tyrant’s cheek in every varying clime.” —Smollett. Drayton was lying on the settle when Peggy announced General Arnold. He sprang to his feet with an exclamation as the latter entered, and then shrank back and hung his head. “You, you,” he murmured brokenly. “Oh, how can you bear to see me?”