“Because, sir, I was left in England with my brother while my father came over with General Gage to fight the rebels. My brother ran away, so I came to join father. He had gone to the Southern colonies, and when he learned that I was here, he wrote me to go to my relatives. I left New York under a flag of truce, and came to Elizabethtown. There I went at once to the general in charge. Sir, I have complied with every requirement necessary to pass the lines, and I ask that I be permitted to resume my journey.” “And what is the name of these relatives?” asked Washington imperturbably. “Owen, sir. David Owen is my father’s cousin.” “Why!” exclaimed Peggy, who had been an amazed listener to the conversation. “Thee must be my Cousin Harriet!” CHAPTER XV—HARRIET “Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn’d to serve Humbly call mistress.” —“All’s Well that Ends Well.” As if she had just become aware of the presence of others the girl turned a startled look upon Peggy. “If you are David Owen’s daughter, then I am indeed your cousin,” she said slowly intense surprise in her accents. “And if you are his daughter, where is your father, and what do you here? I thought you were in Philadelphia.” “Father is here,” answered Peggy, starting forward eagerly. “And thy father is——” But David Owen laid a restraining hand upon her arm. “A moment, lass,” he said, a quick glance flashing between him and General Washington. “Let me speak to the maiden. My child,” turning to the girl who was regarding him intently, “thou wilt pardon me, I know, if I ask thee a few questions. It behooves us to be careful in times like these, and we but take precautions that thine own people would use under like circumstances. Therefore, tell me thy father’s name, and his regiment.” “By what right do you question me?” she demanded haughtily. “I am David Owen,” he answered briefly. “If thou art in truth my kinsman’s daughter there is no reason why thee should not answer my questions.” “Ask what you will, if you are Mr. David Owen, and I will answer,” she said, her manner changing to one of extreme courtesy. “My father is William Owen, a colonel of the Welsh Fusileers. My brother’s name is Clifford, and I am Harriet. Do you believe me now, my cousin? Or is there aught else to be asked?” “Nay,” replied he mildly. “I believe that thou art truly William’s daughter.” “Then may I place myself under your protection, cousin?” she queried so appealingly that Peggy’s tender heart could not bear it, and she went to her quickly. “My father wished it, and I am a stranger in a strange land.” “Surely thee may,” exclaimed Mr. Owen, touched, as his daughter had been, by the pathetic quiver that had come into her voice. “That is”—he hastened to add, “if His Excellency hath no objection?”