And under the influence of this effusiveness Peggy saw not that the note her cousin handed to her was not the one which she had read. CHAPTER XVII—A LETTER AND A SURPRISE “Oh, never shall we know again A heart so stout and true— The olden times have passed away, And weary are the new.” —Aytoun. “Governor Livingston will dine with us to-day, Peggy,” remarked Mrs. Owen as Peggy and Harriet came down the stairs equipped for their ride. “Be not too long away, for thy father will wish you both here.” “Is he the rebel governor of the Jerseys?” asked Harriet abruptly. “The one for whom two thousand guineas are offered—for his capture?” “He is the patriot governor of the state, Harriet,” answered Mrs. Owen mildly. “We do not call such rebels. As to the reward I know not. I had not heard of such amount being offered, although ’tis well known that he is held in particular abhorrence by both the Tories and thy people. Perhaps David can inform thee concerning the affair.” “’Tis no matter,” spoke Harriet hastily. “I dare say that I have confused him with another. Peggy, hath my beaver the proper tilt to show the feather? It should sweep to the right shoulder.” “’Tis most becoming,” answered Peggy, after a critical survey. “Thee looks as charming as ever, Harriet.” “Vanity, vanity,” laughed her cousin. “Shall we go for the ride now?” Ensign Drayton rode into the yard just as their horses were brought to the block for the girls to mount. To Peggy’s surprise the same private soldier to whom she was to give the note had them in charge. As Harriet vaulted lightly into her saddle he left Fleetwood’s head and went round to the horse’s side. “That will do, sirrah,” spoke young Drayton sharply. “I will attend to the strap.” Peggy glanced at him quickly. “John grows unmannerly,” she thought to herself. “Now what did the poor man do amiss? Friend,” she called as the soldier saluted and turned to leave, her voice showing her indignation, “friend, thee shall fix Star’s girth if it needs it.” “Thank you, miss,” he said, saluting again. He tightened the strap deftly, and the girl put her hand in her purse for a small coin. As she did so her fingers touched the note that Harriet had given her, and she bent toward him suddenly. “Thee was to take a letter, was thee not?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied, a look of astonishment flashing across his face. “It is here, friend,” said she, giving him the missive. “I hope thee can get it through, for my cousin is sore beset with grief for news of her father. And there is money for thee. Thou art a good man, and hast a kind heart.” “Thank you,” he said saluting, and Peggy could not have told how he concealed the note, it was done so adroitly. “Why did thee speak so sharply to him, John?” she queried when at length they had started.