Peggy drew rein and faced her cousin with sudden suspicion. “Harriet,” she said, “is that letter thine?” “Mine?” Harriet laughed shrilly. “How could it be mine? I was not anywhere near when you found it. Besides, I never saw the governor until yesterday. How could I be concerned in his capture then?” “True,” said Peggy with brightening face. “Thy pardon, my cousin. Thy actions were so queer that for a moment I could but wonder.” “And now we are going right back to the camp,” cried Harriet gaily. “That will show that you are sorry for such thoughts. Why, Peggy, you are getting as bad as John Drayton.” “Nay,” said Peggy drawing her rein from her cousin’s clasp. “I am sorry that I wronged thee, Harriet, but neither thee nor any one shall detain me from going to Governor Livingston and the garrison. Do as thou wilt in the matter. I am going.” For the second time in her life she struck her pony sharply. The little mare reared, and then settling, dashed off in a gallop. She did not look to see whether her cousin was following her or not. On she rode. The February slush spattered from Star’s flying hoofs, and covered her from head to foot, but she did not notice. The daily rides had familiarized her with the road to Elizabethtown, and the minute description given by her father to Harriet the night before now enabled her to head unerringly for the governor’s mansion. The short winter day was drawing to a close when all at once she became aware that there was the sound of hoofs behind her. The sound increased. Presently she felt the hot breath of a horse upon her face, and just as she turned from the Morris turnpike into Livingston Lane, at the end of which stood the governor’s country seat, Fleetwood, running as a deer runs in leaps and bounds, dashed past her, with Harriet urging him to greater endeavor. Before Peggy was half-way down the lane Harriet had reached the great house, sprung from her saddle and was pounding vigorously upon its portals. “Fly, fly,” she cried, as the governor himself came to the door. “The British are coming to take you. Peggy will tell you all. I must warn the garrison.” She was on Fleetwood’s back again by the time she had finished speaking, and was off before either the astonished governor or the dumbfounded Peggy could utter a word. CHAPTER XVIII—STOLEN THUNDER “When breach of faith joined hearts does disengage, The calmest temper turns to wildest rage.” —Lee. “And what is it all about, my child?” inquired the governor as Harriet disappeared down the lane. “She spoke the truth, sir,” said Peggy, trying to recover from the intense amazement into which Harriet’s conduct had thrown her. “Here is a letter—nay, my cousin must have kept it,” she ended after a hasty search. “She wished to show it to General Maxwell, I make no doubt,” he said. “Canst remember the contents?”