“’Tis marvelous,” ejaculated the governor. “That is just what should be done. That is a wonderful cousin of yours, Miss Peggy. Yes,” to the trooper, “I have no doubt but that the information is correct, though I know no further concerning the affair than that an attack is contemplated. Tell your general to be prepared. I am myself bound for the camp and will hasten the sending of reinforcements.” The trooper saluted, wheeled, and left them. The ride to Middlebrook was a silent one. The governor seemed absorbed in thought, and Peggy was full of wonderment at the perplexity of Harriet’s actions. She had not wished her (Peggy) to warn the governor. She had tried to keep her from coming. And then—when she had thought her cousin well on toward the camp she had come after her and had given the warning herself. Why, why, why? Peggy asked herself over and over. Had she thought it a hoax at first, as she had said, and then upon reflection concluded that it was not? She was glad that Harriet had changed about it, Peggy told herself, but how strangely it was happening! Just as though ’twas Harriet and not herself to whom the credit belonged. It was so different, she reflected, from the time when she had gone to General Putman with news of the spy, James Molesworth. Then she had been made much of by every one, and now—— As she reached this point in her musings she chided herself sharply. “Peggy,” she exclaimed in stern self-admonition, unconscious that she spoke aloud, “Peggy, what doth it matter who did it—so that ’twas done? That is the main thing.” “Did you speak, Mistress Peggy?” queried Governor Livingston, rousing himself from reverie in turn. “I was thinking, sir,” she told him, “and knew not that I spoke aloud. ’Tis fashion of mine so to do sometimes.” “’Tis one that most of us indulge in, I fancy,” he responded. “We are almost at camp now. Art tired, my child? ’Tis a goodly distance you have traveled.” “A little,” she made answer, and again there was silence. It was ten o’clock when at last they rode into camp. Lights flashed as men hurried to and fro, and there was a general appearance of excitement quite different from the usual quiet of that hour. David Owen came out of the farmhouse as they drew rein before it. “I hoped thee would come to the camp, William,” he exclaimed. “Harriet hath thrown us all into a fever of apprehension concerning thee. His Excellency hath sent twice to know if aught was heard from thee.” “His Excellency is most kind,” returned the governor. “And you also, David, to be so solicitous anent me. And Harriet? How is she? Zounds, David! there is a lass to be proud of! She not only warned me, but Maxwell also, and now hath come back to the camp and roused it too! Wonderful! wonderful! She hath beaten us well, Mistress Peggy.” “Yes,” said Peggy quietly. “She hath. Finely!” There was that in her voice that made her father come to her quickly.