“And deprive the general of the pleasure of thanking thee for thy heroism?” he asked. “He wishes to interview you both about the note, I dare say. He said the matter would need attention.” “I don’t know anything about it, my cousin,” she objected almost in tears. “’Twas Peggy who found it.” “Nay; thee must go, Harriet,” he said in such a tone that she knew that ’twas useless to object further. The two girls went up-stairs to dress. It was the first time that they had been alone together since they had found the note on Wednesday. To Peggy’s surprise, Harriet’s hands were shaking so that she could not unfasten her frock. A feeling of vague alarm thrilled Peggy at the sight. She went to her cousin quickly. “Harriet,” she cried, “what is it? Why do you tremble so?” “Peggy,” answered Harriet, sinking into a chair with a little sob, “I am afraid. I am so afraid!” “Afraid?” repeated the amazed Peggy. “Of what, Harriet?” “Of your Mr. Washington,” answered the girl. “He is so stern, and, and——Oh, I am afraid!” she cried wringing her hands. “True, he is a stern man,” said the perplexed Peggy, “but still he hath a kind heart. We have dined there often, Harriet, and thee did not mind. I see not why thee should fear him now. He will but ask us about the note, and thank thee for thy timely warning to the governor and the brigade.” “You will not tell him that at first I did not wish to go, or to have you go, will you, Peggy?” pleaded Harriet. “I thought better of it, Peggy. I—I felt sorry about it afterward.” “Thee made up for thy hesitancy nobly, Harriet,” spoke Peggy warmly, all her bewilderment vanishing at her cousin’s acknowledgment of sorrow for what she had tried to do. “I will do as thee wishes in the matter.” “And will you tell him that I was not near when the note was found?” asked the girl eagerly. “Yes; for thee was not. But why? I cannot see what difference ’twould make whether thee was there or not.” “You are a good little thing, Peggy,” said Harriet kissing her without replying to the question. “’Twas mean of me to ride ahead and give the warning. ’Tis you who should have the credit, but I had to. I had to. Some day you will know. Oh!” she cried checking herself suddenly, “what am I saying?” “Harriet, thee is all undone anent something. Is thee not well? Let me call mother, and she will give thee some ‘Jesuit’s bark.’ Thee is all unstrung,” spoke Peggy with solicitude. “No, no; I am all right now,” said Harriet with something of her accustomed gaiety of manner. “And, Peggy, whatever happens remember that I am your cousin, leal and true. I am only a girl, Peggy, and alone in a strange land.” “Harriet, what is the matter? Thee speaks in riddles,” ejaculated Peggy, wonderingly. “Peggy, I am unstrung,” answered Harriet. “And I am afraid that I have done wrong about—about many things. I wish, oh, Peggy, I wish I had not had you give that note to that soldier. I’m afraid that ’twill be found.”