“Yes,” she said again clearly. “Has thee the letter, John? Give it to the general. He will see that there was naught of harm intended.” But Drayton shrank back and covered his face with his hands. “Have you the missive, ensign?” demanded the commander gravely. “If so let me see it.” “She, she doth not know—— It cannot be. Oh, sir, do not look at the letter, I beseech you,” uttered young Drayton brokenly. “The letter, Drayton.” There was no mistaking the command in the tone. The boy drew the letter from his sword belt, and handed it to the general. “There is some mistake,” he said, and Peggy was surprised to see that his eyes were wet. “Sir, I entreat——” “Take your prisoner to the outer room, ensign,” ordered the chief after reading the note. “Meantime, may I ask that all of you will leave me with the exception of this girl?” He indicated Peggy as he finished speaking. Silently the men filed out, but Harriet lingered, her eyes fixed upon Peggy with so much of appeal that the latter tried to smile reassuringly. “You must go too, Miss Harriet,” he said, and Harriet was forced to leave the room. In all of Peggy’s life never had she felt the fear that now came upon her. At all times reserved in his manner and his bearing full of dignity, never before had she realized the majesty of General Washington’s august presence. In the past when others had called him cold and austere she had denied such qualities warmly, but now as she found him regarding her with a stern expression she began to tremble violently. “And to whom was your letter sent?” he asked after a painful pause. “To Sir Henry Clinton, sir.” “And what would you have to say to Sir Henry Clinton?” he demanded, plainly astonished. “I?” Peggy looked at him quickly. “Why, I did not write it, Friend Washington.” “You did not?” It seemed to Peggy that his glance would pierce her very soul, so keen was his scrutiny. “If you did not, who did?” “Read the letter,” implored she. “Read it, sir. ’Twill explain everything.” “I have read it,” he made answer. “Do you wish me to do so again?” “Yes,” she said, a vague apprehension stirring her heart at his manner. Slowly and impressively he read aloud without further comment: “A certain personage spends a portion of every clear afternoon upon the summit of Chimney Rock, which I have told you stands nigh to Bound Brook. Fording the Raritan at the spot already designated could be done without fear of the sentry, and the personage captured with but little risk. Without him the army would go to pieces, and the rebellion ended. Further particulars contained in other letters forwarded by S.” “Oh!” gasped Peggy her eyes widening with consternation. “That is not the note I sent, Friend Washington. Does not that mean thee and thy capture?”