“There was but this one thing that I could do, and when we learned that you and your mother were to join Cousin David we knew that it was the opportunity we sought. Sir Henry welcomed the chance to have an informant who would be right in the midst of things without being suspected. And I have learned much, Peggy. I have done good work.” “Harriet,” interrupted Peggy amazed at the recital, “does thee mean to tell me thee knew when mother and I were coming?” “To the very day,” answered Harriet with a laugh. “Oh, we keep well informed in New York. You little know the people who are around you. And your general hath spies among us, too. ’Tis fortune of war, Peggy.” “So General Washington said,” mused Peggy. “But I would thee were not one. ’Tis a life full of trickery and deceit. I like it not for a girl.” “And the other reason,” continued Harriet, “is more personal. Peggy, my father hath lost all his fortune. We are very poor, my cousin.” “But—but thy frocks?” cried Peggy. “Thee has been well dressed, Harriet, and frocks are frocks these days.” “It seems so to you because you know not the mode, cousin. Were you in London you would soon see the difference betwixt my gowns and those of fashion. But I was to have the reward for Governor Livingston should the plan for his capture succeed, and that would have helped father a great deal.” “Oh, Harriet, Harriet!” moaned Peggy bewildered by this maze of reasoning. “I would that thee had not done this, or that thou hadst returned to thy people long ago. Why did thee not go back the other day? ’Twas in the letter that thee should be near so as to be taken also.” “I intended to,” answered Harriet. “That was why I wished to ride near to Liberty Hall, but when I found that I had lost the note, I came back for it, hoping that you had not seen it. You were determined to warn both the garrison and the governor, and that would render it impossible for me to get to our forces. I tried to slip away yesterday, but there was no chance. And now you will tell on me to-morrow, and I will be hanged.” “Don’t, Harriet,” pleaded Peggy. “I am going right down to father, and see if he can tell us some way out of this. It may be that he can persuade General Washington to let thee go back to thy people.” “Peggy,” cried Harriet laying a detaining hand upon the girl as she slipped from the bed. “You must not bring Cousin David into this. He is a soldier who stands high with the general. If he intercedes for me he will himself be under suspicion. You would not wish to get your father into trouble, would you? Beside, ’tis his duty, as a patriot, to give me up to punishment. Do you not see it? If I were not your cousin you would not hesitate in the matter.” “True,” said Peggy pausing. Well she knew that her father was so loyal that the matter might appear to him in just that very way. “He loves thee well though, Harriet.”