Peggy started suddenly as the deep bay of a hound came to them from the village of Bound Brook. “Harriet,” she whispered, “I am afraid. Let us wait until to-morrow.” “To-morrow will be too late,” answered Harriet, and Peggy wondered to hear how hard her voice sounded. “Do you want me hung, Peggy? Beside, you promised that you would come. ’Tis the last time that I’ll ever ask favor of you.” “Yes, I know,” answered Peggy, in a low tone. “I will go, Harriet; but I wish now that I had not said that I would.” “Come,” was Harriet’s brief answer. And Peggy followed her into the darkness. CHAPTER XXII—A HIGH-HANDED PROCEEDING “Had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fallen.” —First Part Henry VI. Had Peggy been in the lead she would have headed at once for the “Great Raritan Road,” a highway which ran down the valley of the river directly to the town of New Brunswick, which lay but a few miles west of Amboy. Harriet, on the contrary, turned toward Bound Brook, and entered the dense wood which stood between that village and the hills. “This is not the way to Amboy, Harriet,” remonstrated Peggy. “No,” answered her cousin briefly. Then, after a moment: “’Tis the only way to get through the lines without the countersign. We must not talk.” “Hasn’t thee the countersign?” asked Peggy, dismayed. “No; don’t talk, Peggy.” And Peggy, wondering much how with two horses they could pass the pickets unchallenged, relapsed into silence. But the lack of the password did not seem to daunt Harriet. She pushed ahead as rapidly as was consistent with rough ground, thickly growing trees and underbrush, and the gloom of the forest. At length as they entered a shallow ravine Harriet drew rein, and, as Peggy came up beside her, she spoke: “Are you afraid, Peggy?” “No,” replied Peggy, “but the stillness is monstrously wearing. And ’tis so dark, Harriet.” “Which is to our benefit,” returned Harriet. “As for the quiet, once we are clear of the lines we can chat, and so will not mind it. But come!” Again she took the lead, and Peggy, following after, could not but marvel at the unerring precision with which her cousin chose her way. Not once did she falter or hesitate, though to Peggy the darkness and gloom of the forest seemed impenetrable. The melancholy of the forest encompassed them, infolding them like a mantle. It so wrought upon their senses that they reached out and touched each other frequently, seeking to find solace from its brooding sadness. It seemed as though hours elapsed before Harriet spoke in the merest whisper: “I think we are without the lines, Peggy. ’Tis about time, and now we can seek the turnpike.” She had scarcely finished speaking when out of the darkness came the peremptory command: “Halt! Who goes there?” “Friends,” answered Harriet, as the two obediently brought their horses to a standstill.