“’Twould have been better to come quietly,” she said. “I meant you should go back with me all the while. I could not bear to lose you, Peggy. I thought——” But Peggy, her spirit up in arms, turned such a look of scorn upon her cousin that Harriet paused in her speech abruptly. “Speak not to me of affection, Harriet Owen,” she cried. “Thou art incapable of feeling it. Is there no truth to be found in any of thy family? Are ye all treacherous and dishonorable? Would that thou wert no kin of mine! Would that I had never seen thee, nor any of thy——” Unable to continue, she burst into a passion of tears. CHAPTER XXIII—IN THE LINES OF THE ENEMY “There is but one philosophy, though there are a thousand schools— Its name is fortitude.” —Bulwer. The morning broke gloriously, and held forth the promise of a beautiful day. So mild was the weather that it seemed more like a spring day than the last of February. Out in the bay of the Raritan rode a sloop at anchor, and toward this the shallop made its way. They were taken aboard, and Harriet, who had left Peggy to her grief, now approached her. “We have been long without either rest or food, my cousin. Come with me to breakfast. Then we will sleep until New York is reached.” Peggy vouchsafed her never a word, but taking a position by the taffrail stood looking over the dazzling water toward the now receding shores of New Jersey. Into the lower bay sailed the sloop, heading at once for the narrows. Few sails were to be seen on the wide expanse of water save to the left where, under the heights of Staten Island, a part of the British fleet lay at anchor. Brilliant shafts of sunlight wavered and played over the face of the water. Astern, as far as the eye could see, lay the ocean, blank of all sail, the waves glinting back the strong light of the east. Sky, water and shore all united in one sublime harmony of pearls and grays of which the grandeur was none the less for lack of vivid coloring. The discordant note lay in Peggy’s heart. She was full of the humiliation and bitterness of trust betrayed. Humiliation because she had been tricked so easily, and bitterness as the full realization of her cousin’s treachery came to her. And General Washington! What would he think when she did not come to him as she had promised? He would deem her a spy. And she was Peggy Owen! Peggy Owen—who had prided herself on her love for her country. Oh, it was bitter! Bitter! And so she stood with unseeing eyes for the grand panorama of bay and shore that was unfolding before her. The wind was favorable, yet it was past one of the clock before the vessel made the narrows, glided past Nutten’s[[2]] Island, and finally came to anchor alongside the Whitehall Slip. Harriet, who had remained below the entire journey, now came on deck looking much refreshed.