“My daughter, thou must bear with meekness the afflictions that are sent upon thee. Hast thou not been taught to do good to them that despitefully use thee?” Peggy uttered a cry of protest. “I cannot forgive them! They have behaved treacherously toward me. And my country! ’Tis not to be endured that I should be placed in such position toward it. ’Tis not to be endured, I say.” “Thou hast been close to sacred things all thy life, my child,” sounded that gentle voice. “Of what avail hath it been if thy actions are no different from those of the world? And thou art not without blame in the matter.” Long Peggy stood at the window. It seemed to her that her mother was very near to her. And so communing with that loved mother the bitterness died out of her heart, and she wept. No longer virulently, but softly, the gentle tears of resignation. “I will try to bear it,” she murmured, as she crept between the covers of the bed. “I will be brave, and as good as thee would have me be, mother. And I will be so truthful in act and word that it may shame them out of deceit. And maybe, maybe if I am good a way will be opened for me to get back to thee.” And so she fell into a restful sleep. ----- [2] Now Governor’s Island. CHAPTER XXIV—THE REASON WHY “Yet remember this: God and our good cause fight upon one side.” —“Richard III,” Act 5. It was seven o’clock before Peggy awakened the next morning. With an exclamation at her tardiness in rising she dressed hastily, and went down-stairs. Colonel Owen and Harriet were already in the dining-room at breakfast. They brightened visibly as the maiden returned their greetings serenely, and took her place at the table. “So you have determined to accept the situation,” observed Colonel Owen, giving her a keen glance. “Until a way is opened for me to leave, sir,” replied Peggy. “Which will be at my pleasure,” he rejoined. But to this she made no reply. “I am assisting Colonel Montressor, who is in charge of the defenses of the city,” he remarked presently. “When your horses are well rested you girls shall ride about with me.” “We have been riding almost every day the past winter with father,” said Peggy, trying not to choke over the word. “The weather hath been so pleasant that it hath been most agreeable for riding. There are pretty rides over the hills and dales near the camp.” “You will find them no less beautiful here,” he assured her. “And now I must go. Sir Henry will wish to see you during the day, Harriet.” “Very well,” she answered. “And I must see about some new frocks, father. I misdoubt that my boxes will be sent after me from the rebel camp. Mr. Washington will not be so thoughtful anent the matter as Sir Henry was. I shall need a number of new ones.” “More gowns, Harriet!” he exclaimed. “You will ruin me by your extravagance. Haven’t you anything that will do?”