o weeks be the period given for the
mission. That Clifford was not insensible of the flight of time was
made known to her the day before the two weeks were up.

"We are going to ride as far as we can to-day, my cousin," he said as
the horses were brought round. "There may be word from Harriet, or
from your general to-morrow. Perhaps something will occur that will
prevent us from riding."

"Where shall we go, Clifford?" asked Peggy falling at once into his
mood. "Our longest ride is to the five knob tree on the Short Hills
road."

"That will do admirably," he answered. "And the glen beyond. Let us go
through it once more. It hath much of beauty and romance in its
scenery."

The day was quite warm, but it was pleasant riding. Clifford was
unusually silent, and for the greater part of the distance seemed
absorbed in thought. He turned toward her at length smiling:

"I am not very talkative this morning, Peggy. I have been thinking of
your father. He thought that he might return, you remember."

"Yes, Clifford. And I," she added tremulously, "have been thinking of
Harriet. We have had no word."

"She hath failed, my cousin. Had it not been so she would have been
here. Harriet likes not to confess failure. I was certain that she
would not succeed, and consented for her sake alone that she should
make the effort."

"Still, by that means thee had an extra lease of life, Clifford,"
Peggy reminded him.

"I wonder if that hath been altogether for the best, Peggy," he said
seriously. "Sometimes, when after all one must undergo such a penalty
as lies before me, the kindest thing that can happen is to have it
over with without delay."

"Don't, Clifford," she cried shuddering. "I think that none of us
could have stood it. It would have broken our hearts. With the delay
we cannot but hope and believe that something will prevent this awful
measure from being carried out."

They had reached the five knob tree by this time, and beyond it lay
the glen of which Clifford had spoken. It was as he had said romantic
in its wildness. Various cascades leaped in foamy beauty across the
path of the road which ran through the deep vale. Firs lay thickly
strewn about, and the horses had to pick their way carefully through
them. Copper mines, whose furnaces had been half destroyed by the
English, were now overgrown with vines and half hidden by fallen
trees, showed the combined ravages of war and nature. A few yards in
advance of them