“Thee was to take a letter, was thee not?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied, a look of astonishment flashing across his face.
“It is here, friend,” said she, giving him the missive. “I hope thee can get it through, for my cousin is sore beset with grief for news of her father. And there is money for thee. Thou art a good man, and hast a kind heart.”
“Thank you,” he said saluting, and Peggy could not have told how he concealed the note, it was done so adroitly.
“Why did thee speak so sharply to him, John?” she queried when at length they had started.
“Those girths should be attended to before bringing the horses round,” he answered. “’Tis done to get money from you girls. He never sees us but that he comes forward under some pretense of doing a service. I like not his actions. How doth it come that he is attending the horses? He is not your father’s man.”
“I know not,” answered Peggy. “Doth it really matter? Fie, fie, John! thee is cross. I never saw thee so before.”
“Your pardon,” said the lad contritely. “I meant not to be so, but men require sharp treatment, and perchance I have brought my parade manner with me.”
The girls laughed, but a constraint seemed to be over all three. Harriet was unusually silent, and Peggy, though conscious of no wrong-doing, was ill at ease.
The feeling was intensified as, when they had gone some distance, young Drayton wheeled his horse suddenly.
“Why?” exclaimed both girls simultaneously, but even as they spoke they saw the reason. A few rods in front of them, suspended from the limb of a tree, hung the limp body of a man.
“Is it a spy?” whispered Peggy shudderingly.
“Yes, Mistress Peggy. I knew not that the execution would take place on this road, else I would have chosen another for the ride. ’Tis not a pleasing sight.”
“Is thee ill, Harriet?” cried Peggy, all at once happening to glance at her cousin who had no color in her face.
“Ill? No,” answered Harriet with an attempt at carelessness. “I am chilled; that is all. Then, too, as the ensign says, yon sight is not a pretty one. Methinks such service must be extremely hazardous.”
“It is, mistress,” said Drayton sternly. “So perilous is it that the man, woman, or girl even who enters upon it does so at the risk of life. No mercy is shown a spy. Nor should there be.”