Lucy Foster Madison

“Who trusts himself to woman, or to waves,
Should never hazard what he fears to lose.”

—Oldmixon.

During the evening Peggy congratulated herself more than once that Clifford was well away from the house; for the sheriff, in company with her father, again went over the dwelling. Every nook that might afford a hiding-place was examined thoroughly, and, as Fairfax had foreseen, another man was sent up to search the kitchen chamber. At length, all his joviality gone, Sheriff Will sat down by the sitting-room fire in puzzled perplexity.

“I can’t understand it,” he said more to himself than to Mr. Owen. “We have found no track going away. His boots make an impression that could not be mistaken. Unless he hath taken wings unto himself he should be somewhere in the house.”

“Nay, friend; it cannot be,” replied Mr. Owen, shaking his head positively. “We have searched every place that ’twould be possible for a man to be concealed. We have even gone into places where no one, not a member of the family, would think of hiding.”

“That’s just it,” exclaimed the officer. “Some member of the family helped him. Were it not so we could not have missed the fellow.”

“In that, friend, thou art mistaken. I believe that I could give an account of the actions and whereabouts of each member, yea, I will include our guests also, since my arrival home.”

“What time was that, sir?”

“About one of the clock, I should judge.”

“Well, the matter is beyond me,” responded the sheriff rising. “There is naught to do but to go home and think it over.”

And to Peggy’s great relief he left, taking his men with him. The occurrence seemed to have thrown a damper over the spirits of the party, even Betty being unusually silent, so the household soon separated for the night.

It was not until the afternoon of the next day that Peggy found an opportunity of going to Sally’s. By that time, accompanied by Robert Dale, Betty had left for home; Mr. Owen had taken Fairfax with him into the city, the two ladies were deep in conversation on the mysteries of preserve making, and Peggy was at liberty. With a word of explanation to her mother the girl slipped on her wraps, and started for Sally’s house.

Though still cold the day was clear and bright. The footways had not been cleared of snow, but paths had been beaten by the impact of many feet, and Peggy found walking not at all difficult. As she turned into Fourth Street she was astonished to encounter Sheriff Will. He returned her courteous greeting with an abrupt bow, and passed on.

“I wonder if he is going to the house again,” she mused, stopping to look after him. “He must be,” she concluded as she saw that he turned into Chestnut Street. “He is not satisfied about not finding Clifford. Oh, dear! what would have happened if Sally had not taken my cousin home with her? Well, I must hasten.”

A brisk walk soon brought her to Sally’s house on Little Dock Street. The dwelling was of stone. It was two stories in height, with a high-pitched roof, and with a garret room lighted in front by three dormer windows, and in the rear by a dormer on each side. Sally herself came to the door in answer to the knocker.

“I have been watching for thee all day, Peggy,” she cried, drawing her into the room. The front door did not open into an entry, but directly into a large room occupied as a sitting-room. “I thought thee would never come. Thy cousin hath worried lest some ill had befallen thee. Come in, and tell me all that happened after we left. Was it not fine in Robert to speak as he did? Does thee think that he knew what we were about? And oh, Peggy! I do like thy cousin so much. Thee remembers how we used to laugh at Harriet because she was always extolling her brother at the expense of any youth she met? Well, I blame her no longer. Mother, too, is charmed with him. Well, why doesn’t thee talk, and tell me all that hath occurred?”

Peggy laughed outright.

“I was just waiting for a chance, Sally,” she replied. “Let me see. About Robert first: How could he have known anything anent Clifford, yet what he said was so opportune? It hath puzzled me. I know not what we should have done had he not so spoken. I could think of naught to say, and I saw that thee was affected in the same manner. Where is my cousin? Let us go to him at once, for I must not stay long. I will tell ye both what hath occurred.”

“Come,” quoth Sally, leading the way to the staircase, which was at the back of the house, and approached from a side entrance. “We have put him in the front chamber, which contains the ‘Auger Hole.’ Thee remembers it, Peggy? For further safety we have drawn the bedstead in front of the door. Unless ’twas known no one would think of looking in that closet for a hiding-place. There is also an old loom in a corner up attic which might serve right well for concealment, but mother thought the chamber with the ‘Auger Hole’ best; although we showed Clifford both places.”

“Thee has done thy best, Sally,” remarked Peggy approvingly. The “Auger Hole,” as it was playfully called, had been built, for what reason was not known, as a place of concealment. It was a small room, entirely dark, which could be approached only through a linen closet. In order to get at it, the linen had to be taken from the shelves, the shelves drawn out, and a small door opened at the back of the closet, quite low down, so that the room could be entered only by stooping. Its existence was known to but few people. So Peggy smiled with satisfaction, as she added: “I dare say that he will not need to use either. Thee would never be suspected of having a British prisoner in hiding.”

“True,” answered Sally, “but ’tis as well to be prepared for an emergency. Here we are, Peggy.”

“And how does thee do to-day, my cousin?” cried Peggy as her friend opened the door.

Clifford Owen rose from the easy chair drawn up before the fire, and turned toward her beamingly. Peggy reflected that she had never seen him appear to better advantage. His fine eyes were glowing, his form was erect, and his manner held a graciousness that was charming.

“Well, my little cousin! well indeed,” he responded. “Methought that fur rug yesterday was sumptuous after my experience with the wind and snow, but your friends have lodged me like a king. Yon tester bed feels as though ’twere meant for royalty. I doubt if King George rests upon one so easy.”

“It wouldn’t rest easy if I had the making of it,” spoke Sally pertly.

“The sheriff made another search after thee left, my cousin,” interposed Peggy hastily. “And, just as Fairfax thought, he sent another man to explore the kitchen chamber. What if thee had been there?”

“’Twould have been all up with me,” remarked Clifford easily. “How seemed he, Peggy? Suspicious?”

“He was greatly dissatisfied,” returned Peggy, a troubled look clouding her eyes. “He said that some member of the family must have helped in the escape, though father insisted that it could not be. And oh! I met him as I was coming here.”

“Who? The sheriff?” questioned Clifford startled.

“Yes; he was going to our house, I think. At least I saw him turn into Chestnut Street.”

“Did he turn to watch you, Peggy?” inquired her cousin with some anxiety.

“Why no; why should he?” asked she simply.

“Because——” he began, when a loud peal of the knocker brought the remark to an abrupt stop.

Sally arose with precipitancy.

“Mother is busy in the kitchen,” she said. “’Twill be best for me to see who it is. I don’t believe that ’tis any one who will wish to come up here, but if it should be thy cousin must run for the closet, Peggy. I will leave the door ajar, and should I be saying anything when I come to the stairway thee will know that ’tis some one who insists upon coming up.”

The two cousins sat in silence as Sally went down-stairs, fearful of what the visit might portend. Peggy was openly anxious, and Clifford, too, seemed uneasy. The murmur of voices could be heard, and while the words could not be distinguished it seemed to Peggy that the tones were those of command. A slight commotion followed as though several persons had entered the dwelling, and presently the stairway door opened and closed quickly.

“Peggy!” came in a shrill whisper from the foot of the stairs. Peggy was out of the chamber and at the head of the stairs in an instant. Sally stood below, and though the stairway was so dimly lighted that Peggy could scarcely distinguish the outlines of her form, she knew that her friend was greatly excited. She was telling her something in so low a tone that Peggy could hardly hear what it was, but she gathered enough to send her flying back to her cousin.

“’Tis the sheriff,” she cried. “Get into the closet, quick.”

Clifford Owen stayed not for a second bidding. He darted into the closet back of the great tester bed, and the door of the concealed room clicked softly. In anticipation of such an emergency the shelves had been removed, and Peggy now replaced them. Hurriedly she tossed some piles of linen on them, and then resumed her seat before the fire. She had barely done so when the door opened, and Sally, followed by Sheriff Will and two of his men, appeared on the threshold. To Peggy’s amazement the girl was laughing.

“What does thee think, Peggy?” she cried gaily. “The sheriff insists that he must look here for that escaped prisoner. He hath almost scared mother out of her wits, and now he is trying to fright us. I have told him to search all he wishes.”

“I hope that you are as innocent as you appear, Miss Sally,” spoke Sheriff Will gruffly. “I’ve a suspicion that you two fooled me nicely last night, but ’twon’t happen again. I said down-stairs that I was aware that the closet in this room concealed a hiding-place.”

“La, la!” laughed Sally saucily. “So thee did. And how will thee find it, friend?”

“Sam, give a hand with this bed, will you?” ordered the sheriff.

To Peggy’s consternation the men moved the heavy bedstead out into the room, and Sheriff Will opened the door of the closet. Deliberately he threw the linen on the floor, and began to draw out the shelves. A mist swam before her eyes. She felt her senses going, and then sat up suddenly as Sally ran to the door, now fully exposed to view.

“Doesn’t thee want me to open it for thee, Friend Will?” she asked merrily. “Behold what thee will behold!” With this she flung wide the door.

“Sally!” gasped Peggy in agonized tones. “Oh, Sally, how could thee?” For the open door revealed Clifford Owen sitting on the floor of the concealed room.

All the color faded from Sally’s face at sight of him. She stood a picture of consternation, looking from one cousin to the other seemingly unable to speak.

“Thank you, Miss Sally,” spoke Sheriff Will sarcastically. “’Twas well played, but I think you overreached yourself for the nonce. Something went awry. Come out, young fellow! ’Tis a pretty chase you’ve given me. Come out, or I’ll shoot.”

“I yield, sir,” answered Clifford Owen crawling out. “I yield—to treachery. I congratulate you, Mistress Sally. The dungeon of which you spoke was not so much of a myth as I had supposed.”

But at that Sally regained her tongue.

“Peggy,” she cried flinging herself down beside her friend, “didn’t thee hear me? I said the loom. I said the loom, Peggy. Oh, I never meant—I didn’t think he was there. Tell him, Peggy! Make him believe me. Thee knows that I wouldn’t do such a thing. Tell him, Peggy.”

“‘Thus do all traitors,’” quoted Clifford with an upward curl of his lip. “‘If their purgation did consist in words, they are as innocent as grace itself.’ I was a fool to trust a woman. Officer, take me where you must. Any place is preferable to breathing the same air with treachery.”

“Clifford, Clifford!” cried Peggy going to him. “I am so sorry that it hath come out so. Oh, Clifford, what can I do for thee now? And Sally! I know that it happened as she hath said. She would not——”

“You can do naught, my cousin,” answered he, his eyes softening as they rested upon her. “You, at least, are guiltless of overt act toward me.”

“And Sally also,” she began eagerly, but the boy’s lips set in a straight line.

“We will not discuss it,” he answered loftily. “I hope that no trouble will come to you, Peggy.”

“Trouble,” echoed Sheriff Will “They shall both be indicted for this. ’Twas a neat trick, but ye won’t find the Supreme Executive Council so easily deluded. Was your father concerned in this, Miss Peggy?”

“No,” replied she quickly. “He knows no more of it than thee does, Friend Will. I alone am to blame for all that hath occurred. Sally only helped for friendship sake.”

“You shall hear of it,” spoke the sheriff grimly. “Come on, young man. We have wasted too much time on you already.”

“Don’t hurry him away, Friend Will,” pleaded Sally sobbing. “Let me tell him how it was. Do let me talk to him a moment.”

“Lead on,” commanded Clifford, turning his back upon her decidedly. “Why dally longer?”

Without another glance at the weeping Sally he was led away between two of the men.