Westward rode Peggy at a brisk pace. There were not many people stirring, the hour was so early. The few who were abroad merely glanced curiously after her, as she passed, without speaking. With a feeling of thankfulness she soon left the deserted streets, and, passing the college with its broad campus of green where the golden buttercups seemed to wave a cheerful greeting, increased her speed as she reached the cleared space of the road which stretched bare and dusty between the town and the forest.

“At last we are started,” exulted the girl, drawing a deep breath as she entered the confines of the great woods. “We ought not to get lost if we follow the road, Star. And too I have been over every bit of it, and my diary will tell the places we went through in case I should forget. But first——” She pulled the pony into a walk; then, letting the reins hang loosely, drew forth a little white flag made of linen, and fastened it to the bridle.

“Clifford said we could not get through without a flag,” she mused. “Well, that should show that we are non-combatants. And we do not wish harm to any; do we, Star?”

The forest was on every hand. The narrow road wound deviously under great trees of fir, and pines, and beech, shady, pleasant and cool. Suddenly there came a medley of bird notes from out of the woods; clear, sweet and inexpressibly joyous, the song of the mocking-bird. As the morning hours passed and Peggy found that she was still the only traveler upon the road, her spirits rose, and she became agreeably excited over the prospects of the journey.

“We will ride hard, Star, until to-morrow night,” she cried catching at a fragrant trailer of wild grape that hung from an overarching tree. “To-morrow night should find us at Fredericksburg, if we go as fast as we did coming down in the cabriolet. And I know we can do that.”

And so, talking sometimes to Star as though the little mare understood, sometimes listening to the call of birds, the whirr of insects or the murmur of the wind in the tree tops, the day passed. It was drawing near nightfall when Peggy rode into New Castle, a small village on the Pamunkey River, tired but happy. She had not been molested and the first day was over. Peggy went immediately to the house where she had stopped with Nurse Johnson on the way down.

There were no signs of the British, she was told at this place. It was rumored that the Marquis de Lafayette had crossed the river further to the west on his way to join General Wayne. Peggy rejoiced at the news.

“We have timed our going just right, Star,” she told the little mare as she made an early start the next morning. “Lord Cornwallis will not reach Richmond until the last of the week, and the Marquis hath just passed on. I could not have chosen better.”

Filled anew with hope as the prospects seemed more and more favorable Peggy rode briskly toward Hanover Court House, for she planned to reach this place by noon. The road wound along the banks of the Pamunkey, under large tulip trees so big and handsome that she was lost in wonder at their magnificence.

In this happy frame of mind she proceeded, marveling often at the fact that she seemed to be the only one on the road. It was the second day, and she had met no one nor had any one passed her. ’Twas strange, but fortunate too, she told herself.

The morning passed. The road, which had been for the greater part of the way shaded by the great trees, now suddenly left the woods and stretched before her in a flood of sunshine. A lane branched off to the right, running under a double row of beech trees to a large dwelling standing in the midst of a clover field not more than half a mile distant. The country was thinly settled throughout this section, the houses so scattering that this one seemed to beckon invitingly to the tired maiden.

“Methinks ’twould be the part of wisdom to bait ourselves there, Star,” she said musingly. “I think we will take an hour’s rest.”

With that she turned into the shady lane, and soon drew rein in front of the house.

“Friend,” she said as an elderly, pleasant-looking woman came to the door, “would thee kindly let me have refreshment for myself and horse; refreshment and rest also, friend?”

“Light, and come right in,” spoke the woman heartily. “A girl like you shouldn’t be riding about alone when the British are abroad in the land.”

“But the British have not yet crossed the James,” answered Peggy cheerfully.

“Why, a detachment passed here not an hour ago, bound for Hanover Court House,” spoke the woman abruptly. “Didn’t you know that Cornwallis was following the Marquis de Lafayette trying to keep him from meeting General Wayne?”

“I did not know,” answered the maiden paling. “Why, I am going through Hanover Court House myself. I want to reach Fredericksburg to-night.”

“You’d better bide with me until we hear whether they have left there, and in what direction they ride, my dear. I should not like a daughter of mine abroad at such a time. Where are you from?”

“I came from Williamsburg, and I am trying to get home,” Peggy told her. “I live in Philadelphia, and came down to nurse a cousin who was wounded. There was no one to come with me, and it seemed a good time to start, as I thought Lord Cornwallis was still at Petersburg.”

“Bless you, child! it never takes them long to scatter for mischief when they enter a state,” exclaimed the woman. “I think ’twill be best to hide that mare of yours, if you want to keep her. There’s no telling when others of the thieving, rascally English will be along. Here, Jimmy,” to a youngster of ten who stood peeping at Peggy from behind the door, “take the nag down to the grove behind the mills, and don’t forget to feed her. You are the second person from tide-water to ask for rest in the last twenty-four hours,” she continued leading the way into the dwelling. “The other was a lad from the militia who came last night. Most sick the poor fellow is, too.”

“What became of him?” asked Peggy interested on the instant. “I hope the British did not get him.”

“Well, then, they didn’t,” was the laconic response. “I’ve got him here hidden in the garret. We’ll go up to see him as soon as you have something to eat. The boy needs looking after a bit.”

“I have some skill in nursing, friend,” spoke Peggy modestly. “If I tarry with thee until ’tis wise to go on I might be of assistance in caring for him.”

“Have you now? Then between us we will bring him round nicely. It’s providential that you came. I was wondering how to give him proper care without attracting too much attention from the darkies. There are not many left me, and they seem faithful, but ’tis just as well not to rely too much on them.”

The attic was a roomy garret extending over the entire main building. Two large windows, one in each end of the gambrel roof, afforded light and air. Boxes, trunks, old furniture, and other discarded rubbish of a family filled the corners and sides, affording many recesses that could be utilized as hiding-places in an emergency. A large tester bed spread with mattress and light coverlids stood in the center of the space, and upon it reposed the lithe form of a youth. Peggy gave an ejaculation of astonishment as her hostess led her to the bed.

“’Tis Fairfax Johnson,” she cried. “Oh, friend, how does thee do? Thy mother told me that thee was not well. How strange that I should find thee here!”

“Why, ’tis Mistress Peggy!” exclaimed the young fellow, sitting up quickly, a deep flush dyeing his face. “How, how did you get here?”

“I am trying to get home,” she told him. “I left Williamsburg yesterday morning, and hoped to reach Fredericksburg to-night, but our good friend here tells me that the British are at Hanover Court House. I am to bide with her until they pass on.”

“That is best,” he said. “’Twas but an advance force on a reconnoitering expedition that passed this morning. The rest will be along later. You should not be here at all.”

“I know,” replied Peggy, surprised by this speech from Fairfax. It was the longest he had ever made her. “Or rather I didn’t know, Friend Fairfax, else I would not be here. And how does thee do? I am to help care for thee.”

“You!” again the red blood flushed the lad’s cheek and brow. “Why, why, I’m all right. A little rest is all I need.”

“I shall care for thee none the less,” answered the maiden demurely, the feeling of amusement which she always felt at his shyness assailing her now.

“And here is cool milk and toast with sweet butter and jam,” spoke the hostess. “Boys all like jam, so I brought that for a tid-bit. With the eggs it should make a fairish meal. Now, my lad, I’ll leave you to the mercy of your young friend while I run down to see about things. It is pleasant for you to know each other. Come down when you like, my dear,” she added turning to Peggy as she left the room.

“Oh!” uttered Fairfax in such evident dismay that Peggy found it impossible to suppress the ripple of laughter that rose to her lips.

“I shall tell thee all about thy mother while thee eats,” she said arranging the viands before him temptingly. “Thy mother is worried anent thee, friend, but she herself is well. She——”

“Listen,” he said abruptly.

A blare of bugles, the galloping of horses, the jingle of spurs and sabres filled the air. Peggy ran to the front window and looked out.

“’Tis a body of men in white uniforms,” she cried. “They are mounted upon fine horses, and are clattering down the lane toward the house.”

“’Tis Tarleton with his dragoons,” he exclaimed hastening to the window for a view of them.

“Then thee must hide,” ejaculated Peggy. “Quickly! They may search the place. Hurry, friend!”

“But you,” he said, making no move toward secreting himself.

“Go, go,” cried she impatiently. “I know Colonel Tarleton, and fear naught from him or his troopers. Hide, friend! Here, take the food with thee. ’Tis as well to eat while thee can.”

So insistent was she that the lad found himself hurried to a retreat behind some boxes in spite of himself. Peggy then hastened down-stairs to the good woman below. A quick glance at the girl told her that the boy was in hiding.

“And do you go to my room, child,” she said pointing to a door under the stairway. “We will make no attempt at concealment, but ’tis more retired. It may be that they will not stop long. Goodness knows, there is not much left to take.”

Peggy had scarcely gained the seclusion of the room ere the British cavalry dashed up.

“In the name of the king, dinner,” called Colonel Tarleton, loudly.

“Of course if you want dinner, I suppose that I’ll have to get it,” Peggy heard the mistress of the dwelling reply, grumblingly. “But some of your people have already been here, and you know ’tis against their principles to leave much.”

A great laugh greeted this sally as the troopers dismounted, tying their horses to trees, or fences as was convenient.

“Get us what you have, my good woman, and be quick about it,” Tarleton cried in answer. “We’ve come seventy miles in twenty-four hours, and must be in the saddle again in an hour’s time. Now be quick about that dinner.”

The dragoons, seemingly too weary for anything but rest, flung themselves upon the grass to await the meal. Tarleton and one of his lieutenants stretched out upon the sward directly under the window of the room where Peggy was. For a time they lay there in silence, then the junior officer spoke:

“Will it be possible for us to reach Charlottesville to-night, colonel?”

“Charlottesville!” Peggy’s heart gave a great bound as she heard the name. Charlottesville was the place where the Assembly was in session at that very time. But Colonel Tarleton was speaking:

“Not to-night, lieutenant. But to-morrow we’ll swoop upon the Assembly and take it unawares. By St. George, ’twill be rare sport to see their faces when they find themselves prisoners. Although I care more for Jefferson and Patrick Henry than all the others together. We’ll hang those two.”

The girl wrung her hands as she listened. Jefferson, the governor of the state, the writer of the Declaration of Independence; and Patrick Henry, he who had been termed the Voice of the Revolution! Oh! it must not be! But how, how could it be prevented? They should be warned.

“If I but knew where Charlottesville is,” cried the girl anguished by her helplessness. “What shall be done? Oh, I’ll ask Fairfax.”

Up to the garret she sped unnoticed by any one. The troopers were outside, the members of the household busily engaged in preparing the dinner.

“Friend Fairfax,” she called.

“Yes,” answered the lad rising from behind the boxes.

“Colonel Tarleton is after the Assembly at Charlottesville. He wants especially to capture the governor and Patrick Henry.”

“Why, they’ll hang them if they do,” cried Fairfax excitedly. “How do you know, Mistress Peggy?”

“I heard him say so,” answered Peggy. “Friend, what shall we do? They should be warned.”

“Yes,” he answered. “That is what I must do.”

“Thee?” she cried, amazed. “Why, thee is weak and sick, Friend Fairfax. Thee cannot go.”

“I must. Oh,” he groaned. “If I but had a horse. If I but had a horse I could get to Charlottesville before them.”

“It might cost thee thy life,” the girl reminded him. “Thee is too ill to go.”

“What am I but one among many?” he said. “I must try to steal one of their horses.”

“Thee need not run such risk. Thee shall have my own little Star,” cried Peggy thrillingly. “We can go now to the room under the stairs, and while the troopers are at dinner, slip through the window and down to the grove where she lies hidden. Come, friend.”