for just a little, Peggy," he said. "It hath eaten into
my heart--the manner of this death. I have talked bravely all these
long, weary days of waiting, but oh! if they would just shoot me! The
shamefulness of a gallows!"

"Don't!" she cried suddenly. "I--I cannot bear it."

The boy pulled himself together sharply.

"Forgive me," he said speaking more calmly. "I'll be good now, my
cousin, but 'tis enough to make a man rave to contrast the death he
would die with the one he must. I'll think of it no more."

"Thee must not," she said faintly. "What--what can I do for thee,
Clifford?"

"I have writ some letters," he said picking them up from the table.
"Will you see that they are sent? I need not ask. I know you will. One
is for Harriet; I was too hard on her, Peggy. I see it now. One is for
father, and one for your father and mother. Had I been their own son
they could not have treated me with more tenderness. And, Peggy----"

"Yes, my cousin?"

"There is one for Miss Sally," he said with slight hesitation. His
face flushed and he busied himself among the papers on the table.
"'Fore George," he cried with an abrupt change of manner, "I can't
forget that look of scorn in her blue eyes! It haunts me. I writ
before, you remember? She did not reply, but sent word that she had no
hard feelings. 'Twas all I had a right to expect, but somehow---- I
have writ again, Peggy, to tell her---- Well, you know I don't want
her to think me altogether contemptible."

It was such a youthful outburst, and so natural that Peggy had hard
work to retain her self-control. Then, like a flash, she knew the
comfort she could give him. Leaning toward him with brightening eyes
she said softly:

"Sally doesn't think thee so, Clifford. She hath a high opinion of
thee. She told me to tell thee something at the very last---- And that
would be now, would it not?"

"Now, or never, Peggy. What did she say?" He listened eagerly.

"She said that she considered thee the finest gentleman that she ever
knew."

"She said that?" The youth caught his breath quickly.

"Just that, Clifford. The finest gentleman that she ever knew,"
repeated the maiden impressively. "Was not that much to say?"

"It was, my cousin. It overwhelms me." His eyes were misty, and in
them there was wonder too. "It is the highest praise that she could
have spoken. 'Tis strange that she should so speak; because, Peggy, I
have always wanted to be a gentleman. Oh, I am by birt