Part 22 (2/2)
”Not here, child. Look! Day comes creeping on us yonder in the hills.
Come home before you have your talk with Carus. You may ride with him if you desire, but follow us.”
Sir Peter turned to gather up his pistols; but Elsin laid her hand on them, saying that I would care for everything.
”Sure, she means to have her way with us as well as with Walter Butler,” he said humorously. ”Come, sweetheart, leave them to this new wisdom Elsin found along the road somewhere between the Coq d'Or and Wall Street. They may be wiser than they seem; they could not well be less wise than they are.”
The set smile on Elsin's lips changed nothing as Sir Peter led his lady, all reluctant, from the coffee-room, where the sunken candles flickered in the pallid light of morning.
From the front windows we saw the coach drive up, and Lady Coleville, looking back in protest, enter; and after her Sir Peter, and Dr.
Carmody with his cases.
”Come to the door and make as though we meant to mount and follow,” she said quietly. ”Here, take these pistols. Raise the pan and lower the hammers. They are loaded. Thrust them somewhere--beneath your coat. Now follow me.”
I obeyed in silence. As we came out of the tavern-door Lady Coleville nodded, and her coach moved off, pa.s.sing our horses, which the hostlers were bringing round.
I put Elsin up, then swung astride my roan, following her out into the road--a rod or two only ere she wheeled into the honeysuckle lane, reining in so that I came abreast of her.
”Now ride!” she said in an unsteady voice. ”I know the man you have to deal with. There is no mercy in him, I tell you, and no safety now for you until you make the rebel lines.”
”I know it,” I said; ”but what of you?”
”What of me?” She laughed a bitter laugh, striking her horse so that he bounded forward down the sandy lane, I abreast of her, stride for stride. ”What of me? Why, I lied to him, that is all, Mr. Renault. _And he knew it!_”
”Is that all?” I asked.
”No, not all. _He_ told the truth to you and to Sir Peter. And _I_ knew it.”
”In what did he tell the truth?”
”In what he said about--his mistress.” Her face crimsoned, but she held her head steady and high, nor faltered at the word.
”How is it that you know?”
”How does a woman know? Tell me and I'll confess it. I know because a woman knows such things. Let it rest there--a matter scarcely fitted for discussion between a maid and a man--though I am being soundly schooled, G.o.d wot, in every branch of infamy.”
”Then turn here,” I said, reining in, ”and ride no more with what men call a spy.”
But she galloped on, head set, flushed and expressionless, and I spurred to overtake her.
”Turn back!” I said hoa.r.s.ely. ”It may go hard with you if I am taken at the lines!”
”Those pa.s.ses that Sir Henry gave you--you have them?”
”Yes.”
”For Sir Peter and his lady?”
”So they are made out.”
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