Part 23 (1/2)
”Do they know you at Kingsbridge?”
”Yes. The Fifty-fourth guard it.”
”Then how can you hope to pa.s.s?”
”I shall pa.s.s one way or another,” I said between my teeth.
She drew from her breast a crumpled paper, unfolded it, and pa.s.sed it to me, galloping beside me all the while. I scanned it carefully; it was a pa.s.s signed by Sir Henry Clinton, permitting her and me to pa.s.s the lines, and dated that very night.
”How in Heaven's name did you secure this paper in the last nick of time?” I cried, astounded.
”I knew you needed it--from what you said there in my chamber. Do you remember that Sir Henry left the Fort for a council? It is not far to Queen Street; and when I left you I mounted and galloped thither.”
”But--but what excuse----”
”Ask me not, Carus,” she said impatiently, while a new color flowed through cheek and temple. ”Sir Henry first denied me, then he began to laugh; and I--I galloped here with the ink all wet upon the pa.s.s.
Whither leads this lane?”
”To the Kingsbridge road.”
”Would they stop and search us if dissatisfied?”
”I think not.”
”Well, I shall take no risk,” she said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the blotted paper from her bosom--the paper she had taken from Walter Butler, and which was written in my hand. ”Hide it under a stone in the hedgerow, and place the pa.s.ses that you had for Sir Peter with it,” she said, drawing bridle and looking back.
I dismounted, turned up a great stone, thrust the papers under, then dropped it to its immemorial bed once more.
”Quick!” she whispered. ”I heard a horse's iron-shod foot striking a pebble.”
”Behind us?”
”Yes. Now gallop!”
Our horses plunged on again, fretting at the curb. She rode a mare as black as a crow save for three silvery fetlocks, and my roan's stride distressed her nothing. Into the Kingsbridge road we plunged in the white river-mist that walled the hedges from our view, and there, as we galloped through the sand, far behind us I thought to hear a sound like metal clipping stone.
”You shall come no farther,” I said. ”You can not be found in company with me. Turn south, and strike the Greenwich road.”
”Too late,” she said calmly. ”You forget I compromised myself with that same pa.s.s you carry.”
”Why in G.o.d's name did you include yourself in it?” I asked.
”Because the pa.s.s was denied me until I asked it for us both.”
”You mean----”
”I mean that I lied again to Sir Henry Clinton, Mr. Renault. Spare me now.”
Amazed, comprehending nothing, I fell silent for a s.p.a.ce, then turned to scan her face, but read nothing in its immobility.
”Why did you do all this for me, a spy?” I asked.