"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.

"For that reason," she answered sharply--"lest the disgrace bespatter my kinsman, Sir Peter, and his sweet lady."

"But--what will be said when you return alone and I am gone?"

"Nothing, for I do not return."

"You--you----"

"I ask you to spare me. Once the lines are pa.s.sed there is no danger that disgrace shall fall on any one--not even on you and me."

"But how--what will folk say----"

"They'll say we fled together to be wedded!" she cried, exasperated.

"If you will force me, learn then that I made excuse and got my pa.s.s for that! I told Sir Henry that I loved you and that I was plighted to Walter Butler. And Sir Henry, hating Mr. Butler, laughed until he could not see for the tears, and scratched me off my pa.s.s for Gretna Green, with his choicest blessing on the lie I offered in return! There, sir, is what I have done. I said I loved you, and I lied. I shall go with you, then ask a flag of the rebels to pa.s.s me on to Canada. And so you see, Mr. Renault, that no disgrace can fall on me or mine through any infamy, however black, that others must account for!"

And she drew her sun-mask from her belt and put it on.

Her wit, her most amazing resource, her anger, so amazed me that I rode on, dazed, swaying in the stride of the tireless gallop. Then in a flash, alert once more, I saw ahead the mist rising from the Harlem, the mill on the left, with its empty windows and the two poplar-trees beside it, the stone piers and wooden railing of the bridge, the sentinels on guard, already faced our way, watching our swift approach.

As we drew bridle in a whirlwind of sand the guard came tumbling out at the post's loud bawling, and the officer of the guard followed, sauntering up to our hard-breathing horses and peering up into our faces.

"Enderly!" I exclaimed.

"Well, what the devil, Carus--" he began, then bit his words in two and bowed to the masked lady, perplexed eyes traveling from her to me and back again. When I held out the pa.s.s for his inspection, he took it, scrutinizing it gravely, nodded, and strolled back to the mill.

"Hurry, Enderly!" I called after him.

He struck a smarter gait, but to me it seemed a year ere he reappeared with a pa.s.s viseed, and handed it to me.

"Have a care," he said; "the country beyond swarms with cowboys and skinners, and the rebel horse ride everywhere unchecked. They've an outpost at Valentine's, and riflemen along the Bronx----"

At that instant a far sound came to my ears, distant still on the road behind us. It was the galloping of horses. Elsin Grey leaped from her saddle, lifting her mask and smiling sweetly down at Captain Enderly.

"It's a sharp run to Gretna Green," she said. "If you can detain the gentleman who follows us we will not forget the service, Captain Enderly!"

"By Heaven!" he exclaimed, his perplexed face clearing into grinning comprehension. And to the sentries: "Fall back there, lads! Free way for'ard!" he cried. "Now, Carus! Madam, your most obedient!"

The steady thud of galloping horses sounded nearer behind us. I turned, expecting to see the hors.e.m.e.n, but they were still screened by the hill.

"Luck to you!" muttered Enderly, as we swung into a canter, our horses'

hoofs drumming thunder on the quivering planks that jumped beneath us as we spurred to a gallop. Ah! They were shouting now, behind us! They, too, had heard the echoing tattoo we beat across the bridge.

"Pray G.o.d that young man holds them!" she whispered, pale face turned.

"There they are! They spy us now! They are riding at the bridge! Mercy on us! the soldiers have a horse by the bit, forcing him back. They have stopped Mr. Butler. _Now_, Carus!"

Into the sand once more we plunged, riding at a sheer run through the semidarkness of the forest that closed in everywhere; on, on, the wind whistling in our teeth, her hair blowing, and her gilt-laced hat flying from the silken cord that held it to her shoulder. How grandly her black mare bore her--the slight, pale-faced figure sitting the saddle with such perfect grace and poise!