"You're to take my cloak. It's a long one; and will reach nigh down to your feet. But, for fear it wouldn't, I brought an extra skirt along with me. Here it is."

Saying this, the girl whipped the cloak from her shoulders--disclosing at the same time a skirt of some kind of coa.r.s.e stuff, which she had been carrying under her arm.

"Now, sir!" she continued, in a tone of urgency, "on with them as quick as you can: for _he_ may get impatient, and want to come in."

"What!" exclaimed Holtspur, whose surprise at the proposal was only equalled by admiration of her who had made it. "And do you mean that I am to pa.s.s out--disguised in your garments--and leave you here?"

"Of course I do. What other way is there? We can't both go out. He'd stop you for a certainty; and me too, may be, for trying to get you away. You must go out _alone_."

"And leave you behind--to be punished for aiding me to escape? No, generous girl! I had rather die, than do that."

"Oh, sir! don't talk in that foolish way. Pray go as I tell you to.

Have no fear for me! They can't do much to a girl that's got nothing to lose. Besides, I don't feel much afeerd of getting him to pa.s.s me out afterwards. It'll be no good his keeping me in. That won't save him, from whatever they may do to him."

The _him_ thus pointedly alluded to, was the amorous sentry; who was just then heard pa.s.sing to and fro upon his round, with a step that denoted impatience.

"O, sir, go! I beg of you go--or--I--we may never see you again."

There was a tone of sadness in the entreaty, which Holtspur could hardly have failed to notice. But the appeal had shaken his resolution to remain. From what she had said, he saw that in all probability the girl would get clear, or with some slight punishment. Perhaps she might succeed in deceiving the sentry still further, and escape without difficulty. Holtspur knew she was clever and quick-witted.

"Never fear for me, sir!" said she, as if interpreting his thoughts. "I can manage _him_. He'll do what I want him to; I know he will."

"If I thought that--"

"You _may_ think it," responded she, at the same time cutting the cords that bound the prisoner, "you may be sure of it. Leave him to me. Now, sir, the cloak. No, the skirt first. That's the way to fix it. Now the cloak. Here! put your head into the hood--draw it well over your face. That'll do. When you go out, don't stop to speak to him. He'll want to kiss you--I know that. You mustn't let him, but keep quick on to the door. The wicket is on the latch. When you get outside you can run as fast as you like. Make for the trees at the top of the hill.

There you will find father along with your own man, Master Garth. It's dark as pitch outside. I'll keep the lamp here till you get through the pa.s.sage. I defy him to tell it isn't _me_, if you don't let him kiss you. Don't do that; but pa.s.s him as rapidly as you can. Now you're ready? Go!"

This long chapter of directions was spoken more quickly than it can be read. Before the final word was uttered, Bet Dancey had succeeded in disguising the prisoner.

She herself retained her complete dress--the only part of her left uncovered being her head and shoulders.

Holtspur gazed for a moment upon the generous boldly beautiful girl; and with a glance that told of tenderness. She might have mistaken it for a look of love. Alas!--for her sake, alas!--it was only the gaze of grat.i.tude.

At that moment the sentry struck his halbert against the stoup--as if summoning them to a separation.

"Coming, Master Withers! I'm coming," cried the girl in an under tone, at the same time placing her lips close to the keyhole, "open, and let me out!"

The bolt was turned briskly at the words. Withers was longing for that promised kiss. The door was reopened; and the cloaked figure glided forth into the darkness.

Withers closed the door behind it--without going inside for his lanthorn. He did not desire light just then, nor the delay of getting one. He could return for the lamp at any time--after that pleasant occupation in which he antic.i.p.ated engaging himself.

He only waited to secure the bolt against any chance of the prisoner's attempting to come forth.

This occupied him scarce ten seconds of time; but short as was the delay, it lost him his expected pleasure.

As he turned round after locking the door, he heard the click of the wicket latch; and the moment after saw the cloaked form of his supposed sweetheart outlined in the opening. In another instant she had pa.s.sed through slamming the wicket behind her!

Thinking there might still be a chance of securing the kiss, Withers ran to the front entrance; and, re-opening the wicket, stepped briskly outside.

"Confound the vixen!" he muttered, as he stood peering into the darkness; "I believe she be clear gone away! Mistress Betsey! Mistress Betsey! where are you, girl? Won't you come back and keep your promise?"

As he made this appeal he fancied he saw her figure some score of yards out in front of the gateway; where the next moment it mysteriously disappeared, as if sinking into the earth!

Neither of his interrogatories met with a response. From the low tone in which he spoke, it was scarce likely he had been heard. He dared not call aloud--lest his voice might summon the guard from the inner court.

"Confound the vixen!" he once more muttered; "she be gone for certain, and's tricked me out o' that kiss."

"It an't so much matter, after all," continued he, making a feint at self-consolation, "I can make up for it the morrow, by taking as many as I want. She's afeerd to keep the lady waiting--whoever _she_ be--and not getting the shiners that's been promised her. She's right, maybe.

She knows she'll see me again; so let her go."

And with this consolatory reflection, he turned back into the arched entrance--with the intention of recovering the lamp, left in the apartment of the prisoner.

Volume Three, Chapter II.

While proceeding along the pa.s.sage, it occurred to Withers that he had left the wicket on the latch. With this unlocked, and the door of the store-room open at the same time, there might be danger of the prisoner making his escape. He knew that the latter was fast bound, both hand and foot; but, in his soldiering experience, he had known more than one captive get free from such fastenings.

To make safe, therefore, he turned back towards the outer gate--with the intention of securing it.

As he stood holding the wicket in his hand, a thought influenced him to look once more into the darkness. Perhaps, after all, Betsey might come back? Her running away might have been only a frolic on her part--meant merely to tease him? He would take another look out at any rate. There could be no harm in that.

With this resolve he remained--holding the door half open, and peering out into the darkness.

He had been thus occupied, scarce ten seconds of time, when an object appeared before his eyes that elicited from him a series of joyful e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns. It was the figure of a woman wrapped in hood and cloak, coming round an angle of the wall, and evidently advancing towards the spot where he stood. Who could it be but Betsey?

"Good!" cried Withers. "She has not gone after all. That be she comin'

back round the corner o' the house. 'Tan't the way I thought she went off; but I must ha' been mistaken. Yes; she it be--cloak, hood, and all! I might ha' knowed she wouldn't go without gettin' the kiss. I'm glad on't hows'soever. A bird in the hand's worth two in the bush."

As the soldier thus congratulated himself on the re-appearance of his sweetheart, and was chuckling over the near prospect of that promised "smack," the cloaked figure arrived in front of the gateway, and stopped within a few paces of him.

"I thought ye were gone, an' hed gi'en me the slip, Mistress Betsey,"

said he, stepping a pace or two outward to get nearer to her. "It's very kind o' ye to come back. Why, ye look as if ye were frightened?

Don't be scared to come near me. Come up, now, an' gie me the kiss ye promised. Come, that be a good la.s.s!"

He was about opening his arms to offer what he supposed would be a welcome embrace, when at that moment the lightning gave forth a vivid flash, disclosing in the figure before him not the crimson-cloaked peasant girl, from whom he had so lately parted, but a lady richly enrobed in silk, satin, and velvet!

On the slender white fingers, that protruding from her cloak held its hood closed over her chin, he had seen, under the electric light, the sheen of sparkling jewels.

There was no mistaking the style of the personage that had thus presented herself.

Without doubt some grand dame--a "lady of the land."

On perceiving his mistake, the surprised sentry gave way to a series of very natural reflections. "It be the one as sent Betsey? Sure it be!

She's growed impatient, and come herself. I suppose _she'll_ want to go in, and see him too. Well, for a kiss, I don't mind lettin' _her_; though I'd rather a had that buss from Betsey."

"Good-night, sir!" said the lady, speaking in a tone that courted conciliation, though indicative of some surprise at the style of the sentry's first salutation.

"The same to yourself, mistress!" rejoined the soldier, putting on his most courteous air; "May I be so bold as to ask your errand? It be a dark night for a fine lady to be abroad; and late too!"

"If I mistake not," said she, without heeding the interrogatory, "you are Withers?"