"I shall be safe enough. He will have no opportunity to find me alone again. To-night I had no conception that he was near, and was not even armed. I--I have been afraid of him for months; he has acted like a crazed man. But you must go!" She caught my arm, urging me toward the thicket where the horse was concealed; then suddenly paused with a new thought. "Take his hat and coat," she whispered swiftly. "There are British patrols between here and the Delaware. Quick, and I will have your horse untied."
I did as directed, feeling the value of the suggestion, and, a moment later, to all appearance an officer of Queen's Rangers, slipped through the thicket of trees, and took the reins from her hands.
"You will go straight back into the house?"
"Yes," she said obediently; then extended her hand. "Good-bye, Major Lawrence. I suppose this ends our acquaintance."
"Not if I can avoid such a fate," I replied, holding her fingers closely. "If I believed that I am not sure but I would return to the cell. It has been a strange intimacy into which we have been thrown; three days have made us old friends. Surely you cannot believe me so ungrateful as your words would seem to imply."
"But I deserve no gratitude," making no effort to draw away, yet looking into my face frankly. "Perhaps you have misunderstood. Is it not possible for the women of these Colonies to sacrifice as well as the men in the cause of patriotism? You must not believe that I have done this merely for your sake, Major Lawrence."
"Yet I would like to believe so," I insisted warmly. "You are the daughter of a loyalist."
"And Eric is the son of a loyalist," laughingly, "and wears a Continental uniform. I am not privileged to go so far, restrained by the limitations of sex, yet I may be equally a rebel."
"Which would seem to mean that all your kindness toward me would have been similarly given to any patriot soldier."
"And I do not, Mistress Claire; I refuse to so believe." Her eyes flashed up at me, and I lost all restraint in their swift challenge. "I am going to speak--just a word, yet I must give it utterance before I ride out into the dark, away from you. I love you. It makes no difference to me where your sympathies may be in this struggle, you have won my heart. Look up, dear, and listen. I am going back to the camp, back to the campaign. I know not what the night, what the morrow may bring. But I know forever I love you, and that if I live I shall surely come back. Will you be glad? Will you promise me welcome?"