“I do not wish you to question me. Can you get me a horse, or must I try to walk? I must have a horse.”
“There’s another reason. If you know anything of these hills you’ll know what a storm means among them; and there’s one brewing now. Listen.” As I spoke we heard the rumbling of distant thunder among the hills.
“I cannot stay here, in any case,” she shot back quickly. Then, after a pause, “Who are you? Your name, I mean?” This in her sharp imperious manner.
“My name is Bergwyn.” I slurred the pronunciation intentionally. I had strong reasons for not wishing anyone to know I had been on the hills on my mission.
But the effect of the name upon her was remarkable; and her agitation was too great to be concealed even by the effort she made. She appeared completely unnerved; and while her eyes opened wide in unmistakable fear, she shrank from me as though I were a pestilence incarnate.
“Bourgwan—the—the brigand? I have heard of you.” The words were just a whisper, uttered with a catch of the breath all eloquent of terror.
“No, I’m not——” I began with a smile intended to reassure her; but before I could finish the sentence her own unfortunate guess had completed her undoing, and with a little gasping sob down she went in a heap to the ground unconscious, to my utter consternation.
Disconcerting as her collapse was, it nevertheless had the result of deciding me what to do. Another clap of thunder came at the moment; and, without waiting to think any longer, I picked her up and set off as quickly as I could along the ravine to the camp.
She had not recovered consciousness when I reached the cottage; and as there was but one room in it, I laid her on the bed, bundled my few things together, tossed them out of sight, and leaving the dog with her, I went over to the tent.
I found my four men asleep there, and waking them with an impartial kick or two, sent them down to bring up the prisoner and his wounded companion.