The fugitives emerged cautiously from their hiding-place.
"Ferguson! Ferguson!" muttered Captain Protheroe to himself, as he wrapped his cloak round his companion's shoulders. "Ferguson and Jeffreys! for assuredly 'twas Jeffreys of whom he spoke. Now, what the devil—— But come, Mistress Barbara, we'll away from here, and leave them to brew what plots they will."
Barbara pulled the cloak closely round her, and followed him silently out of the house. He walked quickly down the alley, and turned into the silent street behind the inn. The moon was down, and save for the occasional glimmer of a lamp, the streets were in darkness.
"Where are we going?" asked Barbara, wonderingly.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"We must get clear of the town, first. You will not go to your cousin?" he asked doubtfully.
"No, indeed! I would not risk danger to Cicely. And besides I know not where lies the house."
"Then we throw in our lots together?" he asked, smiling down on her.
"Indeed, sir, I see not what else remains for me," she answered simply, committing herself to his protection with an implicit faith.
Under his breath he prayed Heaven he might be the means of saving her.