“He's cared for already,” said Classon, with a grin.
“The Lord protect us! what do you mean?” exclaimed Driscoll, in terror.
“He wanted to find his way out here last night, so I bribed two Chasseurs d'Afrique to guide him. They took him off outside the French advance, and dropped him within five hundred yards of a Cossack picket, so that the worthy practitioner is now snug in Sebastopol. In fact, Driscoll, my boy, I 'm—as I said before—an ugly antagonist!”
Terry laughed an assent, but there was little enjoyment in his mirth.
“The girl,—one of those hospital ladies,” continued Classon,—“a certain Miss Kellett, is also a prisoner.”
“Miss Kellett!” cried Driscoll, in amazement and terror together. “I know her well, and if she's here she 'll outwit us both.”
“She's in safe hands this time, let her be as cunning as she will. In fact, my dear Driscoll, the game is our own if we be but true to each other.”
“I 'm more afraid of that girl than them all,” muttered Driscoll.
“Look over those hills yonder, Driscoll, and say if that prison-house be not strong enough to keep her. Mr. Reggis and herself are likely to see Moscow before they visit Cheapside. Remember, however, if the field be our own, it is only for a very brief space of time. Conway is dying. What is to be done must be done quickly; and as there is no time for delay, Driscoll, tell me frankly what is it worth to you?” Terry sneezed and wiped his eyes, and sneezed again,—all little artifices to gain time and consider how he should act.
“My instructions are these,” said Classon, boldly: “to get Conway to sign a bond abdicating all claim to certain rights in lieu of a good round sum in hand; or, if he refuse—” S.