“Wouldn't you show him—” and Lanty hesitated to conclude a speech, the imprudence of which he was already aware of.
“Ay will I,” said Mary. “I never mistrusted one of his name;” and with that, she rose from the fire-side, and took a candle in her hand, “Come here a minute, Master Mark.” Unlocking a small door in the back wall of the cabin, she entered a narrow passage which led to the stable, but off which, a narrow door, scarcely distinguishable from the wall, conducted into a spacious vault, excavated in the solid rock. Here were a vast number of packing-oases, and boxes, piled on each other, from floor to roof, together, with hogsheads and casks of every shape and size. Some of the boxes had been opened, and the lids laid loosely over them. Removing one of these, Mary pointed to the contents, as she said—
“There they are—French muskets and carabines. There's pistols in that case; and all them, over there, is swords and cutlasses. 'Tis pike-heads that's in the other corner; and the casks has saddles and holsters and them kind of things.”
Mark stooped down and took up one of the muskets. It was a light and handy weapon, and bore on its stock the words—“Armée de la Sambre et Meuse”—for none of the weapons were new.
“These are all French,” said he, after a brief pause.
“Every one of them,” replied Mary, proudly; “and there's more coming from the same place.”
“And why can we not fight our own battles, without aid from France?” said Mark, boldly. “If we really are worthy of independence, are we not able to win it?”
“Because there's traitors among us,” said Mary—replying before Lanty could interpose—“because there's traitors that would turn again us if we were not sure of victory; but when they see we have the strong hand, as well as the good cause, they'll be sure to stand on the safe side.”