"I would do it over again," Power answers sternly, "if it was my life that I was risking in place of my liberty."
"But the boys don't care to risk their liberty—why should they, the cratures?—even for a beautiful young lady like Miss Honor—Heaven bless her!" the other man says sturdily.
His master retorts angrily; but they are too far off now for their words to be heard; and again silence reigns.
It is long before Brian and Honor dare to move, though the girl is trembling with cold and the man's arm is paining him intensely—longer still before they venture out of their hiding-place.
Honor will never forget that walk up to the house in the chill damp night, the dread of pursuit making her heart throb wildly. Her companion is very silent; and, when he does speak, his voice sounds cold and harsh. More than once she tries to thank him for coming to her help so bravely; but the words die away on her lips. She finds it hard to believe that this man spoke tenderly to her only a little time ago. His very words ring in her ears and serve to make his grim silence more oppressive.
"He is sorry already for having spoken then," she says to herself; "but he need not be. I shall never remind him of them—never!"
They are within sight of the house before she can summon up courage to thank him for coming to her aid.
"It was so brave of you," she adds simply; "for of course you did not know how many you might have to face! I'm afraid I am very stupid—I don't know how to thank you as you deserve."
"No, no," he says hastily, almost impatiently. "Pray do not thank me at all; I deserve no thanks, I assure you! I would have done as much for any woman!"
There is something almost cruel in the way in which he says it, and tears well up in the girl's eyes.