"It is impossible to make any exceptions. I am sorry, Mr. Atkins, but the passes are guarded, and no civilian is allowed to pass from this side into the mountain region. It is possible the order may be recalled to-morrow, as we are expecting re-inforcements; but to-day, it stands in full force."
"Well, then, you will at least have the goodness to inform us where, according to your august decision, we are to pass the night. We cannot go back; the several places through which we have passed are thronged with soldiers, and we are not allowed to go forward; here in the village we can scarce count upon entertainment. Are we to camp in our carriages?"
"That will not be necessary. You are--alone?"
There should have been no question in these words; the answer was self-evident; still there lay in them an unconscious hesitation.
Atkins was about to answer, but Alison cut short his reply. He had made his conclusion.
"Yes," he said very emphatically.
"Then I think I can offer you the hospitality of my comrades. We have room enough in the castle, and our acquaintanceship," here a smile flitted over his face, "guards you from every possible suspicion. Excuse me just for a moment."
He stepped to the guard standing near, and exchanged a word with him.
"And this is the former professor of B. University!" muttered Atkins with suppressed anger. "The bookworm has such a military bearing, one would think he had all his life carried a sword at his side; and there is not the least trace of the consumption to be seen about him now."
"But for God's sake, Henry, explain to me what you are telling that falsehood for--"