"It's raining cats and dogs; you can't go!" he said masterfully. "You stop here like a good girl, and I'll go and settle up something for myself."
He left the room and for one second she stood irresolute. Should she stop? He had called her his wife, would doubtless call her so again to the landlady, and if she stopped--if she stopped----
Then, with a little sob, she caught up her cloak and ran downstairs. The night was dark, but the moon shone fitfully between rifts in the clouds. The rain, coming in gusts with the wind, had ceased for a moment. She drew the hood of her cloak over her head and ran swiftly past the lighted windows of the bar, thinking she had escaped; but a moment after she heard swift steps following her own and, turning to look, saw Marmaduke, hatless, coatless, in pursuit.
The instinct of the chase awoke in her in a second; she doubled off the white road behind the shelter of a low beech copse.
"Marmie, Marmie, stop, I tell you! Don't be a little fool!"
Easy to say that. But it was he was the fool, not she. If she kept in such cover as there was she might reach the boat before him--she must! In the old days she had run as quick as he; and she knew where the boat was and he didn't.
She tucked her petticoats high above the knee like any Leezie Lindsay and ran as for dear life. If she had failed in her mission--and had she?--she would not fail here. That last double had been successful. His cry of "Marmie, Marmie, don't be so foolish, dear!" sounded quite far off--like the wail of a plover.
Now it came nearer. Perhaps he had seen the lantern she had left to guide her own steps to the boat. If so, she had no time to lose, as he would make straight for it, and so must she, forsaking the bend to avoid a peat bog, and braving the moss hags even in the dark. Anyhow, she was lighter than he, and would not sink so deep; though, after the long spell of fine weather, the bog could not be very bad. And this was the worst part of it. With the ease of long practice she jumped lightly from hag to hag, sparing no time to look round for the figure behind her, though she knew it must be perilously near; for that instinct of the chase was as strong in him, perhaps stronger, than it was in her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eye was bright, her heart beat high, despite her breathlessness, and she knew that his did so also. Briefly they had both forgotten everything save their determination to have their own way.
"Marmie, you little devil, stop, I tell you!" came his voice close behind her. Then a splash, a loud "damnation," told her that he had missed his hag.
That would give her time. She redoubled her speed, raced to the shore, and, not pausing to unfasten the boat, waded through the water, almost swimming the last bit, to where it rode at anchor on the outgoing tide. Clambering over the side she set to work at once to unknot the rope from the bow-ring. Not a second too soon, for Marmaduke, after a minute's delay, due to his flounder and an unavailing search for the shore ring, had found it.