“‘Sh! get in,” she said.
“Shtrike me crazy, no!” said McGilveray. “Divil a step will I go. Let me that sowed the storm take the whirlwind.” He threw out his chest.
“What is it you came here for?” she asked, with meaning.
“Yourself an’ the mockin’ bird in yer voice,” he answered.
“Then that is enough,” she said. “You come for me, I go for you. Get in.”
A moment afterwards, taking advantage of the obscured moon, they were carried out on the current diagonally down the stream, and came quickly to that point on the shore where an English picket was placed. They had scarcely touched the shore when the click of a musket was heard, and a “Qui-va-la?” came from the thicket.
McGilveray gave the pass-word, and presently he was on the bank saluting the sentry he had left three hours before.
“Malbrouk s’en va t’en guerre!” said the girl again with a gay insolence, and pushed the boat out into the stream.
“A minnit, a minnit, me darlin’,” said McGilveray.
“Keep your promise,” came back, softly.