"Not if I can help it,—I pledge you my word of honour. In transferring you to the French lines, I incur considerable risk; but as the distance is so short, I will see if it can possibly be done before day breaks."
He threw his ample cloak around her, and giving strict injunctions to Evan not to acquaint his comrades who the lady was, began to descend the hill as quickly as the trembling steps of the latter would permit along such a dark and rugged path. Before leaving the hut, Evan took care to break and destroy all the offensive weapons it contained, saying as he did so, "that fules and bairns shuldna hae chappin' sticks." He proposed to set the hut in a "bleeze," to light their way down the hill, but his master at once objected. The darkness renewed the terrors of the young lady.
"Is the way long, monsieur?" asked she in a faltering tone.
"O no,—quite near. You see the picquet-fire yonder. Ah, madame! how fortunate I am in having come so opportunely to your rescue."
"Oh! I shall never forget you in my prayers,—never, monsieur."
"But why are you trembling so much? Surely you are not afraid of me?"
"O no! your behaviour is too cavalier-like and gentle for that; and we have become quite like very old friends in half-an-hour's time."
"Do you fear the darkness, then?"
"Mon dieu! Ah! the darkness is nothing new to me. Alas!" replied she, shrugging her shoulders, "since the field of Vittoria I have passed every night in dark and lonely places; and I wonder now how one so timid, and so delicately nurtured has not sunk under all the fears and privations I have undergone for some days and nights past." The lady started. At that moment the voice of a sentinel was heard to give the usual challenge.
"Who comes, there?"