She awoke as from a dream. She met my eyes. “You are going then?” she said.
“I have no choice.”
“And your parole—is nothing?”
“It is put an end to by my re-capture,” I said. “Colonel Marion will understand that. But I want you to understand something more; that nothing—nothing can put an end to the gratitude which I owe to your father and to you. When it shall be safe for me to return—”
“To the Bluff?”
“Yes—for I shall return, Miss Wilmer, be sure of that. And when I do return to the Bluff I shall be free to tell you, and to prove to you—”
“How great is your gratitude!” she cried, rising to her feet and substituting other words for mine—for indeed it was of something more than gratitude I was going to speak. “Your gratitude?” she repeated, with a look and in a voice that cut me to the heart. “Will it be worth more than your word? Will it sever one of the meshes that bind you? Will it evade one of your cruel laws? Will it save one life? No, Major Craven! If the day comes for me to ask a return, to crave a favor, to plead to you, aye, even on my knees, I know that the law that frees you to-day will bind you then! And I shall find your gratitude no better than your word! For me, you can take it, sir—where it may mean more!”
She pointed scornfully to the old lady who sat, wondering and bemused, at the farther end of the table. And yet I doubt if Aunt Lyddy was more bemused at that moment than I was. The girl’s outbreak was to me beyond all understanding. I was astonished, indignant, nay, sorely hurt! For what had I done. What beyond that which I was doing, could I do? “You are cruel, and unjust!” I cried. “What have I done that you should wound me, at this moment? Believe me, if you could read my heart, Miss Wilmer—”
“I do not wish to read it!” she answered passionately. “Take it there with your gratitude! I value both at their true worth!” Again she pointed to poor Aunt Lyddy who gazed at us, understanding nothing of the debate. And that was the end, for before, hurt and angry, I could find words with which to answer the girl or to reproach her, the opportunity was past. Haybittle bustled in, his sword clanking on the floor.
“Time! Time!” he cried. “You must come, Major. Not another moment!” He took me by the sound arm and forced me towards the door. “You are playing with lives,” he continued, “and I don’t choose to hazard mine for the sake of a girl’s eyes. No offence to you, Miss,” he flung over his shoulder. “You’d make a fine tragedy queen, be hanged if you wouldn’t. To look at you one would think that we’d done God knows what to you, and a good many would! There’s temptation and to spare. Now boot and saddle, Major! We’ve risked more than enough to get hold of you! Let us be going!”