I did so, and the idlers about us, noting my rank, fell back. The crowd broke up. Tom—it was he—led the horses on. We followed, both silent. Forty yards brought us to the door of Paton’s house.
When we were inside, “Will you give me some wine?” she said.
I looked for the wine and as I did so, I was aware of Paton escaping from the room with a face of dismay. He recognized her, of course, but I had other things to do than to think of him. I found some Madeira and filled a large glass and gave it to her. She took a piece of bread from her pocket and ate a mouthful or two with the wine, sitting the while on a box with her eyes fixed on vacancy.
I have written down all that she said; and for my part I stood beside her, not venturing a word. The knowledge that she must presently learn all, and in particular must learn that it was I who had done this, I who had put the halter round her father’s neck, paralyzed my tongue. When she should have learned all, I could serve her no longer, I could do no more for her. It was not for me that her eyes would then seek, nor from my hand that she would take wine.
She set down the glass. “You will take me to Lord Rawdon,” she said.
I don’t know whether I had foreseen this; but at any rate I took it as a matter of course and made no demur. I suppose Paton heard her also, wherever he was, for immediately I found him at my elbow. “I’ll go on,” he muttered in my ear. “I’ll arrange it. But it’s the devil, it’s the very devil!”
He did not explain himself, but I knew that he meant it was hard, cruelly hard on us! As for her, she seemed to be unconscious of his presence.
When he had had five minutes start we set out. Already it had gone abroad who my companion was, as such things will spread in a camp, and a curious crowd stood waiting before the door; a crowd that in the circumstances—for Wemyss’s check was no longer a secret—could not but be hostile to Wilmer. But when she appeared, looking so proud and pale and composed—not even the wine had brought the faintest color to her cheeks—it was to the credit of our people that there was not a man who did not stand to attention and salute. Not a gibe or a taunt was heard, and I believe that the looks that followed us as we proceeded along the street, were laden with a rough but understanding pity.
Halfway she spoke to me, looking not at me but steadily to the front. “At what hour,” she asked with a shiver which she could not restrain, “is it to be?”
“Four o’clock,” I replied.