“It was necessary,” answered Peggy, and she laughed.
“But you promised to give it to Rahl,” said George, his eyes now on the message.
“I know. And I will—but not until it is too late to do harm.”
Again they stood together before the hearth, watching the curling flames and the darting sparks. Then suddenly he reared his head, as he became aware of a jarring, far-off sound. His eyes went to the window; a Hessian guard had paused in his monotonous tramping and stood as though listening. Again it came, a sullen jarring, far off, yet somehow plain.
“What was that?” Peggy’s hand was on his arm.
“I don’t know. And yet it sounds like——” he paused as the sound came again. “Yes, it is! It is volley firing!”
“They are here!” She bent her head to catch the sound. “But it seems so far off.”
“That is because of the snow. They are firing on the outposts, and none of these are stationed more than a half mile outside the town.”
At once she left his side and started toward the room where Rahl sat. And as she did so, the tired musicians began to play once more.
“Where are you going?” George was at her side.