A faint gleam of humour flickered in her eye.
"And who am I, pray?" she asked.
"You are a much more respectable young woman than that noted Yankee spy," replied Prescott in a light tone. "You are Mrs. Elias Gardner, the wife of a most staid and worthy farmer, of strong Southern proclivities, living twenty miles out on the Baltimore road."
"And who are you?" she asked, the flicker of humour reappearing in her eye.
"I am Mr. Elias Gardner, your husband, and, as I have just said, a most honest and worthy man, but, unfortunately, somewhat addicted to the use of strong liquors, especially on a night as cold as this."
If Prescott's attention had not been demanded then by the horses he would have seen a rosy glow appear on her face. But it passed in a moment, and she remained silent.
Then he told her of the whole lucky chance, his use of it, and how the way now lay clear before them.
"We shall take Mr. Gardner back home," he said, "and save him the trouble of driving. It will be one of the easiest and most comfortable journeys that he ever took, and not a particle of harm will come to him from it."
"But you? How will you get back into Richmond?"
She looked at him anxiously as she spoke.