"I certainly would," he replied. "I trust that I know my duty."
But in a moment the light in her eyes changed. The look there was an appeal, and it expressed confidence, too. Prescott felt a strange tremour. Her glance rested full upon him and it was strangely soft and pathetic.
"Captain Prescott," she said, "upon my honour—by the memory of my mother, I have no papers."
"Then what have you done with them?" said Prescott.
"I have never had any."
He looked at her doubtfully. He believed and yet he did not. But her eyes shone with the light of purity and truth.
"Then why are you out here at such an hour, seeking to escape from Richmond?" he asked at last.
"Lest I bring harm to another," she said proudly.
Prescott laughed slightly and at once he saw a deep flush dye her face, and then involuntarily he made an apology, feeling that he was in the presence of one who was his equal.
"But I must have those papers," he said.