"No—no—he said the Governor's out at Schlitz's place, spending the night. They're going to kill him, too——"
"Then there's time to stop them—quick—can you hitch a horse?"
"Yessum!"
"Run to the stable, hitch my horse to the buggy and take a note I'll write to my grandfather, old Governor Carteret—you know where his place is—the big red brick house at the edge of town?"
"Yessum——"
"His street leads into the turnpike—quick now—the horse and buggy!"
The strong young body sprang down the steps three and four rounds at a leap and in five minutes the crunch of swift wheels on the gravel walk was heard.
She sprang up the stairs, took the note from the frail, trembling little hand and bounded out of the house again.
The clouds had passed and the moon was shining now in silent splendor on the sparkling refreshed trees and shrubbery. The girl was an expert in handling a horse. Old Peeler had at least taught her that. In five more minutes from the time she had left the house she was knocking furiously at the old Governor's door. He was eighty-four, but a man of extraordinary vigor for his age.
He came to the door alone in his night-dress, candle in hand, scowling at the unseemly interruption of his rest.