With quick sharp indentations of his thumb Drexel spelled his name upon her ankle. He felt a start go through her. Again he spelled his name; then, ordering the guard away and turning his back to Freeman, he raised his face so that the governor’s light shone full into it. A quivering tensity told him that she saw and recognized.
“Put out your foot!” he growled once more.
With the wrathful indignation of one who yields to brute force, she acceded; and a minute later, with the same air of outraged pride, she yielded her wrists to the manacles. He had a momentary glimpse of her face. It showed nothing of the hope of life that thrilled her; it showed nothing of her awed astonishment at his presence. Its control was perfect.
“Are you ready, captain?” asked the governor.
“All ready, colonel,” said Drexel.
Freeman came out of his corner, and Drexel matched the movement by slipping toward the door. “Good-bye, comrades,” said the spy, in the tone of the last and long farewell.
Brother and sister clasped the false hand, then moved toward the door. Drexel began to breathe again. Another minute and the cell door would be between him and Freeman.
The spy twitched the governor’s sleeve. “Colonel,” he said in a low, eager voice, “my pardon will certainly be in your office—”
The governor shook him off with an oath and turned his back upon him. Then, obeying his instinctive care, he examined first the irons on Sonya’s ankles then those upon her wrists.
“Well, Captain Laroque,” he remarked with satisfaction, “I guess they’ll give you no trouble on the journey.”