Marion's heart sank. Another couple of miles would mean at least a quarter of an hour at the pace they were going. She had a mental vision of the devouring stride of the pursuers' horses.
'And should they come before that,' added Roger, 'you are to ride on out of reach of shot. Remember now.'
Marion flashed a withering glance at the speaker. 'I should of course do that, should I not? Give me one of those pistols. Ah. I hear voices. Where are they?'
'There is nothing,' said Roger. All his attention was given to the grey.
Marion looked swiftly over her shoulder. Through a gap in the trees she imagined that she caught a fleeting glimpse of red. Making a swift calculation, she knew the soldiers were but three miles away. She cast a despairing look at Roger's horse.
'Give me one of those pistols, Roger,' she pleaded. 'I shall not leave you.'
Roger's answer was lost in a sudden cry from Marion. She was riding slightly ahead, and could command a curve in the road. Roger saw her speed on. Stumblingly his horse followed.
A cart and horse were slowly making their way along the deeply rutted track. In the cart a boy sat, talking to a horseman who rode at the rear. The rider's face was turned to meet the sound of approaching hoofs.
'Colonel Sampson!' called Marion, her voice breaking. 'Colonel Sampson! Oh, thank God!'
The traveller wheeled round and stared in amazement from Marion to the horseman at her heels.