"Our father is sick," she said, "and 'tis a pressing question of inheritance. Our kinsfolk promise us an escort."
The officer shrugged his shoulders.
"'Tis your own lives," he said. "Later in the day ye can go. Not now. There is an army coming, and the Duke in front of it."
Valentine stood still and calm.
"Our father is very ill," she said: "if we are not in time, we may be beggared. Our passports were signed by the Duke himself. We demand to go."
But the officer had hardly heard her. A fresh detachment of soldiers had ridden up, and the man's thoughts and eyes were engaged in half a dozen places.
Half mad, Isotta sprang forward, shaking off Valentine's restraining hand.
"We must pass, we must through this moment," she cried. "Let us through, and we'll make it worth thy while."
At the eagerness of her tone the officer turned, surprised.
"Ye are very anxious," he said.