"You have but to keep a close mouth, Master Weeks," said Southorn, as the little man lighted them into the hall; "and the closer, the safer it will be for your own welfare, until such time as one of us shall call upon you to speak."
A few minutes later they were again speeding along, with everything about them as silent as the stars now glittering in an unclouded sky.
The touch of the keen air upon Dorothy's face seemed to arouse her; and as her senses became awakened, she was filled with a wild yearning for the safe shelter of her father's arms.
What would that father say,—how was she ever to tell him of this dreadful thing?
And yet was it sure to be so dreadful to her?
Yes, it must be. This man was the sworn enemy of her country, and of the cause for which her brother and her friends were imperilling their very lives. If she went with him—this Englishman who was now her husband—it meant that her family would brand her as a traitor, and that she would be an outcast from them. It might bring about the death of her father, the light of whose eyes and life she knew herself to be.
She seemed to see once more the beloved face, and hear his voice, warning the pedler to take care of her.
And poor Johnnie Strings—might he not at this moment be dead, stricken down by the followers of this very man who was now holding her so close to his breast, and murmuring fond words between the kisses he pressed upon her lips.
She was beset by a sudden loathing of him and of herself, and pushing away his bended face, she tried to sit more erect.
"Stop!" she cried fiercely. "Don't touch me. I did not mean to give way so. I detest you!"