"Not he," with another laugh. "And I trust he never will, after the hoydenish manner of speech I thought it best to use in keeping up my character. He took me for a young brother of Mistress Dorothy Devereux, I tell you."
"Yes," Mary said musingly, as if to herself, "and I pray no harm may come of it."
"Harm!" Dorothy exclaimed, quick in her own justification. "What harm can come of it? I take it as a most lucky thing that I was able to get him out of the way. Had I not done so, then you might have had something to say about harm."
"He would have been taken prisoner by our men, had he stayed about here," Mary asserted confidently, "and would have been shot, had he made any disturbance. And that would have been just what he deserved." Her usually gentle voice sounded unnaturally hard.
"Oh, Mary," her friend cried, regardless of who might be within hearing, "how can you speak so harshly—and he such a handsome young gallant?"
"What is it to us, whether he be handsome or ill-favored?" was Mary's sharp retort. "What interest have you in him?"
"I should be sorry if he were hurt." And Dorothy's tone was almost tender by comparison with that of her companion.
"Shame on you, Dot!" Mary said in a low voice, but quite fiercely. "How can you talk so, and he a hateful Britisher?"
But before Dorothy could reply, the sound of a boat's keel grating on the sand turned their thoughts to different matters.
"They are in!" exclaimed Dot, exultantly. "And safe!"