“A likely tale,” jeered the man. “Bring that fellow down to the boat,” he called, and catching hold of the bridle, he started walking.
“Whither are you taking me?” inquired Janice, in fright.
“The parson is down by the river, helping transfer the powder, and I’m going to leave you with him to take back to Greenwood.”
“Oh, Charles,” besought the girl, “you’ll not be so cruel! I’d sooner die than—than—Think what mommy— and dadda—and the whole village—I did n’t want to go with him—but—Please, oh, please! You’ll not disgrace me? I’ll promise never to go off with him—indeed—”
“Of that I’ll be bound,” sneered the servant, with a harsh laugh, “for I’m going to take him with me to Cambridge.”
For a moment Janice was silent, then cried: “If you only knew how I hate you.”
The man laughed bitterly. “I do—from the way I hate— ay, and despise you!”
Another moment brought them to the edge of a wharf, where a number of men were busying themselves in stowing barrels on board a small sloop. “Hold this horse,” ordered the servant, while he joined one of the toilers and drew him apart in consultation.
“Powder aboard, cap’n,” presently called some one.
“Take that man and stow him below decks along with it,” ordered Charles. “Good-by, parson. I hope to send good news from Cambridge of this night’s work. Boys, take Bagby out of the stocks before daylight, and tell him if the Invincibles want their powder to follow us, and they shall have fifty rounds of it a man, with plenty of fighting to boot. All aboard that are for the front!”