“With letters for Colonel Pride.”
The reply, delivered more boldly than Kenneth had spoken hitherto, was not without its effect.
“From whom are these letters?”
“From Mr. Joseph Ashburn, of Castle Marleigh.”
“Produce them.”
With trembling fingers Kenneth complied. This the sergeant observed as he took the package.
“What ails you, man?” quoth he.
“Naught, sir 'tis the cold.”
The sergeant scanned the package and its seal. In a measure it was a passport, and he was forced to the conclusion that this man was indeed the messenger he represented himself. Certainly he had not the air nor the bearing of him for whom they waited, nor did the sergeant think that their quarry would have armed himself with a dummy package against such a strait. And yet the sergeant was not master after all, and did he let this fellow pursue his journey, he might reap trouble for it hereafter; whilst likewise if he detained him, Colonel Pride, he knew, was not an over-patient man. He was still debating what course to take, and had turned to his companion with the muttered question: “What think you, Peter?” when by his precipitancy Kenneth ruined his slender chance of being permitted to depart.
“I pray you, sir, now that you know my errand, suffer me to pass on.”