“No. I am from Scotland and bear a message to his Majesty the King.”
“From Scotland? May I glance at your credentials?”
“I carry none. I have come through a hostile country; have been searched once or twice and arrested as often. Had there been writing on me I should not now be standing at the doorstep of Oxford.”
“I shall do myself the honour of conducting you to the Chamberlain of his Majesty. And the lady?”
Armstrong took the girl’s hand, this time without opposition on the part of its owner; it was cold as ice.
“The lady is my wife,” he said boldly; then added, in a whisper heard only by herself,—“that is to be.”
The officer bowed and led the way to the town.
“I wish we were in Scotland,” said the young man very quietly.
“So do I,” sighed the girl.
“Because what I said at the outworks would then have constituted a marriage between us, if you had replied yes.”