"You little wildcat," I said, amazed, "give me the pistols! I know how to act. Give them, I say! Do you think me a poltroon to allow Sir Peter to face this rascal's fire?"
She straightened with a sudden quiver.
"You! The pistols were for you!"
"For me and Walter Butler," I said coolly. "Give them, Elsin. What has been done this night has set me free of my vow. Can you not understand? I tell you he stands in my light, throwing the shadow of the gallows over me! May a man not win back to life but a chit of a maid must snatch his chance away? Give them, or I swing at dawn upon the common!"
A flush of horror swept her cheeks, leaving her staring. Her wide-flung arms dropped nervelessly and hung beside her.
"Is it true," she faltered—"what he came here to tell us on his way to that vile tavern? I gave him the lie, Carus. I gave him the lie there in the hall below." She choked, laying her white hand on her throat. "Speak!" she said harshly; "do you fear to face this dreadful charge he flung in my teeth? I"—she almost sobbed—"I told him that he lied."
"He did not lie. I am a spy these four years here," I said wearily. "Will you give me those pistols now?—or I take them by force!"
"Carus," called Sir Peter from the hall, "if Lady Coleville has my pistols, she must render them to you on the instant."
His passionless voice rang through the still, dark house.
"She has gone to the Coq d'Or," muttered Elsin Grey, motionless before me.