“Why, you are again all of a tremble,” Barry said, leaning over to touch her hand, a world of anxiety in his eyes.
“I—I suppose it was the sound of that other horse’s hoofs,” she said, angry with herself for her weakness. “You see I am not a soldier and used, like you, to face death every day.”
“Thank Heaven you are not,” he answered, holding one rein of her bridle with the joy of a strong man protecting beautiful womanhood. And thus near to her he whispered many tender things in her ear,—his tense, young voice vibrant with the awakened passion of his heart; and the girl’s pulses stirred with a strange, sweet quiver.
So it was they rode home. There in her own room she went over this whole dread matter, with a womanish longing in her heart to talk to some one,—to ask advice; but her mother was too timid, and a glance at Aunt Clevering’s dark house decided her that it would be cruel to arouse anxiety there. Then Barry’s manly face and frank eyes came before her, and in a sudden fit of foolish hysteria, she put her face in her hands and cried. If she could only go to Barry! But that would have one of two effects,—it would either put him on Richard’s trail, or else make him false to his cause by winning him to shield the fugitive. She could not risk either alternative. And what was true of Barry applied with equal force to Eustace. She would not, if she could, tempt him, through his love for Betty, to do anything that would dishonour him among his fellows. And besides, he would not be here to-night with the company she had invited, for he had said he was going with the relief guard to one of the outposts. No, there was no one to counsel her; she must think and act for herself. At first two torturing questions tore her judgment in twain. The Spartans gave up their nearest and dearest for the cause of their country, and should she withhold the identity of this man who had no claim of blood upon her, and who carried perhaps to the king’s enemies information that would defeat the cause? Should she say, “I know him”; or should she keep her peace and let him go his way? Then she realized that her knowledge was too meagre to be of any benefit; his name was all she could surrender, and that were nothing to his pursuers, who knew more than she of his work and movements. And besides, there were Betty and Aunt Clevering and Richard himself. No, she could not play the part of the Spartan; she wanted to be of use to her cause, but she was keeping back no treasonable knowledge. And with this comforting assurance, she put the matter aside and dressed herself for the evening, lacing the brocade over the brilliant petticoat with a smile to think what Barry would say. Not for a moment did she believe Richard would be caught; he had the start, and he knew the country much better than his pursuers, and would outstrip them in the race.
It was a brilliant company that assembled in her drawing-room that night,—handsome women and splendid officers, and even Cornwallis himself,—all come to enjoy her hospitality and to inquire concerning her accident of the afternoon.
“Asked you the name of this brave fellow who saved you?” inquired the commander-in-chief, with a smile. “Methinks he should be promoted for so signal a service to his Majesty’s loyal subject.”
“Nay, your lordship, I asked it not,” Joscelyn answered steadily.
“’Twas the fright made her seem so ungrateful,” put in her mother.
“And small wonder, Mistress Cheshire, for she was in dire straits. But ’tis of no consequence; the name can be easily ascertained, and I shall myself make the inquiries. Half my staff are mad with jealousy at his good fortune, and methinks I myself envy him a bit the sweet thanks he will receive. Now if Mistress Joscelyn’s nerves be not too much shaken, we will have some music.”
So the spinet was opened; and the merriment began and went on far into the night, while the Cleverings over the way fretted behind their closed doors in bitter resentment of Joscelyn’s conduct.