She was moving to the door, but he caught her wrists just below the hanging lace of her sleeve; and holding her thus, he told her in a few graphic sentences all his thoughts as he had rested under the rafters behind the chest—the reason and the history of his scouting venture, the mental trysts he had held with her so often. All the intensity of his strong nature went into that appeal; it seemed as if a heart of ice must have melted in it; and for a moment her head did droop and her hands tremble, then she shrugged her gleaming shoulders again, saying:—
“It had certainly been more soldier-like to have come for love of your cause, rather than for sake of a girl’s eyes.”
“For sake of both did I come.”
“A spy—”
But she got no further; something in her tone stung him to the quick. “You need not speak so disparagingly. A spy’s work may not be pleasant, but it is absolutely necessary. Without the information he sends his general, false steps might be taken and hundreds of lives needlessly sacrificed. A spy has a humane as well as a dangerous mission.”
“’Tis well you think so highly of your calling. Good night again.”
“Joscelyn, do not leave me thus; this day we have each looked into the eyes of death—let us at least part as friends.”
She turned back, her face dimpling with a smile that was like a gleam of sunshine, “Good night, Richard, and a safe awakening.”
Then she was gone; and he threw himself down to sleep the sleep of utter weariness.