“And think you any one will believe so flimsy a story? Nay, the only safety for either of us lies in your not being discovered. I understand that Tarleton is furious over his failure, and has already ordered a new search. I rely upon my own loyalty, and upon his lordship’s order for our exemption. But if the worst comes, we must be prepared.”
“I am.” He touched his pistols and drew himself up until his magnificent figure was at perfect pose. “I shall die, Joscelyn, but like a soldier; not on the gallows.”
She shuddered, and her eyes lost their coldness; the woman in her was touched by his cool courage in face of such a danger.
“Yes,” she said, with a hesitating gentleness, “but I pray it come not to that. By being prepared I meant we must leave no tell-tale traces here such as these,”—she pointed to the platter and pitcher. “I shall take these away; your dinner I have brought in this bit of paper—leave no crumbs when you have finished. This jug contains water and this bottle wine; stand them in that corner with those empty bottles, and they will attract no attention.”
“It shall be done, Joscelyn.”
“Watch under the door; if there is an order given to search the house, I will try and warn you by a note.”
“Joscelyn, desperate as I was, I should have sought some other shelter, had I not thought your loyalty would put your house beyond the shadow of suspicion. Will you not say you forgive me before you go? We may never meet again.”
“There is nothing to forgive; you but put it in my power to requite an obligation,” she said very gently.
“That is scarce a pardon. I would have you speak as though the forgiveness came from your heart, rather than from your head. Between us there can be no question of a debt; my love makes me your bondservant, and as such my service is yours rightfully.”
“Your name is not known,” she broke in hastily, “but I understand it is suspected that my rescuer of yesterday is the escaped spy.”