“The Guildford road is not so bad,” was the answer; and although Richard waited a long time, he heard nothing else. And so like a ghost he crept into the drifting rain and soon gained the river, repeating to himself that last sentence which might be the keynote to the British movements.
His knowledge of the country folk stood him in good stead, for soon he was untying a canoe from a gum tree not far from a lonely cabin. Often, when a boy, he had gone with the owner fishing in this boat, tying it up to the tree roots when the day’s sport was done. The river was turbulent from the recent downpour, and in the darkness he went further down-stream than he intended; but at last he drew into a cove of weeds and reeds, and leaving the boat there he plunged into the forest beyond. But he was not lost, and ere the dawn came he had found a friend, and well mounted he pressed on to carry the news he had gathered to the American camp; and as he rode, he thought always and with a gnawing bitterness of the view he had had of Joscelyn’s head as she bent down to catch the love words of that invisible suitor.
CHAPTER XXV.
GOOD-BY, SWEETHEART.
“Yet all my life seems going out
As slow I turn my face about
To go alone another way, to be alone
Till life’s last day,
Unless thy smile can light the way!”
—Anon.
In the early morning, before the family were astir, Joscelyn dressed herself hurriedly and went to the attic door. It was ajar. With a quick premonition of evil, she entered and whispered Richard’s name. No answer came; no one was there. Then the truth flashed upon her—he had gone, risking everything rather than further expose her to discovery and its dire results. How chivalric, and yet how insane! Of course he would be captured, or else he would perish with cold and hunger this bitter winter weather. She looked about carefully; not a scrap of a note had he left to say good-by. She had not dared to wait to speak with him last night, lest Mary discover them; but now she reproached herself, feeling that she might have prevented this mad mistake. She had meant to come back after all was quiet, but Mary talked so long that for very shame she had not dared to do so, dreading his man’s judgment of a visit at such an hour.