“We are safe now?”
“Safe from pursuit. But I am not safe.”
“Not safe?”
“From your cruelty.”
His voice was velvet; and he sought to take her hand.
But she withheld it.
“No, sir,” she said, though her look was tender. “Remember our compact. You are quite sure that they will pursue us along the great road?”
“Yes, as far as Kendal. There they will learn that we are not before them—that we have somewhere turned aside. And they will turn back.”
“But suppose that they drive on to Carlisle—where we rejoin the north road.”
“They will not,” he replied confidently. He had regained the plausible air which he had lost while the terror of the sands was upon him. “And if you fear that,” he continued, “there is the other plan, and I think the better one. To-morrow at noon the packet leaves Whitehaven for Scotland, The wind is fair, and by six in the afternoon we may be ashore, and an hour later you will be mine!” And again he sought to draw her into his arms.