“Excellent advice too, William,” came in Cyril’s voice, muffled by the apron, “but what will you do?”
“I’ll go off in your things, my lord, as if I was tryin’ to get to the frontier post by a short cut, without passin’ through the village, and lead ’em a rare dance. If they come up with me, I have my fistes.”
As he spoke, William was divesting himself of his livery coat and cockaded hat, and replacing them with the soft felt hat and light overcoat Cyril handed to him. Cyril made the change almost as quickly, and stepped in front of Helene to the driver’s seat. She gave up the reins without a word, for she was incapable of speech, and they were just starting when Usk rushed headlong down the hill behind them.
“What’s all this? Oh, good! Drive for your life, Uncle Cyril. Gregorescu’s found out! Now, William, let’s put them off the scent!” and Usk and the disguised William plunged into the wilderness of rocks and low bushes beside the track, where the carriage could not pass, as if intending to cut off the angle formed by the turns of the road.
“Don’t be frightened, Helene, but hold tight!” said Cyril, with a smile at his companion, as he kept a firm hand on the reins.
“Oh, I don’t mind. Go fast—oh, do go fast!” she cried, finding her voice.
“Not until we are down this hill,” he answered, but when they came to the short stretch of level road leading to the village, the buggy seemed to fly along. When they reached the corner, and turned down into the village street, Helene screamed.
“Oh, they are taking the short cut too! They mean to catch us up before we can reach the frontier-line.”
“Never mind. They’re only after Usk and William, who don’t mean to be caught. They won’t lead them across our track, you may be sure.”
“No, no!” cried Helene, in agony. “I caught sight of Usk just for a moment, and they must have seen him too, but they are not following. They are coming straight across.”