At that Beatrix tightened her hands on the arms of the chair and turned a startled face toward the speaker. "Surely, sir, you do not mean to leave us, too!" she exclaimed.
Neither the baronet nor Kingswell were looking at her; but Ouenwa saw the expression of eyes and lips. Kingswell, however, did not miss the note of anxiety in the clear young voice.
"I do not go with them, mistress," he said, "because my company would only delay their movements. And perhaps even spoil their plans. I am a poor woodsman—and already our garrison is none too heavily manned."
"I am glad you are not going," replied the girl, quietly. "I am sure that my father looks upon you as his right hand, and that the men need you."
Sir Ralph looked at his daughter with ill-concealed surprise. Kingswell, murmuring polite acknowledgment of her gracious words, strove to get a clearer view of her half-averted face. He failed. Ouenwa was the only one of the three who knew that the words were sincere; but he had the advantage of his superiors in having caught sight of the sudden fear in the lady's face.
Sir Ralph and Kingswell lowered the light packs over the stockade to Ouenwa and the big warrior. When the figures merged into the gloom, heading northward, the two commanders descended from the storehouse and entered the baronet's cabin. Beatrix was by the fire, radiant in fine apparel.
"I am in no mood for chess," said Sir Ralph. "The thought of those two brave fellows stealing through the dark and cold fidgets me beyond belief."
He began his quarter-deck pacing of the floor—up and down, up and down, with his head thrust forward and his hands gripped behind his back.
"The wind is rising," said the girl to Kingswell. "It will be bleak in the forest to-night—away from the fire."
She shivered, and held her jewelled hands to the blaze.