"No," he replied. "I shall walk backwards, and you must keep behind me, and guide me. It is no great matter to avoid an arrow, if one knows in what quarter to look for it."
She made no reply. They began the retreat along the narrow branch path that led to the gate of the fort, he stepping cautiously, heels first, and she pulling at his belt and gazing fearfully past his shoulder at the woods. They were within a few yards of the gate when he suddenly put his arms behind him, caught her close, and lurched to one side. The unexpected movement threw the girl to her knees in the deep snow beside the path. Her cry of dismay brought her father and two others from the fort. They found Kingswell staggering and confusedly apologizing to Beatrix for his roughness. In the thickness of his left shoulder stuck a war-arrow. Supporting Kingswell and fairly dragging the frightened girl, they rushed back to safety and closed and barred the gate.
Hour after hour passed without the hidden warriors of Panounia making any further signs of hostility, or even of their existence. The watchers on the stockade scanned the woods in vain for any movement. A shot was fired into the nearest cover from one of the cannon, but without apparent effect.
Kingswell was on duty again within an hour of the receiving of his wound. The ragged cut caused him a deal of pain; but the salve that really took the sting and ache out of it was the thought that he had been serving Beatrix as a shield when the arrow struck him. He went the rounds of the stockades with a glowing heart and dauntless bearing, and his air of calm assurance put courage into the men. He saw to the strengthening of several points of the defence, cleared the loopholes of drifted snow, and gave out an extra supply of powder and ball.
It was dusk of that day before Kingswell again saw Mistress Westleigh. He was passing the baronet's cabin, and she opened the door and called to him shyly. He turned and stepped close to her, the better to see her face in the gathering twilight. She extended her hands to him, with a quick gesture of invitation. He dropped his heavy gloves on the snow before clasping them in eager fingers.
"But you must not stand here, without anything 'round your shoulders," he said; but, for all his solicitude, he maintained his firm hold of her hands. She laughed, very softly, and a slight pressure of her fingers drove his anxiety to the winds. He would have nothing of evil befall her, God knows!—nay, not so much as a chill—but how could he keep it in his mind that she wore no cloak when his whole being was a-thrill with love and worship? So he stood there, speechless, gazing into her flushed face. Presently her eyes lowered before his ardent regard.
"I called to you to thank you for saving my life," she murmured. He had nothing to say to that. Perhaps he had saved her life—and again, perhaps he had not. At that moment he was the last person in the world to decide the question. His heart and mind were altogether with the immediate present. He realized that her hands were strong and yet tender to the touch of his. The faint fragrance of her hair was in his brain like some divine vintage. The sweet curves of cheek and lips—how near they were! She had called to him with more than kindness in her voice. God had made a high heaven of this fort in the wilderness.
"You were very brave," she said, leaning nearer ever so slightly. Sweet madness completely overthrew the lad's native caution, and he was about to catch her to him bodily, when she slipped nimbly into the cabin, and left him standing with arms extended in silent invitation toward the figure of the imperturbed Sir Ralph.