They sat talking for some time over the liquor, and then went to their couches. Boston wrapped himself warmly in a wolf-skin robe which lay upon the porch, and lay down to rest; he slept two hours. When he arose, the storm was at its height, and he could move about the house with perfect impunity. Walking quickly to a window-lattice on the south, he gave a single tap upon it, and waited. The tap was answered from within, and the lattice was raised to allow Katrine to thrust out her head. She looked so provokingly sweet that Boston solaced himself with a kiss before a word was said.
“Impudence!” whispered the girl. “I shall close the lattice.”
“No you won’t, my dear. Where is Theresa?”
“Like your impudence to ask. She is in bed, and you ought to be in yours, instead of tramping about on such a night as this.”
“We have no time to talk. Go in and wake Theresa, and tell her to open her lattice in half an hour, for one she wots of will come to her before that time.”
“You are crazy, both of you. It is death for you to be near Good Hope to-night. Do you not know that Captain Van Zandt is here, and that he spares none who stand in his way?”
“Little care we,” replied the other, snapping his fingers, “for Captain Joseph Van Zandt. We know more of his movements than you think, Katrine. But get you gone, and tell Theresa that Willie is here. When you have done that, come back to me.”
“You speak sometimes like one born to command” said Katrine, looking at him fixedly. “If it should be so—if you should deceive me!”
“Katrine, you mistrust me. Have I ever given you cause?”
She was back in a moment, with one soft arm about his neck. “I trust you,” was all she said.