CHAPTER XX.
Of an outlawe, this is the lawe—
That men him take and bind,
Without pitie hang’d to be,
And waive with the wind.
The Ballad of the Nut Brown Maid.
Mordaunt had caused the sentinels who had been on duty since midnight to be relieved ere the peep of day, and having given directions that the guard should be again changed at sunrise, he had retired to a small parlour, and, placing his arms beside him, was slumbering in an easy-chair, when he felt himself pulled by the watch-cloak in which he was enveloped.
“Is it sunrise,” said he, “already?” as, starting up, he discovered the first beams lying level upon the horizon.
“Mordaunt!” said a voice, every note of which thrilled to his heart.
He turned his eyes on the speaker, and Brenda Troil, to his joyful astonishment, stood before him. As he was about to address her eagerly, he was checked by observing the signs of sorrow and discomposure in her pale cheeks, trembling lips, and brimful eyes.
“Mordaunt,” she said, “you must do Minna and me a favour—you must allow us to leave the house quietly, and without alarming any one, in order to go as far as the Standing Stones of Stennis.”
“What freak can this be, dearest Brenda?” said Mordaunt, much amazed at the request—“some Orcadian observance of superstition, perhaps; but the time is too dangerous, and my charge from your father too strict, that I should permit you to pass without his consent. Consider, dearest Brenda, I am a soldier on duty, and must obey orders.”
“Mordaunt,” said Brenda, “this is no jesting matter—Minna’s reason, nay, Minna’s life, depends on your giving us this permission.”