“Then, forgive me! I was wrong—a hundred times wrong!”
“Just one moment. My meeting with M. de Maxwell is as much by chance as your meeting with me,” she added, with a decision which I thought perhaps unnecessary.
“Forgive me, Marguerite,” he repeated, in his usual tone; “and you too, Chevalier. I wronged you both. Now to make amends. Will you lead us to the General?” he said, turning to me.
“Come,” I said, and we each held out a hand to Margaret.
“Stand!” thundered a voice in English at two paces from us. “You are all covered!”
[CHAPTER XXVII]
I FIND A KEY TO MY DILEMMA
“We are your prisoners!” I answered, instantly, for the slightest hesitation on such occasions may lead to the most serious results. Explanations can be made subsequently, but a bullet from an over-zealous musket can never be recalled.
In an instant they were beside us, a sergeant and six men, all Highlanders. I was about to speak again, but before I could do so Margaret stepped up to the sergeant, and taking him by the sleeve whispered a few words in his ear. He thereupon gave some instructions in Gaelic to his men, who closed round me and the priest, and, moving off a few paces with her, they spake earnestly together for a little. What she said I do not know, but in a moment he faced about, and picking up the lanthorn, examined me in turn.
“Your name and rank, sir?” he said to me.