“Thank Heaven it has turned out so well;” said Ernshaw, and a well-known voice sounded in the ears of Vale, “O John! are you there?”
“Kate!” exclaimed John. “Kate, and safe!”
“Yes! safe and saved!”
Ernshaw had ridden close up to John, and the fair young girl stretched out her hand to her brother. Lifting her from her place, he seated her in front of his saddle, and printed a kiss with all a brother’s affection upon her cheek. “This street is no place for explanations,” said Hunt. “We must be far away before morning comes. We have many miles to ride before we can say we are in safety.”
“On then!” said John. “Here is a light heart fit for the dark night! Hurrah!” burst from his lips.
“Are you crazy, man!” said Hunt, “to thus run the risk of arousing the sentinels on the lines? We are not yet beyond their hearing; and a word might be fatal to us all.”
“That’s true,” answered Ernshaw; “but, I own I would like to give one good whoop as a parting salutation.”
“Now for it, boys!” exclaimed Hunt as he led the way in the early morning dimness, for the darkness was lifting its trailing robes, and the morning was streaking the east with its golden arrows.
Away, past houses, sentinels, barriers following the lead of Simon Hunt, sped the fugitives; through the early hour that preceded the morning, through the misty light of day-breaking, into the full glories of the morning; and hard behind rode Reginald Preston with his troop of dragoons. Certainly no more then ten minutes’ start had the patriots—and fairly flying in the pursuit came the British captain, his heart wild with rage and a burning desire to wreak its revenge. That blow burned upon his forehead like fire; his prisoned bird, caught with so much care and money, again was free—the thought of these awoke all the mad energy of his wicked nature. He would have the fugitives, or die!