"Once."
In a faint whisper, "When?"
"On the road from Albany, dear heart."
"You rode in company?"
"Not of my choice."
"Who?"
"Do not ask."
"Who?"
"I cannot tell--"
"Who?"
"In honour."
"You wavered?"
"There was no danger when I thought of you."
She raised her face; her mouth touched mine, then clung to it, and I breathed the sweetest breath a maid e"er drew, and all my soul grew dim and warm and faint, with her arms now around my neck, now clinging to my shoulders, and her face like a blossom crushed to mine.
Trembling in limb and body she stood up, brushing her gray eyes awake with slender fingers.
"Ah, what happiness, what happiness!" she whispered. "I am all a-quiver, and I burn to the soul of me. What strange, sweet mischief is there in your lips, Michael? Nay--do not touch me--dear, dear lad; not now--not yet."
She leaned from the open cas.e.m.e.nt; in the intense stillness a voice broke out from below:
"Ready, Cardigan! The horses wait at the barn!"
As she had no cloak I wrapped her in mine, and, pa.s.sing my arm around her, led her down to the porch and out across the orchard to the barn where Renard sat, mounted on his old comrade"s horse.
Warlock came to my call; he nosed the little hand that Silver Heels held out, and laid his head close to hers.
"Bear her safely, Warlock!" I muttered, huskily, and lifted her to the saddle, bidding Foxcroft mount his own horse, as I would walk beside Miss Warren.
So we started, Foxcroft in the van, then the Weasel, with Mount afoot, leading the horse, then Silver Heels in her saddle, with one hand on my shoulder as I walked at her side, rifle trailed.
"There is a road which swings north," said Foxcroft. "We must circle Lexington."
"There is a road yonder," called out Mount.
Foxcroft hesitated.
"I think it leads to Roxbury," he said; "I cannot tell if it be the road."
"Is it the Roxbury Road, Cade?" asked Mount, cheerfully.
"Doubtless, doubtless," replied the Weasel, vacantly, staring at Silver Heels.
"He does not remember," whispered Silver Heels.
"Try it," said Mount; "I doubt not but that it swings far north o"
Lexington. If this were the forest "twixt Saint Sacrement and Pitt I"d vouch for us all, but the smell o" the town has dulled and blunted my nose, and I see no longer like a tabby in a dark pantry."
He moved into the road, following Foxcroft, and leading the horse on which Cade Renard was mounted. I came last with Silver Heels.
The moon was well on her journey towards the dark world"s edge ere we came to a cross-roads; but the four finger-posts were missing, and we found ourselves no wiser than before. Foxcroft voiced his misgivings that we were on the Lexington Road after all, and not on the road to Roxbury, as we should surely have crossed the Concord Road ere this.
And he was right, for in a few moments we came in full view of the Lexington Meeting-house, with the Concord Road running into our road on the left and "Buckman"s Tavern" on the right, all ablaze with candles set in every window, and a great stable lanthorn shining in the centre of the road.
"It is past three in the morning," said Foxcroft, looking at his watch. "The British should have been here ere this if they were coming at all."
Mount threw his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, and, tossing his horse"s bridle to Foxcroft, walked towards "Buckman"s Tavern"
where, in the lanthorn light, a throng of men were standing.
I heard him greet them with a hearty "G.o.d save our country"; then he disappeared in the crowd.
The night had turned chilly; I b.u.t.toned my riding-coat across Silver Heels"s throat and covered her head with the cape, tying it under her chin like a hood.
Presently Mount came striding back, rifle on shoulder, followed by an hostler with a stable light.
"The militia have been yonder under arms since midnight," he said. "A messenger rode in ten minutes since with news that the road was clear and no British coming. We can get a post-chaise here"--he nodded towards the hostler who stood swinging his lamp in one hand and his firelock in t"other.
"I guess the redcoats ain"t a-coming, gentlemen," said the hostler, with a grin.
"Then we had best bait at the tavern," said Foxcroft, quickly; and he led the way, riding beside the Weasel, who seemed utterly indifferent to his surroundings.
As we threaded our path through the crowd of men and boys I noticed that all were armed with rifles or old-time firelocks, and some even with ancient blunderbusses and bell-muzzled matchlocks. They appeared to be a respectable company, mostly honest yokels from the village, clad in plain homespun. A few wore the militia uniform; one or two officers were dressed in the full uniform of the Third Suffolk Regiment. They eyed us curiously as we pa.s.sed through their straggling ranks; one called out: "The forest-runners are with us! Hurrah!" But, for the most part, they regarded us quietly, readily making way for me as I came up, leading Warlock with Silver Heels in the saddle, cloaked to the eyes.
A servant, wearing a pistol in his belt, brought us bread and hot stirabout in a great blue bowl. This dry fare we washed with ale, Silver Heels tasting a gla.s.s of Madeira to warm her chilled body.
It was a silent, thoughtful repast. Mount, sitting close beside the Weasel, urged the old man to eat, and he did, mechanically, with dazed eyes fixed on s.p.a.ce.
One thing I began to notice: he no longer watched Silver Heels with that humble, devoted, hungering mien of a guardian hound; he scarcely appeared to be aware of her presence at all. Once only he spoke, asking what had become of his rifle; and Mount, eager and hopeful, brought his own rifle to the stricken man. But the Weasel had already forgotten what he had asked for, and he glanced at the weapon listlessly, his hands folded before him on the cloth.
Though her life had nigh been wrecked forever by this poor madman, Silver Heels, sitting at his elbow, watched over him with a serious tenderness and pity, doing for him those little offices which do become the children of the aged and infirm, and which, G.o.d grant, our children shall fulfil towards us. And so I saw her with the salt-box, savouring his stirabout so that it should be seasoned to his liking, and, with the cone of sugar, chip such morsels with her knife as he might mumble when he chose.
Presently Foxcroft went to the stables to see that our post-chaise was well provisioned for the journey, and Mount led Renard away to watch the feed-bags filled for our horses" provender.
Silver Heels, still wrapped in my riding-cloak, laid her slim hand on my arm, and we walked together to the tavern porch.
The road from Boston divides in front of the Meeting-house, forming two sides of a gra.s.sy triangle, on the base of which stands the Meeting-house, facing down the Boston Road. Near this village green a few armed men still lingered in the faint light of dawn, conversing in low voices, and glancing often down the deserted Boston Road.