ut she held
her head steady and high, nor faltered at the word.

"How is it that you know?"

"How does a woman know? Tell me and I'll confess it. I know because a
woman knows such things. Let it rest there--a matter scarcely fitted
for discussion between a maid and a man--though I am being soundly
schooled, God wot, in every branch of infamy."

"Then turn here," I said, reining in, "and ride no more with what men
call a spy."

But she galloped on, head set, flushed and expressionless, and I
spurred to overtake her.

"Turn back!" I said hoarsely. "It may go hard with you if I am taken at
the lines!"

"Those passes that Sir Henry gave you--you have them?"

"Yes."

"For Sir Peter and his lady?"

"So they are made out."

"Do they know you at Kingsbridge?"

"Yes. The Fifty-fourth guard it."

"Then how can you hope to pass?"

"I shall pass one way or another," I said between my teeth.

She drew from her breast a crumpled paper, unfolded it, and passed it
to me, galloping beside me all the while. I scanned it carefully; it
was a pass signed by Sir Henry Clinton, permitting her and me to pass
the lines, and dated that very night.

"How in Heaven's name did you secure this paper in the last nick of
time?" I cried, astounded.

"I knew you needed it--from what you said there in my chamber. Do you
remember that Sir Henry left the Fort for a council? It is not far to
Queen Street; and when I left you I mounted and galloped thither."

"But--but what excuse----"

"Ask me not, Carus," she said impatiently, while a new color flowed
through cheek and temple. "Sir Henry first denied me, then he began to
laugh; and I--I galloped here with the ink all wet upon the pass.
Whither leads this lane?"

"To the Kingsbridge road."

"Would they stop and search us if dissatisfied?"

"I think not."

"Well, I shall take no risk," she said, snatching the blotted paper
from her bosom--the paper she had taken from Walter Butler, and which
was written in my hand. "Hide it under a stone in the hedgerow, and
place the passes that you had for Sir Peter with it," she said, drawing
bridle and looking back.

I dismounted, turned up a great stone, thrust the papers under, then
dropped it to its immemorial bed once more.

"Quick!" she whispered. "I heard a horse's iron-shod foot striking a
pebble."

"Behind us?"

"Yes. Now gallop!"

Our horses plunged on again, fretting at the curb. She rode a mare as
black as a crow save fo