was concealed; then suddenly paused with a new
thought. "Take his hat and coat," she whispered swiftly. "There are
British patrols between here and the Delaware. Quick, and I will have
your horse untied."

I did as directed, feeling the value of the suggestion, and, a moment
later, to all appearance an officer of Queen's Rangers, slipped through
the thicket of trees, and took the reins from her hands.

"You will go straight back into the house?"

"Yes," she said obediently; then extended her hand. "Good-bye, Major
Lawrence. I suppose this ends our acquaintance."

"Not if I can avoid such a fate," I replied, holding her fingers closely.
"If I believed that I am not sure but I would return to the cell. It has
been a strange intimacy into which we have been thrown; three days have
made us old friends. Surely you cannot believe me so ungrateful as your
words would seem to imply."

"But I deserve no gratitude," making no effort to draw away, yet looking
into my face frankly. "Perhaps you have misunderstood. Is it not possible
for the women of these Colonies to sacrifice as well as the men in the
cause of patriotism? You must not believe that I have done this merely
for your sake, Major Lawrence."

"Yet I would like to believe so," I insisted warmly. "You are the
daughter of a loyalist."

"And Eric is the son of a loyalist," laughingly, "and wears a Continental
uniform. I am not privileged to go so far, restrained by the limitations
of sex, yet I may be equally a rebel."

"Which would seem to mean that all your kindness toward me would have
been similarly given to any patriot soldier."

"Why--why, yes; I--I think so."

"And I do not, Mistress Claire; I refuse to so believe." Her eyes flashed
up at me, and I lost all restraint in their swift challenge. "I am going
to speak--just a word, yet I must give it utterance before I ride out
into the dark, away from you. I love you. It makes no difference to me
where your sympathies may be in this struggle, you have won my heart.
Look up, dear, and listen. I am going back to the camp, back to the
campaign. I know not what the night, what the morrow may bring. But I
know forever I love you, and that if I live I shall surely come back.
Will you be glad? Will you promise me welcome?"

I could feel her tremble, yet there was no shrinking in her face, no
alarm.

"Oh, why were you compelled to say that! I tried so hard not to let you.
I--I cannot make the promise, it would no