"I know it," I said; "but what of you?"
"What of me?" She laughed a bitter laugh, striking her horse so that he bounded forward down the sandy lane, I abreast of her, stride for stride. "What of me? Why, I lied to him, that is all, Mr. Renault. And he knew it!"
"Is that all?" I asked.
"No, not all. He told the truth to you and to Sir Peter. And I knew it."
"In what did he tell the truth?"
"In what he said about--his mistress." Her face crimsoned, but 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.