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 for three silvery fetlocks, and my roan's stride distressed her nothing. Into the Kingsbridge road we plunged in the white river-mist that walled the hedges from our view, and there, as we galloped through the sand, far behind us I thought to hear a sound like metal clipping stone.
"You shall come no farther," I said. "You can not be found in company with me. Turn south, and strike the Greenwich road."
"Too late," she said calmly. "You forget I compromised myself with that same pass you carry."
"Why in God's name did you include yourself in it?" I asked.
"Because the pass was denied me until I asked it for us both."
"You mean----"
"I mean that I lied again to Sir Henry Clinton, Mr. Renault. Spare me now."
Amazed, comprehending nothing, I fell silent for a space, then turned to scan her face, but read nothing in its immobility.
"Why did you do all this for me, a spy?" I asked.
"For that reason," she answered sharply--"lest the disgrace bespatter my kinsman, Sir Peter, and his sweet lady."
"But--what will be said when you return alone and I am gone?"
"Nothing, for I do not return."
"You--you----"
"I ask you to spare me. Once the lines are passed there is no danger that disgrace shall fall on any one--not even on you and me."
"But how--what will folk say----"
"They'll say we fled together to be wedded!" she cried, exasperated. "If you will force me, learn then that I made excuse and got my pass for that! I told Sir Henry that I loved you and that I was plighted to Walter Butler. And Sir Henry, hating Mr. Butler, laughed until he could not see for the tears, and scratched me off my pass for Gretna Green, with his choicest blessing on the lie I offered in return! There, sir, is what I have done. I said I loved you, and I lied. I shall go with you, then ask a flag of the rebels to pass me on to Canada. And so you see, Mr. Renault, that no disgrace can fall on me or mine through any infamy, however black, that others must account for!"
And she drew her sun-mask from her belt and put it on.
Her wit, her most amazing resource, her anger, so amazed me that I rode on, dazed, swaying in the stride of the tireless gallop. Then in a flash, alert once more, I saw ahead the mist rising from the Harlem, the mill on the left, with its empty windows and the two poplar-trees beside it, the stone piers and wooden railing of the bridge, the sentinels on guard, already faced our way, watching our swift approach.