"With me!"

"That you could force me to love you, if you dared. The rest would not
matter, then. Misery me! I wish that we had never met! And yet I can
not let you go, because you do not know how to care for yourself. If
you will sail to France on the next packet, and remain with your
mother, I'll say nothing. I'll go with a flag I care not where--only to
know you are safe. Will you? O Carus, I would my life were done and all
ended!"

She was silent for a while, leaning on the table, tracing with her
finger the outline of her dull reflection in the shining surface.
Presently she looked up gaily, a smile breaking in her eyes.

"All that I said is false. I desire to live, Carus. I am not unhappy.
Pray you, begin your writing!"

I drew the paper to me, dipped a quill full of ink from the musty horn,
rested my elbow, pen lifted, and began, dating the letter from the Blue
Fox, and addressing it most respectfully to Sir Peter and Lady
Coleville.

First I spoke of the horses we had taken, and would have promised
payment by draft enclosed, but that Elsin, looking over my shoulder,
stayed my pen.

"Did you not see me leave a pile of guineas?" she demanded. "That was
to pay for our stable theft!"

"But not for the horse I took?"

"Certainly, for your horse, too."

"But you could not know that I was to ride saddle to the Coq d'Or!" I
insisted.

"No, but I saddled _two_ horses," she replied, delighted at my wonder,
"two horses, monsieur, one of which stood ready in the stalls of the Coq
d'Or! So when you came a-horseback, it was not necessary to use the
spare mount I had led there at a gallop. _Now_ do you see, Mr. Renault?
All this I did for you, inspired by--foresight, which you lack!"

"I see that you are as wise and witty as you are beautiful!" I
exclaimed warmly, and caught her fingers to kiss them, but she would
have none of my caress, urging me to write further, and make suitable
excuse for what had happened.

"It is not best to confess that we are still unwedded," I said,
perplexed.

"No. They suppose we are; let be as it is," she answered. "And you
shall not say that you were a spy, either, for that must only pain Sir
Peter and his lady. They will never believe Walter Butler, for they
think I fled with you because I could not endure him. And--perhaps I
did," she added; and that strange smile colored her eyes to deepest
azure.

"Then what remains to say?" I asked, regarding her thoughtfully.

"Say we