say, brother-like, "Agnes Anne, you are a fool--your legs would
give way under you in the first hundred yards."

But somehow she saw (or felt) the speech that was coming, and cut me
short.

"No, I wouldn't either," she said hurriedly and quite boldly. "You think
that because I hate that great thing there filled with powder and slugs
(which even you can't tell when it will go off, or what harm it will do
when it does) that I am a coward. I am no more frightened than you are
yourself--perhaps less. Who was the best tracker when we played at
Indians and colonists, I should like to know? Who could go most quietly
through the wood? Or run the quickest? Just me, Agnes Anne MacAlpine!"

Well, I had to admit it. These things were true. But then they had
little to do with courage. This was serious. It was taking one's life in
one's hand.

"And pray what are we doing here and now?" snapped Agnes Anne. "If they
are strong enough to break in one of the doors, or get through one of
the windows, what can we do? Till we know what is coming against us, we
are only going from one blunder to another!"

Now this was most astonishing of our Agnes Anne. So I told her that I
had known that Irma was plucky, but not her. And she only said, very
shortly, "Better come and see!"

So we went down and told Irma. At first she was all against opening any
door, even for a moment, on any account. The strength of these defences
was our only protection. She would rather do anything than endanger
that. But we made her listen to the slow thud of the axe out in the
wood, and even as we looked the figure of a man passed across the glade,
black against the greyish-green of the grass, on which a thick rise of
dew was catching the starlight.

This figure wrapped in a sea-cloak, with head bent forward, passing
across the pale glimmer of the glade, sufficed to alter the mind of
Irma. She agreed in a moment, and locking the door of little Louis's
room, she declared herself willing to keep watch behind the little
postern door of the tower, ready to let Agnes Anne in again, on the
understanding that I should be prepared from the open window above to
deal with any pursuer.

I admit that in this I was persuaded against my judgment. For I felt
certain that though Agnes Anne could move with perfect stillness through
woods, and was a fleet runner, her nerve would certainly fail her when
it came to a real danger. And so great was the sympathy of my
imagination