"A strange role, sure, for Captain Winwood's wife," said Tom; "that of
plotter against his commander."
"Nay," she cried, quickly, "Captain Winwood plays a strange role for
Margaret Faringfield's husband--that of rebel against her king. For
look ye, I had a king before he had a commander. Isn't that what you
might call logic, Tom?"
"'Tis an unanswerable answer, at least," said Captain Falconer,
smiling gallantly. "But come, gentlemen, shall we have your aid in
this fine adventure?"
It was a fine adventure, and that was the truth. The underhand work,
the plotting and the treason involved, were none of ours. 'Twas
against Philip Winwood's cause, but our cause was as much to us as his
was to him. The prospect of pay and honour did not much allure us; but
the vision of that silent night ride, that perilous entrance into the
enemy's camp, that swift dash for the person of our greatest foe, that
gallop homeward with a roused rebel cavalry, desperate with
consternation, at our heels, quite supplanted all feelings of slight
in not having been invited earlier. Such an enterprise, for young
fellows like us, there was no staying out of.
We gave Captain Falconer our hands upon it, whereupon he told us he
would be at the pains to secure our relief from regular duty on the
night set for the adventure--that of the following Wednesday--and
directed us to be ready with our horses at the ferry at six o'clock
Wednesday evening.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191