"Now," says he, "if you give a sound, I'll send a bullet through you.
If I pass here, 'twill bring you no harm, for none shall know it but
us two. Let go your musket a moment--I'll give it back to you, man."
A pressure of the pistol against the fellow's ribs brought obedience.
Philip dropped the musket, and, with his foot, dug its lock into the
snow, spoiling the priming.
"Now," he continued, "I'll leave you, and remember, if you raise an
alarm, you'll be blamed for not firing upon me."
Whereupon Philip dashed into the woods, leaving the startled sentinel
to pick up his musket and resume his round as if naught had occurred.
The man knew that his own comfort lay in secrecy, and his comfort
outweighed his military conscience.
Through woods and fields Winwood proceeded, skirted swamps and ponds,
and waded streams, traversing old familiar ground, the sight of which
brought back memories of countless holiday rambles in the happy early
days. Margaret's bright face and merry voice, her smiles, and her
little displays of partiality for him, were foremost in each
recollection; and that he was so soon to see her again, appeared too
wonderful for belief. He went forward in the intoxication of joy,
singing to himself as a boy would have done.
He knew where there were houses and barns to avoid, and where there
were most like to be British cantonments. At length he was so near the
town, that he was surprised to have come upon no inner line of
sentries.
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