In a flash my lady had torn down the heavy
curtains from an inner doorway and was carpeting a horse path for us to
the rear.
"Quick!" she cried; "lead them gently, for the love of heaven!"
She went before us, padding the way with whatever came first to hand,
rugs, curtains, table-coverings, and I know not what besides; and by the
time the British troopers were hammering at the outer door, we were deep
within the old mansion and had made shift to drag the unwilling horses
by one and two-step descents to a room half under and half out of
ground, which served as a sort of ante-dungeon to the wine cellar.
Here I thought we might be safe for the moment, but not so my lady.
Calling Dick to help her--in all the fierce haste of it I marked that
she called to Dick and not to me--she unlocked and opened the door to
the wine vault, and in a trice we two and the luckless horses were
safely jailed in pitchy darkness, with the stout oaken door slammed
behind us, the bolt shot in the lock, and the key withdrawn, as we could
see by the spot of light which came through the keyhole.
Richard was the first to break the grave-like silence of our dungeon.
"Lord!" said he; "did ever you see such sharp-wit work in all your
adventures? What a soldier's wife she'd make!"
I smiled at that, being safe to smile in the darkness. For was she not a
soldier's wife? I hugged that saying as we cling to the thing that is
slipping from us. True, I was here to give her freely over to another
and a better soldier; but while she was mine I would claim her, in my
heart, at least.
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