"Look here," he said. "I want you to tell me something. I don't know
what sort of a fellow you think I am, though I fancy you don't like
me much. But you're not afraid of me, are you? You know I'm to be
trusted?"

It was her single chance of revenge, and she took it. "I have my
father's word for it," she said.

He nodded thoughtfully as if unaware of the thrust. "Yes, your father
knows me. And so"--he smiled at her suddenly--"you are ready to trust
me on his recommendation? You are ready to follow me blindfold through
danger if I give you my hand to hold?"

She felt a sharp chill strike her heart. What was it he was asking of
her? What did those words of his portend?

"I don't know," she said. "I don't see that it makes much difference
how I feel."

"Well, it does," he assured her. "And that is exactly what I have
come to talk about. Miss Roscoe, will you leave the fort with me,
and escape in disguise? I have thought it all out, and it can be done
without much difficulty. I do not need to tell you that the idea has
your father's full approval."

They were her father's own words, but at sound of them she shrank
and shivered, in sheer horror at the coolness with which they were
uttered. He might have been asking her to stroll with him in the leafy
quiet of some English lane.