"In her father's house she could not well do less," I averred, cut to
the heart, as he was, and yet without his younger lover's jealousy to
make me unjust.

"Or more," he added, savagely. "'Tis as I say; she lacks nothing we can
give her, and we'd as well be off about our business."

I think he never had it in his heart to leave her in any threat of
danger. But from his point of view there was no danger threatening her
save that which she seemed willing enough to rush upon--a life of titled
misery as Lady Falconnet. I saw how he would see it; saw, too, that his
was the saner summing of it up. And yet--

He broke into my musings with a pointed question. "What say you, Jack?
'Tis but a little whiffet of a Tory jade who cares not the snap of her
finger for either of us. The night is fine and dark. Shall we float the
canoe and give them all the slip?"

This was how it came to turn upon a "yes" or "no" of mine. I hesitated,
I know not why. In the little pause the fire burned low between us, and
the shadows deepened in the burrow cavern until they strangled the eye
as mephitic vapors scant a man of breath. The silence, too, was
stifling. There was no sound to breach it save the gurgling murmur of
the river, and this was subdued and intermittent like the death-rattle
in the throat of the dying.

I've always made a scoff of superstition, and yet, my dears, a thousand
questions in this life of ours must hang answerless to the crack of doom
if you deny it standing-room. I knew no more than I have set down here
of Margery's besetment; nay, I had every reason Richard Jennifer had to