The horse was really the touchstone of discovery. But Jen trusted in her
star. If the worst came she would tell the tale. It must be told anyway
to Sergeant Tom--but that was different now. Even if the thing became
known it would only be a thing to be teased about by her father and
others, and she could stop that. Poor girl, as though that was the worst
that was to come from her act!

Sergeant Tom slept deeply and soundly. He had not stirred. His
breathing was unnaturally heavy, Jen thought, but, no suspicion of foul
play came to her mind yet. Why should it? She gave herself up to a
sweet and simple sense of pride in the deed she had done for him,
disturbed but slightly by the chances of discovery, and the remembrance
of the match that showed her face at Archangel's Rise. Her hands touched
the flaxen hair of the soldier, and her eyes grew luminous. One night
had stirred all her soul to its depths. A new woman had been born in
her. Val was dear to her--her brother Val; but she realised now that
another had come who would occupy a place that neither father, nor
brother, nor any other could fill. Yet it was a most weird set of tragic
circumstances. This man before her had been set to do a task which might
deprive her brother of his life, certainly of his freedom; that would
disgrace him; her father had done a great wrong too, had put in danger
the life of the man she loved, to save his son; she herself in doing this
deed for her lover had placed her brother in jeopardy, had crossed swords
with her father's purposes, had done the one thing that stood between
that father's son and safety; Pretty Pierre, whom she hated and despised,
and thought to be the enemy of her brother and of her home, had proved
himself a friend; and behind it all was the brother's crime committed to
avenge an insult to her name.

But such is life. Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners,