"The password," he said, in tones cautiously lowered.

"Fidelity," she answered in a whisper.

It was too dark for a recognition of his features; but Iris knew him by
his tall stature--knew him by the accent in which he had asked for the
password. Erroneously judging of her, on his side, as a man, he drew
back again. Sir Giles Mountjoy was above the middle height; the
stranger in a cloak, who had whispered to him, was below it. "You are
not the person I expected to meet," he said. "Who are you?"

Her faithful heart was longing to tell him the truth. The temptation to
reveal herself, and to make the sweet confession of her happiness at
having saved him, would have overpowered her discretion, but for a
sound that was audible on the road behind them. In the deep silence of
the time and place mistake was impossible. It was the sound of
footsteps.

There was just time to whisper to him: "Sir Giles has betrayed you.
Save yourself."

"Thank you, whoever you are!"

With that reply, he suddenly and swiftly disappeared. Iris remembered
the culvert, and turned towards it. There was a hiding-place under the
arch, if she could only get down into the dry ditch in time. She was
feeling her way to the slope of it with her feet, when a heavy hand
seized her by the arm; and a resolute voice said: "You are my
prisoner."