Through the night I rode, until the darkness began to pale, and the dawn was heralded. Now and then, when the labored breathing of Kit told me the pace was too heavy for her, I pulled up a bit. We passed by silent cottages scattered over the country, here one alone, there several near together.

I galloped until morning was fairly upon the land. Then I drew rein at a white farmhouse, where I dismounted to get a bite to eat, and feed Kit. The farmer looked at my mud-soiled clothes, at the mare’s rough coat, and said:

“You’ve ridden far and hard, the night, neighbor.”

“Aye,” I answered, “there was some need of it.”

“Perchance some one pursued you?” he ventured.

“No one but myself,” I said.

With that he questioned no more, though he looked curiously at me, but led the way into the house, where his wife was preparing breakfast. I managed to make a hearty meal, and then I saw that Kit had her grain, after 184which I rubbed her down. When I would have paid for the fodder and my victuals the farmer would have none of my money, but bade me go on in good luck, for which I thanked him.

I was soon on the road again. It was better going now, though the roads were still heavy from the rain. Before another hour had passed I found myself in Boston town.

People turned to stare at me, as I clattered through the streets, wondering, I suppose, why I was abroad in such a rig so early. I headed for a modest tavern I knew of. There, I thought, I would make some plan for my future conduct. For I had set my mind upon leaving New England. I had been through enough there, for one time.

I soon found the place I sought, and went in. The landlord knew me, and gave me a little room by myself, the while he brought some good ale. I drank a bit, feeling much refreshed, and then turned my mind to what I had better do. I had heard of the Virginia colony, and that it was a place where there was much of life and entertainment. There I might follow my soldier trade with honor, fearing no witch trial, nor the warrant held by Sir George.

In Virginia I could forget, and leave behind, many bitter memories--and many sweet ones.

There I could forget Lucille.

Forget her?

No!

185Not forget her. I never could do that. I might find other thoughts to take her place--for a time.

Bah! What a fool I was. A fool twice. A fool for loving her, a fool for giving her up so easily--giving up another man’s wife, forsooth, when I knew that she loved me at that. Of a truth, if Dicky Hall ever heard of this he would laugh me to scorn.

Well, let them laugh. The honor of the Danes could stand a little merriment, and it was the honor of the Danes I was upholding, though I lost my love for the honor.

“Well, here’s to the death of love, and the honor of my name,” I said, softly, draining my last glass.

“Now for Virginia!”

As I set the mug down the sound of voices in the main room came to my ears. One was that of the landlord, the other a woman’s, and it was strangely familiar. She spoke part in French, with as much English as she could.

“Now, now,” said the inn keeper, “don’t ye come botherin’ again, mistress. I know nothin’ of Lucy nor Nancy either, though for that matter every sailor who lands here has that name on his lips, one way or another.”

“Not Lucy, m’sieur, not Lucy,” spoke the woman’s voice. “’Tis Lucille I been look for.”

I started at the name.

“Nor Lucille, either,” said the tavern keeper, testily.

186“But,” persisted the woman, “I have been tell zat she taked a bateau near zis tavern, m’sieur.”

“Well, mayhap she did, lass; lots of folk do, but I have not seen her,” and the landlord started away.

“You have no seen her, m’sieur? She was so much beautiful, my mistress, Lucille. Now she been lost to me,” and there came a trace of tears into the voice.

Where had I heard it before? The name--but then Lucille was a common enough name. Yet my heart beat a little more quickly. I went to where I could look in the room to see the woman. The landlord was on his way out, and the face of his visitor was toward me.

It was Nanette, Lucille’s servant!

She saw me, and her face lighted up.

“Oh, m’sieur Captain!” she exclaimed, fairly running toward me, and lapsing into rapid French. “You have found her then? Oh, I thought she was lost.”

“Who?” I asked, coldly.

“Why, Lucille. Mistress de Guilfort; your--your--surely, Captain, you----”

“You mean Mistress Keith, the wife of Sir George Keith,” I interrupted, and was about to go away.

At the name of Sir George, Nanette gave a start.

“Is he here?” she cried, excitedly.

“Aye. Here or somewhere with his wife, I make no doubt,” I said.

“His wife, m’sieur?”

187“Aye. His wife.”

“Never!”

“What?” I cried.

“Never!” repeated Nanette.

“Oh, the villain,” she went on. “Has he told you that lie?”

“Then it is not true?” I asked, trembling lest the answer would shatter newly raised hopes.

“No more than that I am his wife, Captain!” came the quick reply, and I could have hugged Nanette.

Here was a sudden and joyful change in my plans. There need be no Virginia now. Yet there was much to learn, and, it seemed, also, to find Lucille.

The tavern keeper was staring at us curiously, so I motioned Nanette to come into the room I had, and, closing the door, I bade her tell me all she knew. First I repeated, briefly, how I had met Sir George; though I said nothing of the Royal warrant.

Then Nanette related how she had long been in the service of the de Guilfort family. Some years before, while in Paris, Sir George Keith ha............