Audrey left her warning to be spoken by MacLean. She was at peace, her head against Mirza’s neck, her eyes upon Haward’s face, clear in the flashing lightning. That gentleman heard the story with his usual calmness; his companion first swore, and then laughed. [Illustration: AUDREY LEFT HER WARNING TO BE SPOKEN BY MACLEAN] “Here’s a Canterbury tale!” he cried. “Egad, Haward, are we to take this skipping rope, vault it as though we were courtiers of Lilliput? Neither of us is armed. I conceive that the longest way around will prove our shortest way home.” “My dear Colonel, I want to speak with these two gentlemen.” “But at your leisure, my friend, at your leisure, and not in dying tones! I like not what I hear of Monsieur Jean Hugon’s pistols. Flank an ambush; don’t ride into it open-eyed.” “Colonel Byrd is right,” said the storekeeper earnestly. “Ride back, the two of you, and take the bridle path that will carry you to Fair View by way of the upper bridge. In the mean time, I will run through the woods to Mr. Taberer’s house, cross there, hurry to the quarters, rouse the overseer, and with a man or two we will recross the creek by the lower bridge, and coming upon these rogues unawares, give them a taste of their own medicine! We’ll hale them to the great house; you shall have speech of them in your own hall.” Neither of the riders being able to suggest a better plan, the storekeeper, with a wave of his hand, plunged into the forest, and was soon lost to view amidst its serried trunks and waving branches. Haward stooped from his saddle; Audrey set her bare foot upon his booted one, and he swung her up behind him. “Put thine arm around me, child,” he told her. “We will ride swiftly through the storm. Now, Colonel, to turn our backs upon the enemy!”