The last daylight faded behind him; but now the feared night wind was less, and only urged his mount to greater speed. After a time he looked up at the waning, but still formidable moon, wondering if its light would be a blessing or a curse in the coming escape. For the hard clear skies of mid autumn had begun, with ten thousand stars looking down unobstructed. There seemed little likelihood of change by the following night. Perhaps the fog would be a factor, though the high promontory on which the Castle was set..... It was no use worrying, he told himself, with less conviction than he wished he felt. Again he fought off the familiar sense of dread which had never fully left him since the morning of the Battle, but only varied in theme and intensity. Familiar too was the dull, oppressive ache of his affliction. How much longer he could deceive his body with the promise of future rest, he did not know. He was worn, both physically and emotionally, to the last thread of resilience. And yet he could not rest. Still one more journey must be undertaken, before he slept that night. Perhaps an hour later he came at last into sight of the lonely homestead. When he circled at a distance, to interpose the chimney between himself and the moon, a faint trail of smoke could be seen rising from it, and this encouraged him. Someone remained within. Any trap set by the English, he felt sure, would be presaged by absolute silence and stillness. But this did not rule out the possibility of an ambush by Purceville, who had not yet made his intentions clear. With this in mind, he dismounted several hundred yards from the house, and wrapping the horse's reins about the branch of a sheltering tree, advanced on foot. Opening the back door soundlessly, he slipped inside with the pistol cocked and ready. Nothing. Heart pounding, he advanced slowly down the passage, toward the indirect glow of the hearth. He turned the corner..... Purceville sat motionless facing him, a drained goblet in his hand. He evinced no surprise. Apparently his senses were sharper than the Highlander guessed. "I will do it," he said evenly. "On the condition that I am never again left weaponless in an indefensible corner." Michael came closer, unbuckled the dead officer's sword. He handed it to Purceville in the English fashion, then straightened and looked him square in the eye. "I ask for no greater promise," he said, "than that you do what you know is right. Now, if you will take it, here is my hand." The Englishman took it in his own, with the same measured gaze that he had worn since the Highlander's return. There was no time to wonder at the thoughts that lay behind it. "Come on," said Michael. "We've got a long ride ahead of us." "Where are we going?" "To find a more defensible corner." Thirty