“So that was why,” she said. “Those letters gave everybody more anxious work than you've any notion of. Oh, Martin, though, I helped to drug you to get those letters. It was terrible. Terrible. Will you ever forgive me?” “Why, yes, Aurelia,” I said. “After all, it was done for your King. Just as I mean to run away from here to serve mine. All is fair in the King's service. Let us shake hands on that.” We shook hands heartily, looking into each other's eyes. “By the way,” I said, “where did you get to that day in Holland, when I got the letters from you?” “Ah,” she answered, “you made me like a wildcat that day. I nearly killed you, twice. You remember that low parapet on the roof? I was behind that, waiting for you with a loaded pistol. You were all very near your deaths that morning. In the King's service, of course. For just a minute, I thought that you would climb up to examine that parapet. What a crazy lot you all were not to know at once that I was there! Where else could I have been?” “Well,” I answered, “I beat you in the ride, didn't I? You thought yourself awfully clever about that horse at the inn. Well, I beat you there. I beat you in the race. I beat you with my letters to the Dutchman. I beat you over those forgeries.” “Yes, indeed,” she said. “I can beat all the men in your Duke's service. Every one. Even clever Colonel Lane. Even Fletcher of Saltoun. But a boy is so unexpected, there's no beating a boy, except with a good birch rod. You beat me so often, Martin, that I think you can afford to forgive me for tricking you once in bringing you here.” “I shall beat you in that, too, Miss Carew,” I said; “for I mean to get away from you as soon as I can.” “So you say,” she said. “But we have club men walking all round this house all night, as well as sentries by day, guarding the stock. Your gang of marauders will find a rough welcome if they come for refreshments here.” Even as she spoke, there came a sudden crash of fire-arms from the meadows outside the garden. About a dozen men came hurrying out of the house with weapons in their hands, among them a big, fierce-looking handsome man, who drew his sword as he ran. “That is my uncle, Travers Carew,” said Aurelia. “He owns this property. He wants to meet you.” There came another splutter of fire-arms from the meadows. “Come,” she said. “We'll see what it is. It is the Duke's men come pillaging.”