A boy lives very much in the present. I do not think that I thought much of the Duke's service, nor of our venture for the crown. If I thought at all of our adventures, I thought of the handsome woman with the grey, fierce eyes. In a way, I hoped that might have another tussle with her, not because I liked adventure, no sane creature does, but because I thought of her with liking. I felt that she would be such a brave, witty person to have for a friend. I felt sad somehow at the thought of not seeing her again. She was quite young, not more than twenty, if her looks did not belie her. I used to wonder how it was that she had come to be a secret agent. I believed that the sharp-faced horsey man had somehow driven her to it against her will. Thinking of her at night, before I fell asleep, I used to long to help her. It is curious, but I always thought tenderly of this woman, even though she had twice tried to kill me. A man's bad angel is only his good angel a little warped. On the second of May, though I did not know it then, Argyle set sail for Scotland, to raise the clans for a foray across the Border. On the same day I was summoned from my quarters in the barge to take up my King's service. Late one evening, when it was almost dark night, Mr. Jermyn halted at the wharf-side to call me from my supper. “Mount behind me, Martin,” he said softly, peering down the hatch. “It's time, now.” I thought he must mean that it was time to invade England. You must remember that I knew little of the rights of the case, except that the Duke's cause was the one favoured by my father, dead such a little while before. Yet when I heard that sudden summons, it went through me with a shock that now this England was to be the scene of a bloody civil war, father fighting son, brother against brother. I would rather have been anywhere at that moment than where I was, hearing that order. Still, I had put my hand to the plough. There was no drawing back. I rose up with my eyes full of tears to say good-bye to the kind Dutch bargemen. I never saw them again. In a moment I was up the wharf, scrambling into the big double saddle behind Mr. Jermyn. Before my eyes were accustomed to the darkness we were trotting off into the night I knew not whither. “Martin,” said Mr. Jermyn, half turning in his saddle, “talk in a low voice. There may be spies anywhere.” “Yes, sir,” I answered, meekly. For a while after that we were silent; I was waiting for him to tell me more. “Martin,” he said at length, “we're going to send you to England, with a message.” “Yes, sir?” I answered. “You understand that there's danger, boy?” “Yes, sir.” “Life is full of danger. But for his King a Christian man must be content to run risks. You aren't afraid, Martin?” “No, sir,” I answered bravely. I was afraid, all the same. I doubt if any boy my age would have felt very brave, riding in the night like that, with danger of spies all about.