“And what if I am?” asked the girl hopelessly. “Would the knowledge that such were the case end this useless discussion?” “No, by my salvation, it would not. If you admit but the slightest esteem for me, I will carry you to my castle in the North and hold it safe for you against the world. Are you, then, wedded?” “I am wedded to deceit. Sir, I am not worthy your love, or that of any other honest man. If you knew what it costs me to say this, you would let these words be the last we speak in this painful debate.” “Deceit? Not worthy of any honest man? Lord save you, child of sweet innocence, if this is all that troubles you, there is nothing in our way to the church. Your eyes are limpid wells of honesty. You could not harbour a deceitful thought if you tried. I would trust my life, my honour, my very soul to your keeping, assured that------” “O God of mercy! why do you torture me?” cried the girl in a burst of anguish, bending her head over the horse’s mane. The astonished young man placed his hand affectionately on her shoulder, and felt her shudder beneath his touch. “My dearest lass,” he began, but never finished the sentence. “_Halt!_” came a sharp command. Armstrong looked up like a man awakening from a dream. “‘Fore God!” he cried, wonder-stricken, “we’re on the outposts of Oxford.” A ragged soldier barred the way, with musket held horizontally. An officer in a uniform that had once been gaudy, but now showed signs of hard usage, came out from the cabin at the side of the road when he heard the sentinel’s challenge. Though his costume was so threadbare, he carried it with a swagger that had almost a touch of insolence in it, but this bearing melted to a debonair deference when he saw a handsome young woman before him. He lifted his hat and addressed her companion. “Pardon me. Have you the pass-word?” “No. I am from Scotland and bear a message to his Majesty the King.” “From Scotland? May I glance at your credentials?” “I carry none. I have come through a hostile country; have been searched once or twice and arrested as often. Had there been writing on me I should not now be standing at the doorstep of Oxford.” “I shall do myself the honour of conducting you to the Chamberlain of his Majesty. And the lady?” Armstrong took the girl’s hand, this time without opposition on the part of its owner; it was cold as ice. “The lady is my wife,” he said boldly; then added, in a whisper heard only by herself,--“that is to be.” The officer bowed and led the way to the town. “I wish we were in Scotland,” said the young man very quietly. “So do I,” sighed the girl. “Because what I said at the outworks would then have constituted a marriage between us, if you had replied yes.” The girl withdrew her hand from his and turned away her head. CHAPTER VII.--CHECKMATED.