"Call your loudest, pretty one; ’twill give me a good excuse for smothering your cries with kisses. An’ if you force me to carry you, so much the better for me: I shall enjoy the bliss of holding you in my arms all the sooner." "You think you can insult me because I am a woman and unarmed," she cried, too indignant to be alarmed, "but I have ten daggers at my finger-tips to defend my honor." "Your honor, dearest Prue, is in no jeopardy from me. I seek, on the contrary, to shield you from the disgrace of being pointed at as a felon’s widow by making you the wife of an honorable gentleman." "How dare you call my husband a felon?" she cried, "and his wife a widow? He is not dead, and if he were, I would not marry you." "I swear to you that Robin Freemantle is dead," Sir Geoffrey asseverated. A voice from the shadow of the trees responded in sonorous and tragic tones, "You lie!" *CHAPTER XXVIII* *THE DEAREST TREASURE* Somewhere about the time that Prue was leaving Seven Oaks, Robin Freemantle, accompanied by two friends and followed by the faithful Steve, rode out of the stately gates of a country mansion a few miles beyond St. Mary’s Cray. At a short distance they left the highroad and plunged into a deep and narrow lane, showing few signs of use and leading into others as neglected and man-forsaken. When the lanes were wide enough the three rode abreast, with heads bent together in earnest conference. Papers were handed to Robin which he concealed about his person, and last instructions reiterated, to which he listened attentively, but without enthusiasm. "You think I am sure of finding a boat at Hailing, Percival?" he inquired, when the others became silent. "We shall avoid Hailing and seek the ferry a mile or so above," replied the younger of his companions. "The ferry is little used; indeed I do not know how there comes to be one at all, for the road is unfrequented and I know of no habitation but the little inn where, however, there are always boats for hire—built possibly by the ferryman himself. The tide serves about nine o’clock and with a favorable wind we should be below Rochester by moonrise. No one will be looking for you on the Medway, Captain, and before morning you will be safely past Sheerness and, I hope, on board the _Petite Vierge_, while the spies of the government are keeping strict watch for you between London Bridge and Gravesend." "I would give ten years of my life," said Robin moodily, "for one more day in England." "Your life is not your own to give, Captain de Cliffe," said the third man, who, even in this solitude, kept his wide-brimmed beaver slouched so as completely to conceal his face. "It belongs to King James, and should you be arrested with these documents upon you, hundreds of lives, besides your own, may pay for the mischance." "I do not need to be reminded of my duty, even by your grace," said Robin proudly.