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Having gained a certain amount of data in this way, I approached more nearly in the hope of getting a sight of what was going on. While the sentry's back was turned I made a rush for the fence, and though I could not get over, I found a loose plank through which I was able to get a good view of what was happening.
And, just as lightning might, it showed an instantaneous vision of a tired gray horse, foam-flecked and furiously ridden, pounding down the road head-on. The vision was blotted by the night again before any one could see who rode the horse, or what his weapons were if any or form a theory as to why he rode. But the winging bullet did what the sentry's voice had failed to do.
The two went directly from the little house to the gate of the enclosure, and Ugo answered the sentry's challenge mechanically and walked briskly along the straight wall to the corner. Turning to the right then, he was following the next stretch at a good pace when he stumbled and nearly fell over something that lay in his path.
And, as though in answer, the critical and searching glance of Sir Charles relaxed. The crunching of the gravel and the rattle of the sentry's musket at salute recalled him to his high office and to the duties of the morning.
"Commanding officer," they heard Plume clearly answer, then in lower tone, but distinctly rebukeful. "What on earth's the matter, No. 4? You called off very badly. Anything disturbing you out here?" The sentry's answer was a mumble of mingled confusion and distress. How could he own to his post commander that he was scared?
Every stone, every grill, every glint of a sentry's rifle spelt "prison." Mrs. Godwin was a pale, slight little woman, in whose face shone an indomitable spirit, unconquered even by the slow torture of her lonely vigil.
"Don't fire, we're Cardwellites!" In a moment the sentry's rifle was at his shoulder, pointed in the direction whence the voice came; but it was my old friend Abiram Hills, ex-mayor of Bowen, a thorough bushman, and possessed of great nerve, whose turn it then happened to be to keep watch over his slumbering companions.
Whether cadet sentries on guard deliberately aid in letting fight parties slip across a post it would be impossible to say. Certain it is that Mr. Prescott, in the lead, reconnoitred carefully, then crossed the post at the point furthest from the sentry's half-audible footsteps. His two friends slipped over with him.
Ralston lifted her on to her bed and summoned her maid. He went out of the house and made inquiries of the guard. The sentry's story was explicit and not to be shaken by any cross-examination. He had patrolled that side of the house in which Mrs. Oliver's room lay, all night. He had seen nothing. At one o'clock in the morning the moon sank and the night became very dark.
The ground was soft, and she was beyond the sentry's earshot; she ran at full speed across the field, down the gorge, and up the steep knoll. As she reached the top, she was taken in Mikhaïlof's arms. For a few moments she was too breathless to speak; then she told him her plans. "Let me braid my hair," she said finally, "and we will go."
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