But we were late. The consciousness
of that pressed upon us, although we evaded further mention of
it; it made us spur and drive our horses as quickly, ay, and a
little more quickly, than safety allowed. Once James's horse
stumbled in the darkness and its rider was thrown; more than once
a low bough hanging over the path nearly swept me, dead or
stunned, from my seat. Sapt paid no attention to these mishaps or
threatened mishaps. He had taken the lead, and, sitting well down
in his saddle, rode ahead, turning neither to right nor left,
never slackening his pace, sparing neither himself nor his beast.
James and I were side by side behind him. We rode in silence,
finding nothing to say to one another. My mind was full of a
picture--the picture of Rupert with his easy smile handing to
the king the queen's letter. For the hour of the rendezvous was
past. If that image had been translated into reality, what must
we do? To kill Rupert would satisfy revenge, but of what other
avail would it be when the king had read the letter? I am ashamed
to say that I found myself girding at Mr. Rassendyll for
happening on a plan which the course of events had turned into a
trap for ourselves and not for Rupert of Hentzau.
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