Philip’s mood had changed at thought of Ned’s father; the old man’s pride of the name, his secret and perilous devotion to the rebel cause:  he deserved better of that cause than that his son should die branded as a traitor to it; and better of Phil than that by his hand that son should be slain.

“How can you let me have the names without loss of time, if I let you go, on condition of your giving our army a wide berth the rest of your days?” Philip asked, turning the captive over upon his back.

“I can do it in a minute, I swear,” cried Ned.  “Will you let me go if I do?”

“If I’m convinced they’re the right names and all the names; but if so, and I let you go, remember I’ll see you hanged if you ever show your face in our army again.”

“Rest easy on that.  I take you at your word.  The names are all writ down in my pocketbook, with the share of money each man was to get.  If I was caught, I was bound the rest should suffer, too.  The book is in my waistcoat lining—­there; do you feel it?  Rip it out.”

Philip did so, and, sitting on Ned’s chest, with a heel ready to beat in his skull at a treacherous movement, contrived to strike a light and verify by the brief flame of the tow the existence of a list of names.  As time was now of ever-increasing value, Philip took it for granted that the list was really what Ned declared it.  He then possessed himself of Ned’s pistol, and rose, intending to conduct him as far as to the edge of the camp, and to release him only when Philip should have given the alarm, so that Ned could not aid the approach of Falconer’s party.  But Philip had no sooner communicated this intention than Ned suddenly whipped out a second pistol from his coat pocket, in which his hand had been busy for some time, and aimed at him.  Thanks to a spoiled priming, the hammer fell without effect.

“You double traitor!” cried Philip, rushing upon Ned with threatening sword.  But Ned, with a curse, bent aside, and, before Philip could bring either of his weapons into use, grappled with him for another fall.  The two men swayed together an instant; then Philip once more shortened his sword and plunged the point into Ned’s shoulder as both came down together.

“God damn your soul!” cried Ned, and for the time of a breath hugged his enemy the tighter.  But for the time of a breath only; the hold then relaxed; and Philip, rising easily from the embrace of the limp form, ran unimpeded to the road, mounted the waiting horse, and galloped to the rebel lines.

When our party, all the fatigue of the ride forgotten in a thrill of expectation, reached the spot where Ned Faringfield was to join us, our leader’s low utterance of the signal, and our eager peerings into the wood, met no response.  As we stood huddled together, there broke upon us from the front such a musketry, and there forthwith appeared in the open country at our left such a multitude of mounted figures, that we guessed ourselves betrayed, and foresaw ourselves surrounded by a vastly superior force if we stayed for a demonstration.