“The offer comes a little late, sir,” said Tom, turning to the captain.

“Why, sir,” replied Falconer, “I protest I often thought of you two.  But the risk, gentlemen, and your youth, and my dislike of imperilling my friends—­however, take it as you will, I now see I had done better to enlist you at the first.  The point is, to enlist you now.  You shall have your commander’s permission; General Clinton gives me my choice of men.  ’Twill be a very small company, gentlemen; the need of silence and dash requires that.  And you two shall come in for honour and pay, next to myself—­that I engage.  ’Twill make rich men of us three, at least, and of your brother, sir; while this lady will find herself the world’s talk, the heroine of the age, the saviour of America, the glory of England.  I can see her hailed in London for this, if it succeed; praised by princes, toasted by noblemen, envied by the ladies of fashion and the Court, huzza’d by the people in the streets and parks when she rides out—­”

“Nay, captain, you see too far ahead,” she interrupted, seeming ill at ease that these things should be said before Tom and me.

“A strange role, sure, for Captain Winwood’s wife,” said Tom; “that of plotter against his commander.”

“Nay,” she cried, quickly, “Captain Winwood plays a strange role for Margaret Faringfield’s husband—­that of rebel against her king.  For look ye, I had a king before he had a commander.  Isn’t that what you might call logic, Tom?”

“’Tis an unanswerable answer, at least,” said Captain Falconer, smiling gallantly.  “But come, gentlemen, shall we have your aid in this fine adventure?”

It was a fine adventure, and that was the truth.  The underhand work, the plotting and the treason involved, were none of ours.  ’Twas against Philip Winwood’s cause, but our cause was as much to us as his was to him.  The prospect of pay and honour did not much allure us; but the vision of that silent night ride, that perilous entrance into the enemy’s camp, that swift dash for the person of our greatest foe, that gallop homeward with a roused rebel cavalry, desperate with consternation, at our heels, quite supplanted all feelings of slight in not having been invited earlier.  Such an enterprise, for young fellows like us, there was no staying out of.

We gave Captain Falconer our hands upon it, whereupon he told us he would be at the pains to secure our relief from regular duty on the night set for the adventure—­that of the following Wednesday—­and directed us to be ready with our horses at the ferry at six o’clock Wednesday evening.  The rebel cavalry caps and overcoats were to be taken to the New Jersey side previously, and there put on, this arrangement serving as precaution against our disguise being seen within our lines by some possible rebel spy who might thereupon suspect our purpose and find means of preceding us to the enemy’s camp.

Tom and I saw the English captain and Margaret take the road toward the town, whereupon we resumed our ride Northward.  I could note the lad’s relief at being able to account for his sister’s secret meeting with Falconer by a reason other than he had feared.