We had to speak softly to one another, lest Mr. Faringfield might hear and infer some particular enterprise—­for we were not to hazard the slightest adverse chance.  Captain Falconer had been away from his quarters all day, about the business of the night, and would not return till after its accomplishment.  Thus we two were the last to be seen of her, of those bound to the adventure; and so to us were visible the feelings with which she regarded the setting forth of our whole company upon the project she had designed, for which she had laboriously laid preparations even in the enemy’s camp, and from which she looked for a splendid future.  Were it realised, she might defy Mr. Faringfield and Philip:  they would be nobodies, in comparison with her:  heroines belong to the whole world, and may have their choice of the world’s rewards:  they may go where they please, love whom they please, and no father nor husband may say them nay.  Though I could not but be sad, for Philip’s sake, at thought of what effect our success might have upon her, yet for the moment I seemed to view matters from her side, with her nature, and for that moment I felt that to disappoint her hopes would be a pity.

As for myself (and Tom was like me) my cause and duty, not Margaret’s private ambitions, bade me strive my utmost in the business; and my youthful love of danger sent me forth with a most exquisite thrill, as into the riskiest, most exhilarating game a man can play.  So I too trembled a little, but with an uplifting, strong-nerved excitement far different from the anxious tremor of suspense that tortured Margaret.

“For pity’s sake, don’t fail, boys!” she said, as if all rested upon us two.  “Think of me waiting at home for the news!  Heaven, how slow the hours will pass!  I sha’n’t have a moment’s rest of mind or body till I know!”

“You shall know as soon as we can get back to New York,” said I.

“Ay—­if we are able to come back,” added Tom, with a queer smile.

She turned whiter, and new thoughts seemed to sweep into her mind.  But she drove them back.

“Hush, Tom, we mustn’t think of that!” she whispered.  “No, no, it can’t come to that!  But I shall be a thousand times the more anxious!  Good night!—­that’s all I shall say—­good night and a speedy and safe return!”

She caught her brother’s head between her hands, bestowed a fervent kiss upon his forehead, swiftly pressed my fingers, and opened the door for us.

We passed out into the dark, frosty evening.  There was snow on the ground but none in the air.  We mounted our waiting horses, waved back a farewell to the white-faced, white-handed figure in the doorway; and started toward the ferry.  Margaret was left alone with her fast-beating heart, to her ordeal of mingled elation and doubt, her dread of crushing disappointment, her visions of glorious triumph.