They disappeared into the
darkness. Tom's protest was smothered under Marjorie's hand. The wave of
excitement which had kept him on his feet passed, and it was as though he
had been caught in a powerful undertow which swept his legs from under him.
He sank down on the fallen log where they had been sitting together earlier
in the day.
"Can you ride? Are you strong enough?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes--if I once get my legs wrapped around him I can stick there. Marjorie,
if you're caught at this, all the raid will seem like an immense failure."
"But I won't be caught, and I will always be proud that you came to me when
you needed me, when I could help you."
"You're worth a dozen soldiers!" he exclaimed.
There was a moment of silence. "Poor Tom!" she said softly. "It's all so
terrible, isn't it? And so wonderful! You men have left the whole South
gasping at your bravery. Even Uncle--and he hates everything from the
North--says it's the most daring thing he's ever heard of."
"But you--you're from the North."
"Yes," she answered. "We don't talk about the war. He just takes it for
granted that I believe everything he believes. I've been here two years
now. When mother and father were alive I lived in Albany.
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