But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. I will write to your major, and you will send the letter very quickly. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. From a man, who was standing beneath the shade of one these noble trees, information was obtained that the horsemen had ridden along the Harrow Road. . . He handed Ruth a letter.
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