She addressed Chauvenet
in English as a mark of good faith to their captor.
"Ride on, Monsieur; do not wait for me."
"But it is growing dark--I can not leave you alone, Mademoiselle. You
have rendered me a great service, when it is I who should have extricated
you--"
"Pray do not mention it! It is a mere chance that I am able to help. I
shall be perfectly safe with this gentleman."
The mountaineer took off his hat.
"Thank ye, Miss," he said; and then to Chauvenet: "Get out!"
"Don't trouble about me in the least, Monsieur Chauvenet," and Shirley
affirmed the last word with a nod as Chauvenet jumped into his saddle and
rode off. When the swift gallop of his horse had carried him out of
sight and sound down the road, Shirley faced the mountaineer.
"What is your name?"
"Tom Selfridge."
"Whom did you take that man to be, Mr. Selfridge?" asked Shirley, and in
her eagerness she bent down above the mountaineer's bared tangle of tow.
"The name you called him ain't it. It's a queer name I never heerd tell
on befo'--it's--it's like the a'my--"
"Is it Armitage?" asked Shirley quickly.
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