Is it hopeless? I think another
prison cell would be the death of me. But if there's no other way. .
.I'll turn myself in along with Purceville, and try to reach the new
Secretary---"
The fisherman shook his head. "No. Your kin have turned themselves in
once already, and you see the result. And I did not say it was
hopeless. You were on the right scent. You're just not the crafty old
hound that I am." He gave the younger man a wink. "Where a rope won't
go, perhaps a bit of string will, to lead the way."
Michael set his horse at an easy gallop, as the road leveled and he
began the second, less arduous leg toward home. He felt heartened as
his leg brushed against the saddlebag, and he thought of the bundles
contained within. For the first time since the women had been taken
from him, he felt a tentative hope. There was a chance.
The last daylight faded behind him; but now the feared night wind was
less, and only urged his mount to greater speed. After a time he
looked up at the waning, but still formidable moon, wondering if its
light would be a blessing or a curse in the coming escape.
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