Now in my misery a wild thought occurred to me. I began to time my walking of the mare so that I was walking towards Sandfoort, while the other horse-boy was walking with my nag towards Egmont on the other side of the inn. I had read that in desperate cases the desperate remedy is the only measure to be tried. While I was walking away from the inn I drew the dagger, the spoils of war. I drew it very gently as though I were merely buttoning my waistcoat. Then with one swift cut I drew it nine-tenths through the girth. I did nothing more for that turn, though I only bided my time. After a turn or two more, the other horse-boy was called up to the inn by the lady to receive a drink of beer. No doubt she was going to question him (as he drank) about the reason for his being there. He walked up leisurely, full of smiles at the beer, leaving his nag fast to a hook in the wall some dozen yards from the door. This was a better chance than I had hoped for; so drawing my dagger, I resolved to put things to the test. I ripped the reins off the mare close to the bit. Then with a loud shout followed by a whack in the flank, I frightened that lovely mare right into them, almost into the inn-door. Before they knew what had happened I was at my own horse's head swiftly casting off the reins from the hook. Before they had turned to pursue me, I was in the saddle, going at a quick trot towards Egmont, while the mare was charging down the road behind me, with her saddle under her belly, giving her the fright of her life.
An awful thought came to me. “Supposing the lady is not the English spy, what an awful thing I have done. Even if she be, what right have I to cut her horse's harness? They may put me in prison for it. Besides, what an ass I have been. If she is what I think, she will know now that I am her enemy, engaged on very special service.” Looking back at the inn-door, I saw a party of people gesticulating in the road. A man was shouting to me. Others seemed to be laughing. Then, to my great joy, round the turn of the road came an open carriage with two horses, going at a good pace. There came my masters. All was well. I chuckled to myself as I thought of the lady's face, when these two passed her, leaving her without means of following them. When we were well out of sight of the inn, I rode back to the carriage to report, wondering how they would receive my news. They received it with displeasure, saying that I had disobeyed my orders, not only in acting as I had done; but in coming back to tell them. They bade me ride on at once to Egmont, before I was arrested for cutting the lady's harness. As for their own plans, whatever they were, my action altered them. I do not know what they did. I know that I turned away with a flea in my ear from the Duke's reproof. I remember not very much of my ride to Egmont, except that I seemed to ride most of the time among sand-dunes. I glanced back anxiously to see if I was being pursued; but no one followed. I rode on at the steady lope, losing sight of the carriage, passing by dune after dune, rising windmill after windmill, to drop them behind me as I rode. In that low country, I had the gleam of the sea to my left hand, with the sails of ships passing by me. The wind freshened as I rode, till at last my left cheek felt the continual stinging of the sand grains, whirled up by the wind from the bents. Where the sea-beach broadened, I rode on the sands. The miles dropped past quickly enough, though I rode only at the lope, not daring to hurry my horse. I kept this my pace even when going through villages, where the people in their strange Dutch clothes hurried out to stare at me as I bucketed by. I passed by acre after acre of bulb-fields, mostly tulip-fields, now beginning to be full of colour. Once, for ten minutes, I rode by a broad canal, where a barge with a scarlet transom drove along under sail, spreading the ripples, keeping alongside me. The helmsman, who was smoking a pipe as he eyed the luff of his sail, waved his hand to me, as I loped along beside him. You would not believe it; but he was one of the Oulton fishermen, a man whom I had known for years. I had seen that tan-sailed barge many, many times, rushing up the Waveney from Somer Leyton, with that same quiet figure at her helm. I would have loved to have called out “Oh, Hendry. How are you? Fancy seeing you here.” But I dared not betray myself; nor did Hendry recognize me. After the road swung away from the canal, I watched that barge as long as she remained in sight, thinking that while she was there I had a little bit of Oulton by me.