noon
I demanded , in the best French I could muster , on what charge I was thus laid by the heels . My captors grunted by way of answer , and searched my pockets , from which they drew my pistol and the little leather case containing my mother 's letter . I repeated my question in English , at which they pricked their ears , spoke something to one another in which the word `` spy '' occurred , and clapped irons on my ankles . Evidently then my crime was not horse-stealing , but that of being an English spy , which meant , I supposed , a volley at ten paces before noon . So here was an end to the business of Miss Kit , my sweetheart , and Tim , my brother . I confess , as it all dawned on me , I found myself smiling over my big hopes and resolves of an hour ago . But I had long enough to wait to lose all sense of humour , and sink into the most woeful depths of despair .