e. It was the letter which brought the consciousness of reality;
and in that moment I knew that I had not dreamed but lived the curious
events of the night. But these are the words which Martin Hall wrote:--

"Hotel Scribe. Seven a.m.--I leave in ten minutes, and write you
here my last word. We shall sail from Dieppe at midnight. Do not
forget to cross to Plymouth if you have any friendship for me. I
look to you alone.--MARTIN HALL."

He had left Paris then, and set out upon his great risk. The man's
awe-inspiring courage, his immense self-reliance, his deep purpose,
were marked strongly in those few simple words, and I had never felt so
great an admiration for him. He looked to me alone, and assuredly he
should not look in vain. I would follow him to Plymouth, losing no
moment in the act; and I resolved then to go farther if the need should
be, and to search for him in every land and on every sea, for he was a
brave man whose like I had not often known.

I dressed in haste with this intention, and went to dejeuner in our
private room below. Roderick was there, sleepy over his bottle of bad
Bordeaux, and Mary, who insisted on taking an English breakfast, was in
the height of a dissertation on Parisian tea.

"Did you ever see anything so feeble?" she said, being fond of
Roderick's speech mannerisms and often mimicking them. "Isn't it pretty
awful?" and she poured some from her spoon.

"'Pretty awful' is not the expression for a polite young woman,"
replied Roderick, with a severe yawn; "anyone who comes to Paris for
tea deserves what he gets."

"Yes, and what he gets 'takes the biscuit.'"

"Mary!"

"Well, you always say, 'takes the biscuit'; why shouldn't I?"

"Because, my child, because," said Roderick, slowly and paternally,
"because--why, here's Mark. Hallo! you're a pretty fellow; I hope you
enjoyed yourself last night."

"Exceedingly, thanks; in fact, I may say that I had a most delightful
evening with men who suited me to the--tea--thank you, Mary! I'll take
a cup--and now tell me, what has he bought you?"

I thought that a judicious policy of dissimulation was the wise course
at that time, for I had not then determined to share my secret even
with Roderick, as, indeed, by my word I was bound not to do until Hall
should so wish. In this intent I hid all my serious mood, and continued
the pleasant chatter.

Mary had soon poured out a cup of the decoction which Frenchmen call
tea, an aq