abandon those who trusted in him, that he would not turn his back from
danger, and leave the Comte de Tournay to fall into the bloodthirsty
hands that knew of no mercy. But if he were warned, he might form new
plans, be more wary, more prudent. Unconsciously, he might fall into a
cunning trap, but--once warned--he might yet succeed.

And if he failed--if indeed Fate, and Chauvelin, with all the resources
at his command, proved too strong for the daring plotter after all--then
at least she would be there by his side, to comfort, love and cherish,
to cheat death perhaps at the last by making it seem sweet, if they died
both together, locked in each other's arms, with the supreme happiness
of knowing that passion had responded to passion, and that all
misunderstandings were at an end.

Her whole body stiffened as with a great and firm resolution. This she
meant to do, if God gave her wits and strength. Her eyes lost their
fixed look; they glowed with inward fire at the thought of meeting him
again so soon, in the very midst of most deadly perils; they sparkled
with the joy of sharing these dangers with him--of helping him
perhaps--of being with him at the last--if she failed.

The childlike sweet face had become hard and set, the curved mouth was
closed tightly over her clenched teeth. She meant to do or die, with
him and for his sake. A frown, which spoke of an iron will and unbending
resolution, appeared between the two straight brows; already her plans
were formed. She would go and find Sir Andrew Ffoulkes first; he was
Percy's best friend, and Marguerite remembered, with a thrill, with what
blind enthusiasm the young man always spoke of his mysterious leader.

He would help her where she needed help; her coach was ready. A change
of raiment, and a farewell to little Suzanne, and she could be on her
way.

Without haste, but without hesitation, she walked quietly into the
house.

CHAPTER XX THE FRIEND

Less than half an hour later, Marguerite, buried in thoughts, sat inside
her coach, which was bearing her swiftly to London.

She had taken an affectionate farewell of little Suzanne, and seen the
child safely started with her maid, and in her own coach, back to town.
She had sent one courier with a respectful letter of excuse to His Royal
Highness, begging for a postponement of the august visit on account of
pressing and urgent business, and another on ahead to bespeak a fresh
relay of horses at Favers