dfather's clock--dreadfully slow
and measured--was the only sound which broke this awful loneliness.

Marguerite had need of all her energy, all her steadfastness of purpose,
to keep up her courage through this weary midnight waiting.

Everyone else in the house but herself must have been asleep. She had
heard Sally go upstairs. Mr. Jellyband had gone to see to her coachman
and men, and then had returned and taken up a position under the porch
outside, just where Marguerite had first met Chauvelin about a week
ago. He evidently meant to wait up for Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, but was
soon overcome by sweet slumbers, for presently--in addition to the slow
ticking of the clock--Marguerite could hear the monotonous and dulcet
tones of the worthy fellow's breathing.

For some time now, she had realised that the beautiful warm October's
day, so happily begun, had turned into a rough and cold night. She had
felt very chilly, and was glad of the cheerful blaze in the hearth: but
gradually, as time wore on, the weather became more rough, and the sound
of the great breakers against the Admiralty Pier, though some distance
from the inn, came to her as the noise of muffled thunder.

The wind was becoming boisterous, rattling the leaded windows and the
massive doors of the old-fashioned house: it shook the trees outside and
roared down the vast chimney. Marguerite wondered if the wind would be
favourable for her journey. She had no fear of the storm, and would have
braved worse risks sooner than delay the crossing by an hour.

A sudden commotion outside roused her from her meditations. Evidently
it was Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, just arrived in mad haste, for she heard
his horse's hoofs thundering on the flag-stones outside, then Mr.
Jellyband's sleepy, yet cheerful tones bidding him welcome.

For a moment, then, the awkwardness of her position struck Marguerite;
alone at this hour, in a place where she was well known, and having made
an assignation with a young cavalier equally well known, and who arrived
in disguise! What food for gossip to those mischievously inclined.

The idea struck Marguerite chiefly from its humorous side: there was
such quaint contrast between the seriousness of her errand, and the
construction which would naturally be put on her actions by honest Mr.
Jellyband, that, for the first time since many hours, a little smile
began playing round the corners of her childlike mouth, and when,
presently, Sir Andrew, almost