t skipper, and Sir Percy handled a schooner as well
as any master mariner. There was no danger for them from the storm.

It was long past midnight when at last Marguerite retired to rest. As
she had feared, sleep sedulously avoided her eyes. Her thoughts were of
the blackest during these long, weary hours, whilst that incessant storm
raged which was keeping her away from Percy. The sound of the distant
breakers made her heart ache with melancholy. She was in the mood when
the sea has a saddening effect upon the nerves. It is only when we are
very happy, that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless
expanse of water, rolling on and on with such persistent, irritating
monotony, to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay.
When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad,
then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness, and
to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys.

CHAPTER XXII CALAIS

The weariest nights, the longest days, sooner or later must perforce
come to an end.

Marguerite had spent over fifteen hours in such acute mental torture as
well-nigh drove her crazy. After a sleepless night, she rose early, wild
with excitement, dying to start on her journey, terrified lest further
obstacles lay in her way. She rose before anyone else in the house
was astir, so frightened was she, lest she should miss the one golden
opportunity of making a start.

When she came downstairs, she found Sir Andrew Ffoulkes sitting in the
coffee-room. He had been out half an hour earlier, and had gone to the
Admiralty Pier, only to find that neither the French packet nor any
privately chartered vessel could put out of Dover yet. The storm was
then at its fullest, and the tide was on the turn. If the wind did not
abate or change, they would perforce have to wait another ten or twelve
hours until the next tide, before a start could be made. And the storm
had not abated, the wind had not changed, and the tide was rapidly
drawing out.

Marguerite felt the sickness of despair when she heard this melancholy
news. Only the most firm resolution kept her from totally breaking down,
and thus adding to the young man's anxiety, which evidently had become
very keen.

Though he tried to hide it, Marguerite could see that Sir Andrew
was just as anxious as she was to reach his comrade and friend. This
enforced inactivity was terrible to them both